The old gentleman sat down and loosened the gilt clasp of a long cloak which he wore--an old-fashioned, oddly cut black cloak, with a cape to it. Mattie forgot the likeness which this gentleman bore to the lodger up-stairs; lost her impression of the carriage at the door, and thought of Mrs. Watts and the hundred tricks of London thieves. She began thumping with her heels on the floor, until she quite shook up the old gentleman on the other side of the counter. "What's that for, my child?" he asked. "That'll bring up the servant--I never leave the shop." The gentleman closed his glasses, and rapped upon the counter with them, in rather an amused manner. "By Jupiter Tonans, that's amusing! She thinks I am going to make off with the stationery," he said, more to himself than Mattie. Ann Packet, round eyed and wondering as usual, looked over the parlour blind. Mattie beckoned to her, and she opened the parlour door. "Run up and tell Mr. Sidney that a gentleman wishes to see his father. Is he to wait, or to call again?" "I think I might answer that question better myself--stay." The slim old gentleman very slowly and deliberately searched for his card-case, produced it and drew forth a card. "Present that to Mr. Sidney, and say that the bearer is desirous of an interview." Ann Packet took the card in her great red hand, turned it over, looked from it to the owner, gave vent to an idiotic "Lor!" and then trudged up-stairs with the card. Mattie and the old gentleman, meanwhile, continued to regard each other--the suspicions of the former not perfectly allayed yet. Ann Packet returned, appearing by the staircase door this time. "Mr. Sidney Hinchford will see you, sir--if your business is of importance, he says." The gentleman addressed compressed his lips--very thin lips they became on the instant--but deigned no reply. He rose from his chair, and followed Ann through the door, up-stairs towards Mr. Hinchford's room, leaving his hat on the counter, where he had very politely placed it upon entering the shop. Mattie put it behind her, and then scowled down a lack-a-daisical footman, who was simpering at her between a _Family Herald_ and a portrait of T. P. Cooke. The stranger followed Ann Packet up-stairs, and entered the room on the first floor, glancing sharply round him through his glasses, and taking a survey of everything which it contained on the instant. There was a fire burning in the grate that autumn night; the gas was lighted; the tea-things ready on the table; at a smaller table by the window, working by the light of a table-lamp adorned with a green shade, and with another green shade tied across his forehead by way of extra protection for the eyes he worked so mercilessly, sat Sidney Hinchford, the only occupant of the room. Sidney rose, bowed slightly, pointed to a chair with the feather of his pen, then sat down again, and looked at his visitor from under the ugly shade, which cast his face into shadow.