'So, I suppose,' he said presently, 'that fellow really has been
ill?'
Adela was sitting in thought; she looked up with a shadow of
annoyance on her face.
'That fellow?'
'Eldon, you know.'
'I want to ask you a question,' said his sister, interlocking her
fingers and pressing them against her throat. 'Why do you always
speak in a contemptuous way of Mr. Eldon?'
'You know I don't like the individual.'
'What cause has "the individual" given you?'
'He's a snob.'
'I'm not sure that I know what that means,' replied Adela, after
thinking for a moment with downcast eyes.
'Because you never read anything. He's a fellow who raises a great
edifice of pretence on rotten foundations.'
'What can you mean? Mr. Eldon is a gentleman. What pretence is he
guilty of?'
'Gentleman!' uttered her brother with much scorn. 'Upon my word,
that _is_ the vulgarest of denominations! Who doesn't call himself
so nowadays! A man's a man, I take it, and what need is there to
lengthen the name? Thank the powers, we don't live in feudal ages.
Besides, he doesn't seem to me to be what you imply.'
Adela had taken a book; in turning over the pages, she said--
'No doubt you mean, Alfred, that, for some reason, you are
determined to view him with prejudice.'
'The reason is obvious enough.
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