"Yes, of course," said Clyde, hastily, trying to right himself with the current. "Poor fellow, as you say. He must have brooded over his father's death a great deal to have such a purpose develop in his mind. But Barker richly deserved his fate, for that matter."
"Oh, I'm not wasting any sympathy on Barker," said Mrs. Whyte, and something in her crisp tones told me that Clyde was not wholly persona grata with the warm-hearted lady. "It's Gene I'm thinking about."
"Of course. Naturally," he said, quickly. Then, as the pause was beginning to be awkward, he asked tentatively, "I wonder if I might see Miss Thurston."
"She isn't at home," said Mrs. Whyte (and I was sure from her voice that she found a certain satisfaction in denying his request). "She has gone to spend the night with Jean."
"With whom?" he asked sharply.
"With Jean Benbow,--Eugene's sister, you know. She is here at Mr. Ellison's,--came up home last night to celebrate their birthday, poor child."
"This thing has been an awful blow to Katherine," said Mr. Whyte, taking his cigar from his mouth, and dropping his voice. "I didn't know she had it in her to feel so deeply for a friend's trouble. She is always so self-possessed and calm that I suppose I thought she had no feelings. But, by Jove, she was crushed. I never saw anyone look so overwhelmed with grief. She couldn't have felt it more if she had been Eugene's mother."
"Heavens, Carroll, Katherine isn't as old as that!" said Mrs. Whyte impatiently.
"Well, then, his sweetheart!" said Whyte, half-laughing. "I won't say as his sister. His sister was twice as plucky and sensible about it as Katherine was, for that matter. She didn't go all to pieces."
"Miss Thurston is very sympathetic," said Clyde, in a tone which did not wholly match his words. He rose and stood for a moment, hesitating, as though he had not yet said what he came to say.