"Sir, is your name Grubb?" she asked.
"Yes, madam, it is."
"I read it here," she explained, pointing to the old-fashioned article.
"Ah, yes," he smiled. "It was my late father's bag, and that was his name."
"Was he Christopher Grubb?
"He was."
She put her hand on his coat-sleeve, apparently for the purpose of steadying herself while regarding his face more attentively.
"You have your mother's eyes," she said; "I should know them anywhere. Beautiful eyes they were. And so are yours."
"And may I inquire who it is that is doing honour to my vanity in saying this?" he rejoined, in the winning voice and manner characteristic of him.
"Ay, if you like. I dare say you have heard of me. I am Margery Upton."