“One moment,” said Grey a little warmly; “I have no desire to penetrate family secrets, but would you mind telling me if there is any grave reason why he should not come. Was there any scandalous conduct, unpardonable offense—let us even say—any criminal act on his part which makes his return to this roof impossible?”
The three looked at each other with a dull surprise that ended in a vacant wondering smile. “No, no,” they said in one voice. “No, only”—
“Only what?” asked Grey impatiently.
“Dad just hates him!”
“Like pizon,” smiled Almira.
The young editor rose with a slight increase of color. “Look here,” said the girl, whose dimples had deepened as she keenly surveyed him, as if detecting some amorous artifice under his show of interest for her brother. “Dad's gone down to the sheepfold and won't be back for an hour. Yo' might bring—YO' FRIEND—in.”
“He ain't wantin' anything? Ain't dead broke? nor nothin', eh?” suggested one of the brothers dubiously.
Grey hastened to assure them of Jim's absolute solvency, and even enlarged considerably on his Australian fortune. They looked relieved but not interested.
“Go and fetch him,” said the witch, archly hovering near Grey with dancing eyes; “and mind YO' come back, too!”
Grey hesitated a moment and then passed out in the dark porch. A dripping figure emerged from the trees opposite. It was Jim.