There was another interruption. A tall, stately person entered the office, wearing a suit of rather antique fashion, apparently verging on sixty years, yet with a clear, smooth skin, and a bright, steady eye. It was the Honorable Charles Wyndham, the representative of an ancient family, and beyond question one of the most eminent men in the city. Mr. Sandford might have been secretly elated at the honor of this visit, but he rose with a tranquil face and calmly bade Mr. Wyndham good morning.
"My young friend," began the great man, "I am happy to see you looking so well this morning. I have not come to put any new burdens on your patient shoulders; we all know your services and your sacrifices. This time we have a little recompense,—if, indeed, acts of beneficence are not their own reward. The Board are to have a social meeting at my house to-night, to make arrangements for the anniversary; and we think a frugal collation will not be amiss for those who have worked for the Society so freely and faithfully."
Mr. Sandford softly rubbed his white hands and bowed with a deprecatory smile.
"I know your modesty," said Mr. Wyndham, "and will spare you further compliment. Your accounts are ready, I presume? I intend to propose to the Board, that, as we have a surplus, you shall receive a substantial sum for your disinterested services."
They were standing near together, leaning on a tall mahogany desk, and the look of benevolent interest on one side, and of graceful humility on the other, was touching to see. Mr. Sandford laid his hand softly on his distinguished friend's shoulder, and begged him not to insist upon payment for services he had been only too happy to render.
"We won't talk about that now; and I must not detain you longer from business. Good morning!" And with the stateliest of bows, and a most gracious smile, the Honorable Mr. Wyndham retreated through the glass door.
When Mr. Sandford had bowed the visitor out, he returned to Monroe with an expression of weariness on his handsome face. "So many affairs to think of! so many people to see! Really, it is becoming vexatious. I believe I shall turn hunks, and get a reputation for downright stinginess."
"But your visitors are pleasant people," said Monroe,—"and the last, certainly, was a man whom most men think it an honor to know."
"You mean Wyndham. Oh, yes, Wyndham is a good fellow; a little prosy sometimes, but means well. We endure the Dons, you know, if they are slow."
Monroe thought his friend hardly respectful to the head of the Wyndham family, but set it down as an awkward attempt at being facetious.