“Come!” a rather deep but almost childish voice responded.

Mrs. Vaisey opened the big milk-­colored door then, and they stood a moment looking into the large dimly lit interior.

A young man about twenty sat in a tall custom-­made chair, his hands folded over his lap. For anything there was of expression in them, his eyes might have been made of glass. But his mouth moved convulsively as he took in Vance’s brother.

“This is Sidney De Lakes, Gareth, who will be staying with us now. That is if you should wish him to, dearest . . .”

She almost pushed Sidney in the direction of her son.

“Gareth, good morning,” he spoke throatily and took the boy’s hand and lifted it, heavy as sand, from his lap and held it in his for a moment. The hand then fell back.

“I already know your son, ma’am, you see. From a while back,” Sidney managed to explain, but the look of confusion or astonishment on the mother’s face struck down whatever more he might have been going to say.

“And I hope we will be good friends again, Gareth,” the job-­seeker got out, but as he said this facing Mrs. Vaisey she gently moved Sidney’s face with her hands back in the direction of her son.

“It had slipped my mind that you two boys used to know one another!” Irene exclaimed as she watched the two young men stare now into one another’s faces. Confusion and wonder caused her voice to waver. “I for one,” she went on in a soft, almost prayerful voice, “am very happy Mr. De Lakes has agreed to be with us, Gareth, and I can tell by your expression you are also. . . . So,” she went on still more nervously as she studied their rapt scrutiny of one another, “we will bid you good morning now, Gareth, dear, until the proper arrangements can be worked out.”

“Does the renderer know you’re out, Sidney?” the young invalid inquired unexpectedly in clear, loud and almost menacing tones.

Sidney faltered only a moment. “I reckon, Garey, everybody knows I am by now.”

“Everybody don’t matter, Sid, and you know it. It’s him that matters . . .”

“We will not tire you further now, dear,” Mrs. Vaisey spoke with her usual cool authority, and bent down and kissed him.

“Mother,” Sidney’s “charge” now spoke in a kind of panic, “the renderer didn’t send him to us, did he?”

“Categorically not. Mr. De Lakes came of his own free will, dear . . . Because he knew you, as I have been reminded, and you see, he wished to be with you again . . .” Her voice trailed off and she turned toward the door.

When they were downstairs again, both Mrs. Vaisey and Sidney made no reference to the rather unexpected topic of conversation Gareth had engaged them in, though both of them were, strangely, upset by it.