“I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale,” he said, reassuringly.  “As a man with public business, I take a snack when I can.  I will back this ham,” he added, after swallowing some morsels with alarming haste, “against any ham in the three kingdoms.  In my opinion it is better than the hams at Freshitt Hall—­ and I think I am a tolerable judge.”

“Some don’t like so much sugar in their hams,” said Mrs. Waule.  “But my poor brother would always have sugar.”

“If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, God bless me, what an aroma!  I should be glad to buy in that quality, I know.  There is some gratification to a gentleman”—­ here Mr. Trumbull’s voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance—­ “in having this kind of ham set on his table.”

He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew his chair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner side of his legs, which he stroked approvingly—­ Mr. Trumbull having all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the predominant races of the north.

“You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth,” he observed, when Mary re-entered.  “It is by the author of `Waverley’:  that is Sir Walter Scott.  I have bought one of his works myself—­ a very nice thing, a very superior publication, entitled `Ivanhoe.’  You will not get any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think—­ he will not, in my opinion, be speedily surpassed.  I have just been reading a portion at the commencement of `Anne of Jeersteen.’  It commences well.” (Things never began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull:  they always commenced, both in private life and on his handbills.) “You are a reader, I see.  Do you subscribe to our Middlemarch library?”

“No,” said Mary.  “Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book.”

“I am a great bookman myself,” returned Mr. Trumbull.  “I have no less than two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are well selected.  Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, and others.  I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention, Miss Garth.”

“I am much obliged,” said Mary, hastening away again, “but I have little time for reading.”

“I should say my brother has done something for her in his will,” said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the door behind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary.

“His first wife was a poor match for him, though,” said Mrs. Waule.  “She brought him nothing:  and this young woman is only her niece,—­ and very proud.  And my brother has always paid her wage.”