“Yes, rejection and repulsion. Why do you ask me twice? How can hands stained with the ink of a counting-house, soiled with the grease of a wool-warehouse, ever again be permitted to come into contact with aristocratic palms?”
“There would be a difficulty, no doubt; still you are such a complete Seacombe in appearance, feature, language, almost manner, I wonder they should disown you.”
“They have disowned me; so talk no more about it.”
“Do you regret it, William?”
“No.”
“Why not, lad?”
“Because they are not people with whom I could ever have had any sympathy.”
“I say you are one of them.”
“That merely proves that you know nothing at all about it; I am my mother’s son, but not my uncles’ nephew.”
“Still—one of your uncles is a lord, though rather an obscure and not a very wealthy one, and the other a right honourable: you should consider worldly interest.”