The train was passing the City of London Cemetery. She thought: "I must go and see Jenny's grave before I leave. I wish I hadn't teased her so to love me." She thought: "If I die I shall be put in the grass plot beside Grandpapa and Grandmamma Olivier. Papa will bring me in a coffin all the way from Morfe in the train." Little birch bushes were beginning to grow among the graves. She wondered how she could ever have been afraid of those graves and of their dead.
Uncle Victor was looking at the graves too; queerly, with a sombre, passionate interest. When the train had passed them he sighed and shut his eyes, as if he wanted to keep on seeing them—to keep on.
As Mr. Parish's wagonette drove up Ley Street he pointed to a field where a street of little houses had begun.
"Some day they'll run a street over Five Elms. But I shan't know anything about it," he said.
"No. It won't be for ages."
He smiled queerly.
They drew up at the gate. "You must be prepared for more changes," he said.
Aunt Lavvy was at the gate. She was sweet as if she loved you, and sad as if she still remembered your disgrace.
"No. Not that door," she said.
The dining-room and drawing-room had changed places, and both were filled with the large mahogany furniture that had belonged to Grandpapa.