"M-m-m'yes," he murmured, retaining the young man's hand, "—my friend of many years has left us;—m-m-m'yes, my friend of many years. I am very sorry to hear it; yes, very sorry."
Jim remained passive, incurious. Grismer prowled about the darkened room, alternately pursing up and sucking in his dry and slitted lips. Finally he seated himself and gazed owlishly at the young man.
"And our little adopted sister? How does this deplorable affliction affect her? May I hope to offer my condolences to her also?"
"My sister Stephanie is utterly crushed.... Thank you.... She is very grateful to you."
"M-m-m'yes. May I see her?"
"I am sorry. She is scarcely able to see anybody at present. Her aunt, Miss Quest, is with her."
"M-m-m. After all—but let it remain unsaid—m-m-m'yes, unsaid. So her aunt is with her? M-m-m!"
Jim was silent. Grismer sat immovable as a gargoyle, gazing at him out of unwinking eyes.
"M-m-m'yes," he said. "Grief was his due. My friend of many years was worthy of such filial demonstrations. Quite so—even though there is, in point of fact, no blood relationship between my friend of many years and your adopted sister——"
"My sister could not feel her loss more keenly if she and I had been born of the same mother," said the boy in a dull voice.