“Uncanny sort of man your uncle!”
Bayre started and looked round. It was Repton who was speaking; he had come up and joined his friends while Bayre was busy with the man in the boat.
“Who says it’s my uncle at all?” said Bayre, sharply.
“Why, you do. You addressed him by that affectionate appellation, though I admit he was not responsive to the appeal.”
Bayre stood up, angry and mortified.
“I made a mistake, of course,” said he. “Being full of this unknown uncle, I was quite ready to take for him the first man who seemed to answer to the description given of him.”
“Then why, if he wasn’t your uncle,” persisted Repton, inquisitively, “did he seem so much put out by your speaking to him? In fact, he seemed more than put out, he looked horror-struck.”
“He took me for a lunatic, I suppose,” said Bayre, uneasily.
“I don’t see why he should. After all, even if you had been a lunatic he could scarcely be afraid of you while he was in the boat and you on the pier!”
“Of course not,” put in Southerley, who had been watching and listening very attentively. “The old man’s Bayre’s uncle sure enough. Why, there’s no mistaking the likeness between them, for one thing. He’s got your long, straight, sharp chin, Bayre, and there’s something indefinable besides, which I take for a family likeness. No, the fact’s plain; he’s your uncle, but he’s in no hurry to acknowledge the relationship.”