At Wistaria Terrace they went to the unheard-of extravagance of having a fire in Mary's room, day after day, so that Fifine might lie before it in a basket, and feel the warmth in her little bones, and hear Mary's voice.
The day of the funeral came.

Mary stood by the graveside quietly, with a veil down over her face.

Walter Gray was by her side.

She had come in the doctor's carriage, and she had no leisure or thought for the insolence with which Lady Iniscrone stared at her, as though her presence there required explanation.
She was going to work, to begin at once.

Her dear, kind old friend, who had meant to do so well by her, had at least equipped her for earning her own bread.