‘I want to ask you a question,’ said his sister, interlocking her fingers and pressing them against her throat. ‘Why do you always speak in a contemptuous way of Mr. Eldon?’
‘You know I don’t like the individual.’
‘What cause has “the individual” given you?’
‘He’s a snob.’
‘I’m not sure that I know what that means,’ replied Adela, after thinking for a moment with downcast eyes.
‘Because you never read anything. He’s a fellow who raises a great edifice of pretence on rotten foundations.’
‘What can you mean? Mr. Eldon is a gentleman. What pretence is he guilty of?’
‘Gentleman!’ uttered her brother with much scorn. ‘Upon my word, that is the vulgarest of denominations! Who doesn’t call himself so nowadays! A man’s a man, I take it, and what need is there to lengthen the name? Thank the powers, we don’t live in feudal ages. Besides, he doesn’t seem to me to be what you imply.’
Adela had taken a book; in turning over the pages, she said—
‘No doubt you mean, Alfred, that, for some reason, you are determined to view him with prejudice.’