Galusha nodded.  “Yes,” he observed.  “Ah—­yes.”

“Loosh, do you know what you are saying?  Do you mean that you actually bought Hallett’s four hundred shares and this woman’s—?”

“Miss Phipps is her name.  Miss Martha Phipps.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  And you bought . . .  Eh?  By Jove!  Is that what you did with that thirteen thousand dollars?”

Again Galusha nodded.  “Yes,” he said.

Cousin Gussie whistled again.  “But why did you do it, Loosh?” he asked, after a moment.  “For heaven’s sake, why?”

Galusha did not answer immediately.  Then he said, slowly:  “If—­if you don’t mind, Cousin Gussie, I think I should tell her that first.  That is, I mean she should—­ah—­be here when I do tell it. . . .  I—­I think I will change my mind and sit down and wait until she comes. . . .  Perhaps. you will wait, too—­if you don’t mind. . . .  And, please—­please don’t think me rude if I do not—­ah—­talk.  I do not feel—­ah—­conversational.  Dear me, no.”

He sat down.  Cabot stared at him, crossed his knees, and continued to stare.  Occasionally he shook his head, as if the riddle were proving too much for him.  Galusha did not move.  Neither man spoke.  The old clock ticked off the minutes.

Primmie came home first.  “Miss Martha said to tell you she would be over in a few minutes,” she announced.  “Cap’n Jeth, he’s a-comin’ around all right, so Miss Martha and Zach and them think.  But, my savin’ soul, how he does hang onto Lulie!  Keeps a-sayin’ she’s all he’s got that’s true and honest and—­and all that sort of talk.  Give me the crawlin’ creeps to hear him.  And after that seance thing, too!  When that everlastin’ foghorn bust loose the first time, I cal’lated—­”

Galusha interrupted.  “Primmie,” he suggested, gravely, “would you—­ will you be—­ah—­kind enough to go into the kitchen?”

“Hey?  Go into the kitchen?  Course I will.  What do you want in the kitchen, Mr. Bangs?”

He regarded her solemnly.  “I should like to have you there, if you don’t mind,” he observed.  “This gentleman and I are—­we would prefer to be alone.  I’m very sorry, but you must excuse me this time and—­ah—­go.”

“Go?  You want me to go out and—­and not stay here?”

“Yes.  Yes—­ah—­quite so, Primmie.  Ah—­good-night.”

Primmie departed, slamming the door and muttering indignation.  Galusha sighed once more.  Then he relapsed into silence.

Twenty minutes later Martha herself came in.  They heard her enter the dining room, then Primmie’s voice in resentful explanation.  When Miss Phipps did come into the sitting room, she was smiling slightly.

“Primmie’s heart is broken,” she observed.  “Oh, don’t worry, it isn’t a very serious break.  She hasn’t had so much to talk about for goodness knows when and yet nobody wants to listen to her.  I told her to tell Luce about it, but that didn’t seem to soothe her much.  Luce is Lucy Larcom, Mr. Cabot,” she explained.  “He is our cat.”