"Greedy too," said the blond young woman, with a laugh.

"Could I look at Jane?" asked Anne.

"They fastened it up this afternoon," replied the Matron. "There'll be
two funerals to-morrow. The other's an old man. You can see all there is
to see."

She covered the baby and left the room, descending the same stairs, and
going out of a side door. A strong smell of disinfectants came out into
the warm garden as she opened the door of a glazed brick building. The
blinds were down to keep out the sun. The building was lined with white
glazed brick, and two straight burdens lay on a trestle-table.

"Eight o'clock to-morrow," said the Matron, coming out again and locking
the door.

Jane had gone. She was as confident as the baby in her absence. It was
that which impressed Anne. Neither of the two so lately one flesh,
needed or cared for the other. Jane seemed to have shut herself of her
own accord in that wooden case, so that she would be no longer teased or
tortured, and the baby was quite happy that it should be so. Their
disregard one of the other was strange to Anne.

"Elizabeth Richardson was inquiring if you were coming," said the
Matron. "Will you go up and see her?"

Elizabeth Richardson was lying in the bed that had been Jane's. She
looked less peevish and more tended. Anne glanced at the fireplace as