“Have you had tea?” inquired Mr. Sorley, poking the fire. “Marie, my dear, why did you not offer your guests tea?” And he rang the bell promptly.
“I did not like to without your permission, Uncle Ran,” she said timidly.
“My dear child, this is your house, and here you are the mistress. I am only your guardian and live here, as it were, on sufferance. Miss Grison I am truly grieved to hear of your brother’s death.”
“Oh, indeed,” said the small woman sarcastically, “in that case, I wonder you didn’t come to the funeral.”
“No! no! no! That would have awakened memories of the past.”
“There is a proverb,” remarked Miss Grison coldly, “which bids us let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Very good advice,” assented Mr. Sorley, “suppose we adopt it by letting the sad past alone and coming to the sad present. Have the police discovered who murdered your brother?”
“No,” snapped Miss Grison impassively.
“Are they likely to?”
“If I can help them, they certainly are.”