Grandmamma and Grandpapa Olivier were buried in one half of the plot
under a white marble slab. In the other half, on the bare grass, a white
marble curb marked out a place for another grave.

Roddy said, "Who's buried there?"

Mamma said, "Nobody. Yet. That's for--"

Mary saw Aunt Lavvy frown again and put her finger to her mouth.

She said, "Who? For who?" An appalling curiosity and fear possessed her.
And when Aunt Lavvy took her hand she knew that the empty place was
marked out for Mamma and Papa.

Outside the cemetery gates, in the white road, the black funeral horses
tossed their heads and neighed, and the black plumes quivered on the
hearses. In the wagonette she sat close beside Aunt Lavvy, with Aunt
Lavvy's shawl over her eyes.

She wondered how she knew that you were frightened when Mamma didn't.
Mamma couldn't, because she was brave. She wasn't afraid of the funeral.

When Roddy said, "She oughtn't to have taken us, she ought to have known
it would frighten us," Mark was angry with him. He said, "She thought
you'd like it, you little beast. Because of the wagonette."

Darling Mamma. She had taken them because she thought they would like it.
Because of the wagonette. Because she was brave, like Mark.