The
dinner had been given in honor of a certain celebrated statesman, and
the character of his guests was in keeping with that of the one thus
complimented.
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.
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