The Marrow of Tradition | Page 6

elderly woman, gaunt
and angular of frame, with a mottled face, and high cheekbones
partially covered by bands of hair entirely too black and abundant for a
person of her age, if one might judge from the lines of her mouth,
which are rarely deceptive in such matters.
"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.
He gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to Ellis, saluted his
grandfather respectfully, and inquired for the ladies.
"Olivia is dressing for dinner," replied the major; "Mrs. Ochiltree is in
the kitchen, struggling with the servants. Clara--Ah, here she comes
now!"
Ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where Clara was
concerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to see
her. Clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fitting
corsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was to
Ellis a dazzling apparition. To him her erect and well-moulded form
was the embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her
movements the perfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's
imagination to read in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high
spirit,--the truthfulness that scorns a lie, the pride which is not
haughtiness. There were suggestive depths of tenderness, too, in the
curl of her lip, the droop of her long lashes, the glance of her blue
eyes,--depths that Ellis had long since divined, though he had never yet
explored them. She gave Ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the
smile with which she greeted Delamere, Ellis would have given all that
he possessed,--not a great deal, it is true, but what could a man do

more?
"You are the last one, Tom," she said reproachfully. "Mr. Ellis has been
here