He had bought and moved into the house he occupied, in his single
estate, with a few efficient servants, soon after my father had taken
possession of his own larger mansion, and it was not long before the
best understanding existed between these two. My father's _hauteur_ was
no safeguard against the steady and self-poised approaches--his shyness
found relief in the calm self-reliance of his "left-hand" neighbor; and,
as they were both lovers of books, rather than students thereof, a
congeniality of tastes on literary subjects drew them together in those
hours of leisure which Mr. Bainrothe usually passed in his own or my
father's library, in the cultivation of the _dolce far niente_--I beg
pardon--his mind.
What his occupation was, if indeed he had any worthy of a definite name,
I never knew. That he was a kind of intermediate agent or broker I have
since suspected. His leisure seemed infinite. He came and went to and
from the business part of the city several times a day, and often in the
elegant barouche he kept, with its span of highly-groomed horses and
respectable-looking negro driver in simple livery--an old retainer of
his house, as he informed my father, faithful still, though freed in the
time of universal emancipation.
His association was undoubtedly, to some extent, with the best men of
the town--bankers and merchants chiefly; and once, when my father had
called in a considerable sum of money which he had loaned out at
interest on good mortgages, for a term of years, he was so obliging as
to interest the most notable bankers of the city in its safe and prompt
reinvestment.
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