Twice she had gone to visit his mother, and had been told that Mrs.Grier was too ill to see her--overstrain, the servant had said.

She could not understand being denied admittance; but it did not matter, for one day Mrs.Grier should know how she--Junia-had saved her son's career.
So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the chintz-covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was buried.

There was a smell of roses in the room.

She had gathered many of them that afternoon.

She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and fastened it in the bosom of her dress.