“You don't what?” asked the other, rising and staring at him.
His nephew looked at his sister, and was silent.
“You don't mean what, man?—always speak out. Here, help me on with this coat. Fethertonge and I are taking a ride up tomorrow as far as Ahadarra.”
“That's a man I don't like,” said the nephew. “He's too soft and too sweet, and speaks too low to be honest.”
“Honest, you blockhead! Who says he's honest?” replied his uncle. “He's as good a thing, however, an excellent man of the world that looks to the main point, and—keeps up appearances. Take care of yourselves;” and with these words, accompanied with a shrewd, knavish nod that was peculiar to him, in giving which with expression he was a perfect adept, he left them.
When he was gone, the brother and his sister looked at each, other, and the latter said, “Can it be possible, Harry, that my uncle is serious in all he says on this subject?”
Her brother, who paid more regard to the principles of his sister than her uncle did, felt great reluctance in answering her in the affirmative, so much so, indeed, that he resolved to stretch a little for the sake of common decency.
“Not at all, Maria; no man relishes honesty more than he does. He only speaks in this fashion because he thinks that honest men are scarce, and so they are. But, by-the-way, talking about Hycy Burke, Maria, how do you like him?”
“I can't say I admire him,” she replied, “but you know I have had very slight opportunities of forming any opinion.”
“From what you have seen of him, what do you think?”