ting me at the same time not to call unless I had
something of importance to communicate, as she was too ill to receive
visitors. The little note affected me. Ill, alone, and in a strange
home,--'twas pitiful!

The next day, pursuant to the wishes of Mr. Gryce, in I stepped into the
Hoffman House, and took a seat in the reading room. I had been there but
a few moments when a gentleman entered whom I immediately recognized
as the same I had spoken to on the corner of Thirty-seventh Street
and Sixth Avenue. He must have remembered me also, for he seemed to be
slightly embarrassed at seeing me; but, recovering himself, took up a
paper and soon became to all appearance lost in its contents, though I
could feel his handsome black eye upon me, studying my features,
figure, apparel, and movements with a degree of interest which equally
astonished and disconcerted me. I felt that it would be injudicious on
my part to return his scrutiny, anxious as I was to meet his eye and
learn what emotion had so fired his curiosity in regard to a perfect
stranger; so I rose, and, crossing to an old friend of mine who sat at
a table opposite, commenced a desultory conversation, in the course of
which I took occasion to ask if he knew who the handsome stranger was.
Dick Furbish was a society man, and knew everybody.

"His name is Clavering, and he comes from London. I don't know anything
more about him, though he is to be seen everywhere except in private
houses. He has not been received into society yet; waiting for litters
of introduction, perhaps."

"A gentleman?"

"Undoubtedly."

"One you speak to?"

"Oh, yes; I talk to him, but the conversation is very one-sided."

I could not help smiling at the grimace with which Dick accompanied this
remark. "Which same goes to prove," he went on, "that he is the real
thing."

Laughing outright this time, I left him, and in a few minutes sauntered
from the room.

As I mingled again with the crowd on Broadway, I found myself wondering
immensely over this slight experience. That this unknown gentleman from
London, who went everywhere except into private houses, could be in
any way connected with the affair I had so at heart, seemed not only
improbable but absurd; and for the first time I felt tempted to doubt
the sagacity of Mr. Gryce in recommending him to my attention.

The next day I repeated the experiment, but with no greater success
than before. Mr. Clavering came into the room, but,