The ceremony was effected reluctantly, and in anything but a cordial manner. Stephanie, looking on, perplexed, caught young Grismer’s amber-coloured eyes fixed on her; saw the tall, sandy-haired boy turn to look at her as he moved away to rejoin his particular group; saw the colour rising in his mischievous face when she surprised him peeping at her again over another boy’s shoulder. Several times, before the train left, the little girl became conscious that this overgrown, sandy-haired boy was watching her, sometimes with frankly flattering admiration, sometimes furtively, as though in sly curiosity. "Who is that kid?" she distinctly heard him say to another boy. She calmly turned her back. And was presently aware of the elder Grismer’s expressionless gaze concentrated upon herself. "Is this the little girl?" he said to Cleland Senior in his hard, dry voice. "That is my little daughter, Stephanie," replied Cleland coldly, discouraging any possible advances on Grismer’s part. For there would never be any reason for bringing Stephanie in contact with the Grismers; and there might be reasons for keeping her ignorant of their existence. Which ought to be a simple matter, because he never saw Grismer, except when he chanced to encounter him quite casually here and there in town. "She’s older than I supposed," remarked Grismer, staring steadily at her, where she stood beside Jim, shyly conversing with a group of his particular cronies. Boy-like, they all were bragging noisily for her exclusive benefit, talking school-talk, and swaggering and showing off quite harmlessly as is the nature of the animal at that age. "I don’t observe any family resemblance," mused Grismer, pursing his slit-like lips. "No?" inquired Cleland drily. "No, none whatever. Of course, the connection is remote—m-m-m’yes, quite remote. I trust," he added magnanimously, "that you will be able to render her life comfortable and pleasant; and that the stipend you purpose to bestow upon her may, if wisely administered, keep her from want." Cleland, who was getting madder every moment, turned very red now. "I think," he said, managing to control his temper, "that it will scarcely be a question of want with Stephanie Quest. What troubles me a little is that she’s more than likely to be an heiress." "What!" "It looks that way." "Do you—do you mean, Cleland, that—that any legal steps to re-open——" "Good Lord, no!" exclaimed Grismer, contemptuously. "She wouldn’t touch a penny of Grismer money—not a penny! I wouldn’t lift a finger to stir up that mess again, even if it meant a million for her!" Grismer breathed more easily, though Cleland’s frank and unconcealed scorn left a slight red on his parchment-like skin. "Our conception of moral and spiritual responsibility differs, I fear," he said, "—as widely as our creeds differ. I regret that my friend of many years should appear to be a trifle biassed—m-m-m’yes, a trifle biassed in his opinion——"