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most people will agree that the dreariest experience they have ever known has been the returning to their homes after a funeral has been held there.

No matter how much some kind friend stays behind to rearrange the furniture and restore things to their natural and normal aspect, the house looks different—the place seems empty.

After Madeleine’s funeral, Andrew Barham came into his house, accompanied by Mrs. Selden and several friends or relatives from out of town.

Barham would have willingly given a goodly sum could he have gone off by himself to his own rooms, but that was not to be thought of. He knew he was obliged to stay—to hear his mother-in-law and her guests mull over the funeral, as if it had been a social function. To discuss the flowers, the music, the people present, and every detail, down to the very appearance of the dead Madeleine.

These things having been worn threadbare by discussion, Marcia Selden next invited attention to herself and her lonely and forlorn life as it must be henceforward.

“You still have me, Mother,” Barham said, kindly, as she bewailed her utter isolation. “And I shall always do my best to make you happy.”

“Happy! As if I could ever be happy again, without my dear Madeleine. But I’m an old woman—I probably shall not trouble anybody for long.”

A new black-bordered handkerchief was somewhat ostentatiously