“Where is her husband?”
“I asked her. She said that he was out of the country. She looks respectable enough. Good clothes—not a bit sporty.”
“He probably is away—or a rotter.”
“Put a tape on the kid’s arm, will you?”
“What number is her room?”
“434. Isn’t Mrs. Gordon in 434? Yes.”
“Cute baby. Is she glad it’s a girl?”
“Says she is. I asked her what she was going to call it. She was sort of sleepy, but she said Horatia. Funny name, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Gordon was Grace Walsh.
Horatia’s old housemate lay back further on her pillow in her bare hospital room and smiled wearily at some thought. Perhaps she was thinking she would not be so alone now.