"Do you refer to your uncle, Benjamin?" asked Mrs. Oakley, not altogether pleased to hear Mr. Huxter spoken of in that style, though she felt no very warm attachment for him herself.
"I mean Mr. Huxter," said Ben, carelessly, breaking an egg as he spoke.
"He is your uncle."
"I don't mean to call him so. I'm ashamed of the relationship."
"He is my brother."
"That's your misfortune," said Ben. "All I know is, that I hope he won't darken our doors again."
"What have you against him?"
"He's a coarse, low man. He isn't a gentleman. You're a rich woman now, mother. You'd better cut his acquaintance. He won't do us any credit. You haven't invited him to come again, I hope."
"I don't think he will come again very soon."
"He'd better not. How can you expect people to forget that you were the late Mr. Oakley's house-keeper if you show them such a man as that as your brother?"