"There is a tradition that official word is sent in advance," Grant
tried to explain.

"Aye, a tradition. There's a tradition that a Scotsman is a dour body
without any sentiment. Well--I must call the women."

He hurried up the stairs and Grant settled back into his chair. So this
was the home of Murdoch, the man who really had earned a considerable
part of the Grant fortune. He had never visited Murdoch before; he had
never thought of him in a domestic sense; Murdoch had always been to him
a man of figures, of competent office routine, of almost too respectful
deference. The light over the centre table fell subdued through a
pinkish shade; the corners of the room lay in restful shadows; the
comfortable furniture showed the marks of years. The walls suggested the
need of new paper; the well-worn carpet had been shifted more than once
for economy's sake. Grant made a hasty appraisal of these conditions;
possibly his old clerk was feeling the pinch of circumstances--

Murdoch, returning, led in his wife, a motherly woman who almost kissed
the young soldier. In the welcome of her greeting it was a moment before
Grant became aware of the presence of a fourth person in the room.

"I am very glad to see you safely back," said Phyllis Bruce. "We have
all been thinking about you a great deal."

"Why, Miss--Phyllis! It was you I was looking for!" The frank confession
came before he had time to suppress it, and, having said so much, it
seemed better to finish the job.

"Yes, Phyllis is making her home with us now," Mrs. Murdoch explained.
"It is more convenient to her work."

Grant wondered how much of this arrangement was due to Mrs. Murdoch's
sympathy for the bereaved girl, and how much to the addition which it
made to the family income. No doubt both considerations had contributed
to it.

"I called at your old home," he continued. "I needn't say how distressed
I was to hear--The woman could tell me nothing of you, so I came to
Murdoch, hoping--"

"Yes," she said, simply, as though there were nothing more to explain.
Grant noticed that her eyes were larger and her cheeks paler than they
had been, but the delight of her presence leapt about him. Her hurried
costume seemed to accentuate her beauty despite of all that war had done
to destroy it. There was a silence which lengthened out. They were all
groping for a footing.

Mrs. Murdoch met the situation by insisting that she would put on
the kettle, and Mr. Murdoch,