James felt a sort of pleasure at hearing the girl express, all unknowingly, sympathy for her dead father.  The tears actually stood in her eyes.  “The queerest thing to me is that woman,” she added musingly, after a minute.  Then again her face lightened.  “Why, I do believe she was his sister,” she cried, “and that was the reason she wanted to get me, and the reason why she was so dreadfully upset when she heard he was dead, poor thing.  Well, of course, I can’t help feeling glad that I am not in danger any more; but I am sorry for that poor man, even if he wasn’t good.”  A tear rolled visibly down Clemency’s cheeks.  Then she got out her handkerchief and sobbed violently.  “Oh, I haven’t realized,” she moaned, “I haven’t realized until this minute, how terrible it is that she wasn’t my mother.”

“She was as good as a mother to you, dear.”

“Yes, I know, but she wasn’t, and it hurts me worse now she is gone than it would have done when she was alive.  I don’t seem to have anything.”

“You have me.”

Then Clemency ran to him, and he held her on his knee and comforted her, then tore himself away to make his morning round of calls.  Clemency followed him to the door, and kissed her hand to him as he drove away.  James had good reason to remember it, for it was the last loving salutation from her for many a day.

When he returned at noon the girl’s manner was unaccountably changed toward him.  She only spoke to him directly when addressed, and then in monosyllables.  She never looked at him.  She sat at the table at luncheon and poured the chocolate, and there was almost absolute silence.  Emma waited jerkily as usual.  James fancied once, when he met her eyes, that there was an expression of covert triumph on her face.  Emma had never liked him.  He had been conscious of the fact, but it had not disturbed him.  He had no more thought of this middle-aged, harsh-featured New Jersey farmer’s daughter than he had of one of the dining-chairs.  Gordon sat humped upon himself, as he sat nowadays, a marked stoop of age was becoming visible in his broad shoulders, and he ate perfunctorily without a word.  James, after a number of futile attempts to talk to Clemency, subsided himself into bewildered silence, and ate with very little appetite.  There were chops and potatoes and peas, and apple-pie, for luncheon.  When it came to the pie Emma served Clemency and Doctor Gordon, and deliberately omitted James.  Nobody seemed to notice it, although James felt sure that the omission was intentional.  He felt himself inwardly amused at the antagonism which could take such a form, and went without his pie uncomplainingly, while Gordon and Clemency ate theirs.  The dog at this juncture came slinking into the room and close to James, who gave him a lump of sugar from the bowl which happened to stand near him.  At once Emma took the bowl and moved it to another part of the table out of his reach.  James felt a strong inclination to laugh.