"I'm knowing that, darling."
"I never knew my father or my mother. I saw more of my grandfather than of any one else. But he died last summer and left me with a little money, only a little, and I came to New York."
"You've no sister to turn to?"
"No," very slowly.
"You said you had a brother once?"
"Yes, but he's a long way off. I don't see him any more."
"That's a lonely way to be. And is your grandmother alive now?"
"No." Then, with a touch of petulance, "I didn't like her much."
"But you're grieving, dear, I can tell that; and it's not for the dead, but the living."
"Perhaps."