The human eye is a great institution; and I shall watch my
friend."
In spite of a natural eagerness to transform those oblong slips of
paper--the cheques signed with the well-known name of Henry Dunbar--into
the still more convenient and flimsy paper circulating medium dispensed
by the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street, or the yellow coinage of the
realm, Major Vernon did not seem in any very great hurry to leave
Lisford.
A great many of the Lisfordians had seen the shabby stranger take his
seat in Henry Dunbar's carriage, side by side with the great banker.
This fact became universally known throughout the parish of Lisford and
two neighbouring parishes, before the shadows of night came down upon
the day of Laura Dunbar's wedding, and the Major was respected
accordingly.
He was shabby, certainly; queer-about the heels of his boots; and very
mangy with regard to the poodle collar. His hat was more shiny than was
consistent with the hat-manufacturing interest. His bony hands were red
and bare, and only one miserable mockery of a glove dangled between his
thumb and finger as he swaggered along the village street.
But he had been seen riding in Henry Dunbar's carriage, and from that
moment he had become invested with a romantic interest. He was a reduced
gentleman, who had seen better days; or he was a miser, perhaps--an
eccentric individual, who wore shabby boots and shiny hats for his own
love and pleasure.
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