"What?"
"You know. The news of me."
"She was surprised."
"Naturally. But what else? She was shocked!"
"It was a shock, of course. In its suddenness, you know. You'd expect that."
She sank down in the window-seat and clasped her hands upon her knees, looking at them thoughtfully. Her brows were drawn together.
"Yes," she said, "yes. It was a shock. I see that. Well!" She looked up at him in a challenging directness before which he winced, conscious of the little he had to meet it with. "When am I to see her?"
"I am not sure when she is to be back."
"Ah! She won't come to me. Very well. I shall go to her." She laid her hand upon the bag, and rose, as if the interview were ended. Peter carried the bag in at the open door of her room, and after he had set it down, looked vaguely about him, as if arrangements might be bettered in the still, sweet place. She was smiling at him with an irradiating warmth.
"You're sorry, aren't you?" she said, from a comprehension that seemed a proffer of vague sympathy. "It makes you feel inhospitable. You needn't. You're a dear. Your grandmother is lovely—lovely."