“I always feel I should like to give dripping⁠—butter’s quite impossible at the price,” said one of the Sisters, “but it’s not only the cost of the dripping, it would mean that we should have to provide somebody special to spread it. We haven’t a moment to spare as it is.” On Sunday morning, however, butter is served with the coffee and rolls which every inmate has for breakfast.

The evening meal over, the women sit and talk. Somebody plays the piano⁠—it is an excellent instrument⁠—or sings, or recites, and on occasion the company is moved to dance⁠—middle-aged mothers with big families, elderly grandames and girls in their teens.

There is an atmosphere of cheerfulness, but those who wish can pour out their sorrows, or discuss their prospects with the Sister-in-Charge.