“Oh, it’s you,” she said, and as she turned he saw that one of her shoes was split down the heel and had frayed her stocking into what was known in the family as a “potato.”
He heaved his bag into the lobby and passed along to the dining-room, where he found his mother. She was, as he knew she would be, doing crochet-work. He kissed her.
“How brown you are!” she said.
“It’s been wonderful weather. Aunt Janet sent you some shortbread and some knitted things.”
“I wish she wouldn’t. She can’t knit, and she’s forgotten how old you are, and makes things as if you were still children. But she’s very good to us. I don’t know what I should have done without her.”
“She said she admired you more than she can say.”
“I’ve done my best for you.”
“She said you married a bad Fourmy.”
“I wish she hadn’t said that.”