'Oh, how Wynn would have enjoyed it! He was always utterly unreliable at funerals. D'you remember' And they talked of him again, each piecing out the other's gaps. 'And now,' said Miss Fowler, 'we'll pull up the blinds and we'll have a general tidy. That always does us good. Have you seen to Wynn's things?'
'Everything—since he first came,' said Mary. 'He was never destructive—even with his toys.'
They faced that neat room.
'It can't be natural not to cry,' Mary said at last. 'I'm so afraid you'll have a reaction.'
'As I told you, we old people slip from under the stroke. It's you I'm afraid for. Have you cried yet?'
'I can't. It only makes me angry with the Germans.'
'That's sheer waste of vitality,' said Miss Fowler. 'We must live till the war's finished.' She opened a full wardrobe. 'Now, I've been thinking things over. This is my plan. All his civilian clothes can be given away—Belgian refugees, and so on.'
Mary nodded. 'Boots, collars, and gloves?'
'Yes. We don't need to keep anything except his cap and belt.'
'They came back yesterday with his Flying Corps clothes'—Mary pointed to a roll on the little iron bed.
'Ah, but keep his Service things. Some one may be glad of them later. Do you remember his sizes?'
'Five feet eight and a half; thirty-six inches
