"Ha, very pretty, very pretty. And the other girls? You have other
girls I suppose?"

"Two, sir;" returned Mrs. Daniels.

"How about their complexions? Are they lighter too than Emily's?"

"Yes, sir; about like Fanny's."

Mr. Gryce spread his hand over his breast in a way that assured me of
his satisfaction, and allowed the girl to go.

"We will now proceed to the yard," said he. But at that moment the
door of the front room opened and a gentleman stepped leisurely into
the hall, whom at first glance I recognized as the master of the
house. He was dressed for the street and had his hat in his hand. At
the sight we all stood silent, Mrs. Daniels flushing up to the roots
of her gray hair.

Mr. Blake is an elegant-looking man as you perhaps know; proud,
reserved, and a trifle sombre. As he turned to come towards us, the
light shining through the windows at our right, fell full upon his
face, revealing such a self-absorbed and melancholy expression, I
involuntarily drew back as if I had unwittingly intruded upon a great
man's privacy. Mr. Gryce on the contrary stepped forward.

"Mr. Blake, I believe," said he, bowing in that deferential way he
knows so well how to assume.

The gentleman, startled as it evidently seemed from a reverie, looked