“Wasn’t talking about that,” snapped out Uncle Luke. “That’s dead and buried and forgotten.”
“No, sir; not forgotten.”
“I said, ‘and forgotten.’”
Leslie bowed.
“Confound that woman!” continued Uncle Luke, after a pause. “Talk about Huguenot martyrs, sir; my brother George and that girl have lived a life of martyrdom putting up with her.”
“She is old and eccentric.”
“She has no business to be old and eccentric. Nobody has, sir; unless—unless he shuts himself up all alone as I do myself. I never worry any one; I only ask to be let alone. There, you needn’t sneer.”
“I did not sneer, sir.”
“No, you didn’t, Leslie. I beg pardon. You’re a good fellow, Leslie. True gentleman. No man could have done more for us. But only to think of that woman attacking poor George and me as soon as we got back from the funeral. Abused him for degrading his son, and driving him to his terrible death. It was horrible, sir. Said she would never forgive him, and drove Louise sobbing out of the room.”
Duncan Leslie winced, and Uncle Luke gave him a stern look.