"Yes," said the young man, leaving the dark window where he was standing and coming out into the dimly lighted hall.
"Won't she let you in?"
"She isn't here, Micah."
"Where do you keep her?"
"On the flat above you."
"Up with Mary—in the attic. What's that for?"
"Well—you might be able to guess if you tried," said the young man, and he glanced toward the closed door of his mother's room.
"H'm—doesn't want to be too near her mother-in-law," reflected Captain White. Then he seized Justin by the arm as if he were a prisoner. "Come up to my den."
Marching him up another flight of stairs, he conducted him to a front room. "There, now," he said, "sit down. I know that Morris chair is in the exact place I left it, in this well-rigged house. I can give you a push that will land you in it, though I can't see a thing with those confounded curtains down. You'd better keep on your feet, though, till I strike a light. Your mother'd get after me if I broke one of your legs. Jemima Jane, here we are as snug as possible," and he turned up two gas-jets to the extent of their lighting ability, and then, dropping into a chair, reached out his hand to a drawer and took from it a pipe.
Justin, who did not smoke, took off his glasses and indulged in his frequent occupation of polishing them with his handkerchief, blinking his eyes meanwhile in the strong light.