She kissed Bunny lingeringly, but without emotion. "He was only ill five days," she said. "It was a chill and then pneumonia. I nursed him right up to the last. He wouldn't have anyone else. In fact he wouldn't let me out of his sight." Her face quivered again, and she paused. Then drearily, "I was expecting the undertaker when you came in," she said. "I've had to arrange everything. The funeral will be the day after to-morrow. Will you come into the dining room? There's a fire there."
She led the way to that stiff and cheerless apartment. Bunny pressed close to her and pushed his hand through her arm.
"Say, Maud, old girl, you're ill yourself," he said.
She looked at him out of deeply shadowed eyes. "No. I'm not ill; only tired, too tired to sleep. There is some wine in that cupboard, dear. Do you mind getting it out? You and Jake must have some."
She went over to the fire almost as one moving in a dream, and stood before it silently.
Jake came to her, put a kindly arm about her. "You must go to bed, my dear," he said. "You're worn out."
She shook her head with a rather piteous smile. "Oh no, I can't go for a long while yet. I must get some rooms ready for you and Bunny."
"You won't need to do that," he said. "Bunny is putting up at the hotel round the corner. And I can sleep just anywhere."
She let herself lean against him. "Thank you for coming, Jake," she said again.
She was plainly worn out, and from that moment Jake took command. He made her sit in one of the stiff velvet chairs in front of the fire, made her drink some wine, and finally left her there with Bunny in charge.