“Oh, yes, relatives!” sneered the new earl, who did not even suspect that he was one.
“‘A little more than kin, and less than kind.’
There is no love lost between us, believe me.”
Hearing this, the rector did not consider it necessary to be very cautious in breaking this news. Nevertheless, he said:
“Let me give you your restorative before we say anything more about the letter.”
And he arose and poured out the draught, some powerful tonic, compounded of beef, coca and brandy, and administered it. Then he replaced the glass on the table and said:
“The letter is for you, my lord.”
“What the devil do you mean?” demanded the new earl.
“Will you take the letter and look at it? Have you light enough? Shall I draw up the shades?”
“No,” said the patient, taking the letter and squinting at it. “This is for my uncle, not for me. Though how it should have come here I can’t imagine.”