I give the conversation, not because it is of interest, but to show the vernacular as voiced by the cultured octoroon. They were pleased to see us, and I had the impression that I was undergoing the pleasant sensation of being lionised—such was the warmth of my welcome.
“You take sugar and milk?” I took milk.
“Oh we always take sugar in Jamaica. It grows here you know, and a few years back it was the most perfectly important product of the country,” explained the lady, and her husband confirmed her statement with—
“Yes, the English have killed that branch of our commerce by the introduction of free trade in sugar. My grandfather grew very very rich on sugar; most of the money he and my father left I am spending in trying to improve the condition of the island. I cannot hope to make money. I do it for the good of my country; I am what you call a philanthropist!”
He played with the fine jewelled ring on his left hand and smiled at me, showing a perfect set of large white teeth. His eyes were larger than is common among Englishmen, and his dark hair contained just the suggestion of a curl. His wife was whiter than he, but her eyes were blacker than those of any Englishwoman. Her lips were brown-red, and her hair a wavy black. She spoiled what might have been a strikingly pretty appearance by wearing pince-nez, for which she had no real use. They had plain glasses heavily framed in gold, and they hung from her blouse by a twisted chain of gold and platinum.
“Yes,” she said, “we are philanthropists!”
“I am perfectly conscious that not many of us white men cultivate our plantations as we ought to do. But I know I work unselfishly. I take my country seriously.”
The lady added—“That is what the Governor said to him the other day. The Governor said, ‘My dear friend, you take your country seriously.’ And so he does—perfectly. And so do I.”
“Well, I was smoking with some gentlemen the other day, and they agreed with me that we Englishmen are very unselfish in not going home and leaving the country to rack and ruination.”