"Let's make up a basket," said Mrs Sheridan. "Let's send that poor creature some of this perfectly good food." Laura carried the basket down the lane. It was getting dusky, and she wished now she had put on a coat. A little woman in black let her in and led her along a passage into a wretched kitchen, where another woman sat by the fire, crying. Then a door opened and Laura was in the bedroom where the dead man was lying. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy, happy, all is well, said that sleeping face. Laura gave a loud childish sob. "Forgive my hat," she said, and went out past the women into the lane, where her brother Laurie stood waiting. "Isn't life," she stammered, "isn't life —" But what life was she could not explain. No matter. He quite understood. "Isn't it, darling?" said Laurie.