Mrs. Tovey, a voluminous figure in the deepest of black, had taken the tragedy with her accustomed philosophy. She was not the sort of woman to give way to despair; and all her life she had faced the ups and down of fortune with the same outward placidity. Her inner feelings were her own concern; even her husband had never attempted to probe their depth. Besides, Mrs. Tovey belonged to a class which cannot afford to let sentiment interfere with the practical considerations of the moment.

“I shall keep on the business,” she was saying. “ ’Tisn’t as though I’d been left without a penny, in a manner of speaking. Jim had a tidy bit put away; he always used to say he was saving it up for our old age. Then there’ll be the insurance money. Ivy’s a good girl, she hasn’t cost us nothing for the last year or two, and it’s her I’m thinking of mostly. She’ll want a home yet for a bit, and she couldn’t have a better one.”