"About what things?" was all that he was at first able to say.
The girl smiled. Stainton thought her smile wistful.
"The sort that fill these boxes," said Muriel: "the sort, I dare say, that uncle and aunt and Mr. Holt and I are."
He heard a shimmering sprite of regret in her voice: regret not that he did not care for these people, but that these people should be what they were.
"Don't include yourself in this lot," he answered.
He was immediately aware that his reply was scarcely courteous to his hosts, and so was she.
"You are hard on them," she said.
"Hadn't you just been hard on them, too?" he countered.
"Ah, yes, but they are my relatives. At least Uncle Preston and Aunt Ethel are. Family criticism is permitted everywhere."
He did not like her schoolgirlish attempt at epigram, and he showed his disapproval.