"Possibly Flora will know it," Mr. Weston said; "at least, wouldn't the Reverend Tait say so?"
"Oh," Mrs. Holmes said, frowning, "we are not speaking of religion. Flora was just a servant." Even Mr. Childs winced at that, and for once Arthur Weston's face was candid.
"I suppose that will get into the newspapers, too," said Mrs. Holmes—"'A young society girl puts roses' ... and all the rest of the horrid vulgarity of it."
"I don't think human kindness is ever vulgar," Mr. Weston said, "and I am sure there will be no improper publicity. Maitland and I have been to all the newspaper offices."
"Alone, at midnight, in an auto!" Mrs. Holmes lamented.
"Death is an impeccable chaperon," Weston said. ("That will shut her up!" he thought, and it did, for a while.)
"To think of such a thing happening to one of my servants," Mrs. Payton bewailed herself; "and I was always so considerate of them!"
Mrs. Holmes said there was too much consideration for servants, anyhow. "Let them work! There isn't one of them that will dust the legs of a piano unless you stand over her! Of course, I'm sorry for Flora; I only wish I wasn't so sensitive! But she did starch her table linen too much, Ellen; you can't deny that."
"Who is going to pay the funeral expenses?" Mr. Childs said. "Does the city do that, Weston, or is it up to Ellen?"
"Oh, Mrs. Payton has no responsibilities about Death—only Life," said Arthur Weston, grimly.