Miss Wren with a fallen countenance sat behind the door looking thoughtfully at the ground, and the long and patient silence had again set in for some time, when the expression of Mr. Fledgeby’s face betokened that through the upper portion of the door, which was of glass, he saw someone faltering on the brink of the countinghouse. Presently there was a rustle and a tap, and then some more rustling and another tap. Fledgeby taking no notice, the door was at length softly opened, and the dried face of a mild little elderly gentleman looked in.

“ Mr. Riah?” said this visitor, very politely.

“I am waiting for him, sir,” returned Mr. Fledgeby. “He went out and left me here. I expect him back every minute. Perhaps you had better take a chair.”