She isn't 'crazy,' Patty, as
we understand the word. Her mind is beclouded somehow and it
almost seems as if the cloud might lift at any moment. She goes
about like somebody in a dream, sewing or knitting or cooking. It
is only when she talks, and you notice that her eyes really see
nothing, but are looking beyond you, that you know there is
anything wrong."
"If she appears so like other people, why don't the neighbors go
to see her once in a while?"
"Callers make her unhappy, she says, and Ivory told me that he
dared not encourage any company in the house for fear of exciting
her, and making her an object of gossip, besides. He knows her
ways perfectly and that she is safe and content with her fancies
when she is alone, which is seldom, after all."
"What does she talk about?" asked Patty.
"Her husband mostly. She is expecting him to come back daily. We
knew that before, of course, but no one can realize it till they
see her setting the table for him and putting a saucer of wild
strawberries by his plate; going about the kitchen softly, like a
gentle ghost."
"It gives me the shudders!" said Patty. "I couldn't bear it! If
she never sees strangers, what in the world did she make of you?
How did you begin?"
"I told her I had known Ivory ever since we were school children.
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