“May I remain?” asked Richard.
“Do; certainly.”
“Then, Martha, will you tell him to come here?” said Richard, and in another minute the sable garments and melancholy visage of Mr. Plumes entered the room slowly.
When Mr. Plumes was seated, he said, with much deliberation, in reply to Uncle David's question—
“Yes, Sir, I have brought it with me. You said, I think, you wished me to fetch it, and as my sister was at home, she hobleeged me with a loan of it. It belonged, you may remember, to her deceased daughter—my niece. I have got it in my breast-pocket; perhaps you would wish me now to take it hout?”
“I'm most anxious to look at it,” said Uncle David, approaching with extended hand. “You said you had seen him; was this a good likeness?”
These questions and the answers to them occupied the time during which Mr. Plumes, whose proceedings were slow as a funeral, disengaged the square parcel in question from his pocket, and then went on to loosen the knots in the tape which tied it up, and afterwards to unfold the wrappings of paper which enveloped it.
“I don't remember him well enough, only that he was good-looking. And this was took by machinery, and it must be like. The ball and socket they called it. It must be hexact, Sir.”
So saying, he produced a square black leather case, which being opened displayed a black profile, the hair and whiskers being indicated by a sort of gilding which, laid upon sable, reminded one of the decorations of a coffin, and harmonised cheerfully with Mr. Plumes' profession.
“Oh!” exclaimed Uncle David with considerable disappointment, “I thought it was a miniature; this is only a silhouette; but you are sure it is the profile of Yelland Mace?”