James laughed, crossed the room swiftly, kissed her, then went into the office to greet Doctor Gordon.  Doctor Gordon stood by the office fire taking off his overcoat.  He looked gloomier than usual.  “Who is in there?” he asked, pointing to the living-room wall.

“Your niece,” answered James.  He felt himself color, but the other man did not notice it.

“Mrs. Ewing has gone to bed?”

“Yes, went directly after you left.”

Doctor Gordon’s face grew darker.  He had tossed his coat over a chair, and stood staring absently at the table with its prismatic lights.

“I know where he is,” he said presently in a whisper.

“You mean?”

“Yes,” said Doctor Gordon impatiently.  “You know whom I mean.  I saw him go in—­well, no matter where.”

“I suspect that he has been hanging about here,” said James.

“What makes you think so?”

“The dog barked and acted queer.”

“Dogs always did hate him,” said Doctor Gordon, with a queer expression.  Then he gave himself a shake.  Here he said:  “Let’s have something hot and a smoke.”  He called to Emma to bring some hot water and sugar and lemons and glasses.  Then he produced a bottle from a cabinet in the office, and himself brewed a sort of punch, the like of which James had never tasted before.

“That’s my own recipe,” said Doctor Gordon, laughing.  “Nobody knows what it is, not even Georgie K. But—­” he hesitated a little, then he added laughing, “I have left it in my will for Georgie K. I made my will some little time ago.”

James felt it incumbent upon himself to say something about Doctor Gordon being still a young man comparatively, and healthy.  To his sanguine young mind a will seemed ominous.

“Well, I have not reached the allotted span,” Gordon replied, “but healthier men than I have come to their end sooner than they expected, and I wanted to make sure of some things.  I wanted especially to make sure that Clemency—­Mrs. Ewing has relatives in the West, and—­”

James felt somewhat bewildered.  He could not quite see what Gordon meant, but he took another sip of the golden, fragrant compound before him, and again remarked upon its excellence.

“That makes me think,” said Gordon, evidently glad himself to turn the conversation.  “A sip of this will do poor little Clemency good.  You say she is in the parlor.”

“Yes.”

Gordon opened the door and called Clemency, who came with a little reluctance.  The girl was afraid of her uncle’s eyes.  She sidled into the office like a child who had done something wrong.  She took her little glass of punch, and never looked at James or her uncle.  James, too, did not look at her.  He smoked, and almost turned his back upon her.  Doctor Gordon looked from one to the other, and his face changed.  Clemency slipped out as soon as she could, saying that she was tired.  Then Gordon turned abruptly upon James.  “There is something between you two, Clemency and you,” he said in a brusque voice.