"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.