“I am not very glad to see you, as you are sharp enough to guess,” said the squire, with a sneer. “You are not a relative to be proud of.”
“True enough,” said the other. “I see you are not afraid of hurting my feelings. However, I’ve had so many hard rubs that my feelings have got worn off, if I ever had any.”
“What is your object in coming down here, for I suppose you have an object?”
“Suppose I say that it is for the sake of seeing about the only relative I have in the world. There’s something in that, you know.”
“Not in this case. We may be cousins, but we are not friends, and never will be.”
“Come, that’s frank,—true, too, I dare say,” said Hartley Brandon, who didn’t appear by any means disturbed at the coldness of the squire. “Well, as you say, it wasn’t that. Blood’s thicker than water, they say, but there are plenty of people I like better than you, who are my cousin.”
“That is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” said the squire, coldly. “I don’t want to know what your object is not, but what it is.”
“I am rather seedy, as you see.”
“So it appears.”