“Perhaps I'd better invite him round to dinner tomorrow,” said Thomas, sarcastically.
“I wish you would.”
“Thomas will do no such thing!” said Mrs. Stanton, decidedly. “It's my opinion that the less notice we take of him the better. Your father is in good circumstances, to be sure, but whatever he is able to do, ought, of right, to go to his own family. We don't want any poor relations coming here to get their living out of us.”
“Just my sentiments, mother,” said Tom Stanton, approvingly.
“It doesn't seem quite right,” said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, “to neglect my sister's child.”
“Don't make yourself ridiculous with your scruples, Mr. Stanton,” said his wife. “It's the boy's duty to take care of himself. It would only do him harm, and lead to false expectations, if we allowed him the run of the house.”
“Besides,” said Tom, “I shouldn't want to have Tom Paget and Percy Mortimer, and other fellows that I associate with, ask me who he is, and have to tell them that he is my cousin.”
This argument had considerable weight with Mr. Stanton, who was anxious to elevate himself in society, and looked with complacency upon the school acquaintances Tom had formed with the scions of distinguished families.
“Well,” said he, rising from the table, “let it be as you will. We won't go out of our way to invite the boy here, but if he presents himself, as he doubtless will, we must take a little notice of him.”
“I don't see why he couldn't have stayed in the country,” said Mrs. Stanton. “It was the best place for him.”