"How do you mean, 'like uncle'?"
"Well," the quiet voice was imperceptibly raised, "I'm not a great reader, and I know nothing of books. I'm not clever, you know. I can't bear poetry."
Richard looked indulgent.
"But you do read?"
"Yes, sometimes a novel. I'm reading 'East Lynne.' Uncle bought it for me the other day."
"And you like it?"
There was a timid tap at the door, and a short, stout servant with red hands and a red face entered; her rough, chubby forearms were bare, and she carried a market basket. "Please, 'm," she ejaculated meaningly and disappeared. Mr. Aked's niece excused herself, and when she returned Richard looked at his watch and rose.
"I'm very sorry about uncle—but it's just like him."
"Yes, isn't it?" Richard answered, and they exchanged a smile.