‘Thank you, sir.’ She showed him out, and rang the lift bell for him. By the mercy of God, the lift ascended immediately, he was out of the worst of his agony and could go away, with only the painfulness of a painful mission done. As he emerged from the seasonless opulence of the hall, the plenitude and calm of the autumnal dusk overwhelmed him, for he was obliged to compare it with the prospect of Shadwell’s wintry decline. He stooped his head, as if under a reproach, and hurried towards the nearest Underground.

Returning to the dining-room, Shadwell straightened the two chairs and removed a few withering blossoms from a potted begonia. These she took off to the trash-bin in the kitchen. Dropping them in, and hearing the lid fall-to 88with its usual tinny exclamation, she put by her thoughts for the moment, and began looking briskly into canisters, ascertaining what stores would last out for Mr Laidlaw’s next week or so, and which would need replenishing. This roused the old canary. He searched himself for lice, and then broke into an abrupt flourish of song. There was a black bow tied to his cage. He had been Mrs Probus’s canary until age harshened his coloratura, when he was retired to the kitchen. It was not too harsh for Shadwell. She listened admiringly till he grew tired and gave over. Now there were only the clocks to listen to. The clock on the kitchen dresser rattled on at a cheap gait, and was counterpointed by the soft whirr-whirr, whirr-whirr, of the French clock in the dining-room. From the street below, the noise of traffic rose up like steam from a cauldron. She laid out a cup and saucer, and clasped a spoonful of tea in the infuser, and put on the kettle. Then she left the kitchen and went into the bedroom, her feet suddenly noiseless on the thick carpet, so that she entered like a ghost.

At the foot of the bed, she paused, and looked appraisingly at the brief masterpiece that in a few hours would be hidden in a coffin. ‘He didn’t think to bring any flowers,’ she said to herself, and shook her head disapprovingly. Old Mr Laidlaw would not have omitted that due courtesy. Her bunch of white carnations, bought that morning, was all that Mrs Probus had. But so it had to be.