Carteret,
"which was never empty."
"Or Fortunatus's purse, which was always full," added old Mr. Delamere,
who read the Latin poets, and whose allusions were apt to be classical
rather than scriptural.
"It will last me while I live," said Mrs. Ochiltree, adding cautiously,
"but there'll not be a great deal left. It won't take much to support
an old woman for twenty years."
Mr. Delamere's man Sandy had been waiting upon the table with the
decorum of a trained butler, and a gravity all his own. He had changed
his suit of plain gray for a long blue coat with brass buttons, which
dated back to the fashion of a former generation, with which he wore a
pair of plaid trousers of strikingly modern cut and pattern. With his
whiskers, his spectacles, and his solemn air of responsibility, he would
have presented, to one unfamiliar with the negro type, an amusingly
impressive appearance. But there was nothing incongruous about Sandy to
this company, except perhaps to Tom Delamere, who possessed a keen eye
for contrasts and always regarded Sandy, in that particular rig, as a
very comical darkey.
"Is it quite prudent, Mrs. Ochiltree," suggested the major at a moment
when Sandy, having set down the tray, had left the room for a little
while, "to mention, in the presence of the servants, that you keep money
in the house?"
"I beg your pardon, major," observed old Mr. Delamere, with a touch of
stiffness. "The only servant in hearing of the conversation has been my
own; and Sandy is as honest as any man in Wellington.
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