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 who said, "Come, dear, you mustn't do that just when Mr. Murdock is arriving. Step forward and shake Mr. Murdock's hand like a little gentleman."

So Jimmy shook hands in a fashion which he had been taught was the very peak of gentility.

As for Clarence, the whole scene proved much less warm, much less vivid than he had pictured it. Somehow those dreams with which his day had begun were now dissipated, indeed almost lost in all that had happened since then. In the greeting there was a certain barrenness, intangible yet apparent. It may have been the dimness of the hall that depressed him, for Mr. Seton never permitted more than a faint flicker of gas in the red glass chalice which hung suspended by Moorish chains from the ceiling.

"Yes," said Mrs. Seton, "you're almost one of the family with us. May has talked of nothing else but your coming."

May wriggled a little and added, "Yes, we're glad you've come."

And Clarence, dropping his bag, shook the snow from his coat. He could find no answer that seemed appropriate. How could one answer such greetings? Somehow he had expected, after his journey through the wild storm, something of warmth; and there was only this strange, damp confusion, strained and inexplicable. In the room with the filigreed wall-paper there burned the remnants of a fire; it was clear that Mr. Seton had permitted it to die down for the night.

They asked him about his trip, whether the train had been delayed by the blizzard, which of the cab drivers he had engaged. He did not know the name of his driver, yet he was able to identify him because he had heard the name of the other one. ("I've known Jerry all my life. . . . He has driven me ever since I was a little girl.")

"Jerry. . . . Jerry was the name of the other driver," Clarence announced suddenly, as if, not having heard their talk, he had brought his mind by some heroic effort back from a great distance. 