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. "Why, you've turned it back to front." Strips of Mamma's garden shone between the dull maroon red curtains. Inside the happy light was dead. There seemed to her something sinister about this change. Only the two spare rooms still looked to the front. They had put her in one of them instead of her old room on the top floor; Dan had the other instead of his. It was very queer. Aunt Lavvy sat in Mamma's place at the head of the tea-table. A tall, iron-grey woman in an iron-grey gown stood at her elbow holding a little tray. She looked curiously at Mary, as if her appearance there surprised and interested her. Aunt Lavvy put a cup of tea on the tray. "Where's Aunt Charlotte?" "Aunt Charlotte is upstairs. She isn't very well." The maid was saying, "Miss Charlotte asked for a large piece of plum cake, ma'am," and Aunt Lavvy added a large piece of plum cake to the plate of thin bread and butter. Mary thought: "There can't be much the matter with her if she can eat all that." "Can I see her?" she said. She heard the woman whisper, "Better not." She was glad when she left the room. "Has old Louisa gone, then?" "No," Aunt Lavvy said. She added presently, "That is Aunt Charlotte's maid." IV. Aunt Charlotte looked out through the bars of the old nursery window. She nodded to Mary and called to her to come up. Aunt Lavvy said it did her good to see people. There was a door at the head of the stairs, in a matchboard partition that walled the well of the staircase. You rang a bell. The corridor was very dark. Another partition with a door in it shut off the servants' rooms and the back staircase. They had put the big yellow linen cupboard before the tall window, the one she used to hang out of. Some of the old things had been left in the nursery schoolroom, so that it looked much the same. Britton, the maid, sat in Jenny's low chair by the fireguard. Aunt Charlotte sat in an armchair by the window.