They sat down on the broad window seat to get acquainted; Patricia hoped
grandmother would not see she had been crying and how tumbled her clean
dress was. Though Mrs. Cory saw, she said nothing, she had the gift of
knowing what questions not to ask; only asking instead, "Patricia dear,
who put that delightful bowl of flowers in my room?"

Patricia's color deepened. "I did--grandmother; I thought you would
like them--they were," Patricia caught herself up, doubting now the
appropriateness of those "old-ladyish" flowers.

Fortunately Custard appeared at that moment, wagging ingratiatingly; and
grandmother at once responded to his overtures with a friendliness that
warmed not only the heart of Custard but of Custard's small mistress.

Patricia went to bed that night with her thoughts rather in a whirl.
"I suppose," she decided finally, "that she is one of those 'up-to-date
grandmothers' one reads about; anyhow, she's a dear and I love her, and
oh, Aunt Julia did behave beautifully about the punchbowl--she seemed to
appreciate what a delicate situation it was--and I'll never, never take
it again without asking."

On the whole, this "up-to-date grandmother" proved a most charming
possession; a grandmother who took long walks with one, who played
croquet with one, who planned delightful trips in town to shops and even
to matinees. And how delightful to know that one was the object of both
envy and interest to the other girls; to be able to show the tiniest of
enameled watches, straight from Paris; to have a grandmother who had
actually been in Egypt, and had seen the king and queen of England.
Patricia held her head very high in these days.