Mrs. Carteret’s face wore a tired expression.  This question was her husband’s hobby, and therefore her own nightmare.  Moreover, she had her personal grievance against the negro race, and the names mentioned by old Mr. Delamere had brought it vividly before her mind.  She had no desire to mar the harmony of the occasion by the discussion of a distasteful subject.

Mr. Delamere, glancing at his hostess, read something of this thought, and refused the challenge to further argument.

“I do not believe, major,” he said, “that Olivia relishes the topic.  I merely wish to say that Sandy is an exception to any rule which you may formulate in derogation of the negro.  Sandy is a gentleman in ebony!”

Tom could scarcely preserve his gravity at this characterization of old Sandy, with his ridiculous air of importance, his long blue coat, and his loud plaid trousers.  That suit would make a great costume for a masquerade.  He would borrow it some time,—­there was nothing in the world like it.

“Well, Mr. Delamere,” returned the major good-humoredly, “no doubt Sandy is an exceptionally good negro,—­he might well be, for he has had the benefit of your example all his life,—­and we know that he is a faithful servant.  But nevertheless, if I were Mrs. Ochiltree, I should put my money in the bank.  Not all negroes are as honest as Sandy, and an elderly lady might not prove a match for a burly black burglar.”

“Thank you, major,” retorted Mrs. Ochiltree, with spirit, “I’m not yet too old to take care of myself.  That cedar chest has been my bank for forty years, and I shall not change my habits at my age.”

At this moment Sandy reentered the room.  Carteret made a warning gesture, which Mrs. Ochiltree chose not to notice.

“I’ve proved a match for two husbands, and am not afraid of any man that walks the earth, black or white, by day or night.  I have a revolver, and know how to use it.  Whoever attempts to rob me will do so at his peril.”

After dinner Clara played the piano and sang duets with Tom Delamere.  At nine o’clock Mr. Delamere’s carriage came for him, and he went away accompanied by Sandy.  Under cover of the darkness the old gentleman leaned on his servant’s arm with frank dependence, and Sandy lifted him into the carriage with every mark of devotion.

Ellis had already excused himself to go to the office and look over the late proofs for the morning paper.  Tom remained a few minutes longer than his grandfather, and upon taking his leave went round to the Clarendon Club, where he spent an hour or two in the card-room with a couple of congenial friends.  Luck seemed to favor him, and he went home at midnight with a comfortable balance of winnings.  He was fond of excitement, and found a great deal of it in cards.  To lose was only less exciting than to win.  Of late he had developed into a very successful player,—­so successful, indeed, that several members of the club generally found excuses to avoid participating in a game where he made one.