Gradually, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she saw the little dapper, familiar figure, with its immaculate frock-coat, and corseted waist, and the lean, sallow, wrinkled face, with its retreating forehead and dyed hair, and waxed, turned-up moustaches. One of the waxed ends had been bent, and drooped forlornly, grotesquely. It was perhaps inevitable that the money-lender should be nicknamed "Monkey Brand," a name pronounced by many with a sneer not devoid of fear.
"How is she?" said Janet at last.
"She is dying," said Monkey Brand, his chin shaking. "Her back is broken."
A nurse in cap and apron silently opened the inner door into the billiard-room.
"Mrs Brand is asking for you, sir," she said gently.
"I will come," he said, and he went back into the billiard-room.
The nurse looked enquiringly at Janet.
"I am Mrs Brand's friend," said Janet. "She is expecting me."
"She takes it very hard now, poor thing," said the nurse; "and she was so brave at first."
And they both went into the billiard-room, and remained standing at the further end of it.