As they went by us gaily indulging in the jokes and light banter with which such men season a social dinner, I saw Mr. Gryce’s face grow sober by many a shade; and when in the midst of it all, we heard the voice of Mr. Blake rise in that courteous and measured tone for which it is distinguished, I saw him reach forward and grasp his cane with an uneasiness I had never seen displayed by him before.  But when some time later, the guests having departed, the dignified host advanced with some apology to where we were, I never beheld a firmer look on Mr. Gryce’s face than that with which he rose and confronted him.  Mr. Blake’s own had not more character in it.

“You have called at a rather inauspicious time, Mr. Gryce,” said the latter, glancing at the card which he held in his hand.  “What may your business be?  Something to do with politics, I suppose.”

I surveyed the man in amazement.  Was this great politician stooping to act a part, or had he forgotten our physiognomies as completely as appeared?

“Our business is not politics,” replied Mr. Gryce; “but fully as important.  May I request the doors be closed?”

I thought Mr. Blake looked surprised, but he immediately stepped to the door and shut it.  Then coming back, he looked at Mr. Gryce more closely and a change took place in his manner.

“I think I have seen you before,” said he.

Mr. Gryce bowed with just the suspicion of a smile.  “I have had the honor of consulting you before in this very house,” observed he.

A look of full recognition passed over the dignified countenance of the man before us.

“I remember,” said he, shrugging his shoulders in the old way.  “You are interested in some servant girl or other who ran away from this house a week or so ago.  Have you found her?” This with no apparent concern.

“We think we have,” rejoined Mr. Gryce with some solemnity.  “The river gives up its prey now and then, Mr. Blake.”

Still only that look of natural surprise.

“Indeed!  You do not mean to say she has drowned herself?  I am sorry for that, a girl who had once lived in my house.  What trouble could she have had to drive her to such an act?”

Mr. Gryce advanced a step nearer the gentleman.

“That is what we have come here to learn,” said he with a deliberation that yet was not lacking in the respect due to a man so universally esteemed as Mr. Blake.  “You who have seen her so lately ought to be able to throw some light upon the subject at least.”

“Mr.—­” he again glanced at the card, “Mr. Gryce,—­excuse me—­I believe I told you when you were here before that I had no remembrance of this girl at all.  That if such a person was in my house I did not know it, and that all questions put to me on that subject would be so much labor thrown away.”

Mr. Gryce bowed.  “I remember,” said he.  “I was not alluding to any connection you may have had with the girl in this house, but to the interview you were seen to have with her on the corner of Broome Street some days ago.  You had such an interview, did you not?”