“Perhaps you’d better not send your man away, Mr. Delamere,” observed the lady, in a high shrill voice, which grated upon the old gentleman’s ears.  He was slightly hard of hearing, but, like most deaf people, resented being screamed at.  “You might need him before nine o’clock.  One never knows what may happen after one has had the second stroke.  And moreover, our butler has fallen down the back steps—­negroes are so careless!—­and sprained his ankle so that he can’t stand.  I’d like to have Sandy stay and wait on the table in Peter’s place, if you don’t mind.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Ochiltree, for your solicitude,” replied Mr. Delamere, with a shade of annoyance in his voice, “but my health is very good just at present, and I do not anticipate any catastrophe which will require my servant’s presence before I am ready to go home.  But I have no doubt, madam,” he continued, with a courteous inclination, “that Sandy will be pleased to serve you, if you desire it, to the best of his poor knowledge.”

“I shill be honored, ma’am,” assented Sandy, with a bow even deeper than his master’s, “only I’m ’feared I ain’t rightly dressed fer ter wait on table.  I wuz only goin’ ter pra’r-meetin’, an’ so I didn’ put on my bes’ clo’s.  Ef Mis’ Ochiltree ain’ gwine ter need me fer de nex’ fifteen minutes, I kin ride back home in de ca’ige an’ dress myse’f suitable fer de occasion, suh.”

“If you think you’ll wait on the table any better,” said Mrs. Ochiltree, “you may go along and change your clothes; but hurry back, for it is seven now, and dinner will soon be served.”

Sandy retired with a bow.  While descending the steps to the carriage, which had waited for him, he came face to face with a young man just entering the house.

“Am I in time for dinner, Sandy?” asked the newcomer.

“Yas, Mistuh Tom, you’re in plenty er time.  Dinner won’t be ready till I git back, which won’ be fer fifteen minutes er so yit.”

Throwing away the cigarette which he held between his fingers, the young man crossed the piazza with a light step, and after a preliminary knock, for an answer to which he did not wait, entered the house with the air of one thoroughly at home.  The lights in the parlor had been lit, and Ellis, who sat talking to Major Carteret when the newcomer entered, covered him with a jealous glance.

Slender and of medium height, with a small head of almost perfect contour, a symmetrical face, dark almost to swarthiness, black eyes, which moved somewhat restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slight mustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, Tom Delamere, the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easily the handsomest young man in Wellington.  But no discriminating observer would have characterized his beauty as manly.  It conveyed no impression of strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather than feminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness.