“Probably,” he said to himself, but greeted Herbert cordially and invited him to go home with them to dinner. Herbert might have accepted but for his father, who came puffing from the post-office, his hands full of letters, one of which he handed to his son, saying: “It’s from Fred, and I have one from Esther. They sailed yesterday for Europe, where they are to join Miss Percy. Come, hurry; I want to get home out of this heat. How are you, Grey?” This last was in response to Mr. Grey’s cordial, “Good-afternoon, judge. Hot day, isn’t it?” Herbert bowed to Mrs. Grey and Louie, and walked toward his carriage, but the Grey brougham was ahead of it, sending back clouds of dust which made the judge sneeze and choke and wipe his eyes as he wondered “Why in thunder Grey wanted to drive so fast and raise such an infernal dust!” “Don’t he know it’s blowing right in my face, or don’t he care?—the upstart, with livery!” No dust could have been so bad as the Grey dust, and the judge went on grumbling until the obnoxious carriage turned into a by-street, leaving the road unobstructed. Arrived at home, Mr. Grey tried to seem natural, and joked Louie about her new dresses, which she could not help looking at, if it were Sunday; but there was a glitter in his eyes and a drawn look about his mouth which his wife remembered afterward and understood. When dinner was over he said he was going for a walk, to see if it would not clear his head, which felt a little heavy. Taking a circuitous route, he came at last to the house of Lawyer Blake, a personal friend whom he could trust, and who had done business for him. There was no hesitancy now on his part, and his manner was cool and collected as he began: “I am totally ruined! Bank will be closed to-morrow, and I have come to you for advice.” Mr. Blake looked at him in astonishment, as he went on; “I don’t know much about such matters, but I suppose there must be an assignee, and I want you for that and want you to see to things generally. There’ll be a terrible row—worse than the White’s—and I feel as if I were losing my mind.” The lawyer asked no questions as to how it had happened. He thought he knew, and promised to do whatever he could. “Have you thought of preferred creditors? Are there none whom you wish to have paid in full?” he asked. “It is a farce to name any,” Mr. Grey replied. “There is so little that to select a big depositor would be wrong. But, yes”—and in his eyes there was a laugh as he saw the absurdity of what he was about to suggest—“I will name one—old Nancy Sharp.” “Nancy Sharp!” the lawyer repeated in surprise. “Are you crazy?”