Mrs.Bray's countenance was radiant as she fingered the money.
"Good luck for me, but bad for the baby," she said, in a low, pleased murmur, talking to herself.

"Poor baby! I must see better to its comfort.

It deserves to be looked after.

I wonder why Pinky doesn't come ?" Mrs.Bray listened, but no sound of feet from the stairs or entries, no opening or shutting of doors, broke the silence that reigned through the house.
"Pinky's getting too low down--drinks too much; can't count on her any more." Mrs.Bray went on talking to herself.

"No rest; no quiet; never satisfied; for ever knocking round, and for ever getting the worst of it.