'
I saw Uncle Silas's lip, eyelid, and thin cheek quiver and shrink, as if
with a thrill of tic-douloureux, as Doctor Bryerly spoke this unconsciously
insulting answer. My uncle had, however, the self-command which is learned
at the gaming-table. He shrugged, with a chilly, sarcastic, little laugh,
and a glance at me.
'Your note says _waste_, I think, sir?'
'Yes, waste--the felling and sale of timber in the Windmill Wood, the
selling of oak bark and burning of charcoal, as I'm informed,' said
Bryerly, as sadly and quietly as a man might relate a piece of intelligence
from the newspaper.
'Detectives? or private spies of your own--or, perhaps, my servants, bribed
with my poor brother's money? A very high-minded procedure.'
'Nothing of the kind, sir.'
My uncle sneered.
'I mean, sir, there has been no undue canvass for evidence, and the
question is simply one of right; and it is our duty to see that this
inexperienced young lady is not defrauded.'
'By her own uncle?'
'By anyone,' said Doctor Bryerly, with a natural impenetrability that
excited my admiration.
'Of course you come armed with an opinion?' said my smiling uncle,
insinuatingly.
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