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"Don't I!" Mrs. Cory stood a moment looking down the pleasant tree-bordered street. She had not been in Belham before since the death of Patricia's mother, more than eight years ago, having been abroad most of the time. Now she found herself regretting this long absence. She had been missing a good deal she would like to have had some share in Patricia's life all these years.
It was hard to relinquish the picture of the grandmother she had been carrying in her mind for the past fortnight; a sort of composite picture of all the grandmothers she knew in Belham. And the doctor, understanding, comforted her, sending her to freshen herself up again for supper, with the promise that it would all come right she would see.
"There are a good many pretty walks about Belham," she said. When Patricia came down the path, her strap of books over her shoulder, and a get-there-early-or-die expression on her face, Mrs. Cory was just turning out of the gate. "Are you going in my direction, grandmother?" Patricia asked; and grandmother replied that she was. Later, sauntering slowly homewards, Mrs. Cory met the doctor.
We all know all about everybody and everything, you know. If you live in the country you're really married to humanity, for better or for worse, not just on speaking terms with it, as you are in the city. Why, I know about your garden because I have stood a thousand, thousand times leaning on my hoe in my own garden, discussing those peonies with old Mrs. Belham who lived there before you."
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