Grannie had apparently not heard, and she said now, with her lovely gentleness,--
"Don't you want to go upstairs, my dear, and be by yourself a little while? You have been traveling so far. We have noon dinner, you know. That will seem funny to you. Mary is getting it, but Peter will show you a room."
Peter found her bag in the wide hall, darkened from the sun, and went with her up the stairs. At the head she paused and beckoned him to the window-seat over the front door.
"Set it down there," she said rapidly, touching the bag with a finger. "Tell me--how did she receive it?"
"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?"
"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."
Her praise seemed to Peter such a precious fruitage that the only thing, in delicacy, was to turn away and take it with him to enjoy. But she was calling him.
He found her flushed and eagerly expectant, it seemed to him, as if his news had been uplifting to her. She looked at him, at the room, and rapidly from the window where the treetops trembled, all in one comprehensive sweep.
"Peter," she said, with conviction, "it's simply lovely here."
"It's a nice old place," responded Peter. He loved it from long use, but he was aware of its comfortable plainness.
"I never saw anything so dear. Those square worn tiles down by the front door, the fireplace, the curtains,--look, Peter, it's dotted muslin." She touched a moving fold, and Peter laughed outright.