"Good-night, Doctor," answered Kathrien, "and—thank you again."
With a wordless grunt, McPherson went out, leaving Peter Grimm staring hopelessly after him.
"I see I can't depend on you, Andrew," murmured the Dead Man, "in spite of your psychic lore and your belief in my return. Why is it they can all understand—or half understand—the unimportant things I say, and yet be deaf to my message? It is like picking out the simple words in a foreign book and then not know what the story is about. Marta—Kathrien—McPherson—they all fail me. I must find some other way."
He turned slowly toward the door of the office. The door almost immediately opened and James Hartmann came into the room. The young man had a pen behind his ear and a half-written memorandum of sales in his hand. He had evidently risen from his work and entered the living-room on an unplanned impulse.
Kathrien had seated herself in a chair by the fire and was gazing drearily into the red embers.
"Look at her, lad!" breathed Peter Grimm. "She is so pretty—so young—so lonely! Look! There are kisses tangled in that gold hair of hers where it curls about her forehead and neck. Hundreds of them. And her lips are made for kisses. See how dainty and sweet and heart-broken she is. She is dreaming of you, James. Are you going to let her go? Why, who could resist such a girl? You're not going to let her go! You feel what I am saying to you. You won't give her up. She loves you, boy. And you realise now that you can't live without her. Speak! Speak to her!"
"Miss Kathrien!" said Hartmann earnestly; then halted, frightened at his own temerity.
The girl looked up quickly. At sight of him she flushed and rose impulsively to face him.
"Oh, James!" she cried. "I'm so glad—so glad to see you!"
As their hands met the man's hesitancy fled.