“I will _not_,” his wife retorted, angrily. “I may as well set my foot down first as last; he shall not come here to be a burden upon us. You have had your way about Stella; now I’ll have mine in this matter. One beggar in the house is enough.” “Ellen, how you are changed! When I first knew you, you were sweet-tempered and kind. I believe your life of unlimited indulgence and luxury has soured and hardened you,” Mr. Richards said, with a regretful sigh for the early days of his married life, when his wife was loving and lovable. “Thank you; your _compliments_ are not of a particularly ‘sweet’ nature,” she answered, scornfully. “Your uncle says he shall follow his letter immediately; he may arrive at any hour. What shall we do with him?” asked Mr. Richards, taking no notice of her sarcasm. “I don’t know—I don’t care. Tell him that the house is full of company—anything you please; only mind, _I_ will not be burdened with a half blind, decrepit old man;” and the excited woman flounced angrily from the room, leaving her husband sitting alone in sad and troubled thought. CHAPTER X. THE UNWELCOME GUEST. On the very evening of the day of that spirited discussion between Mr. and Mrs. Richards regarding the coming of the latter’s uncle, a railway carriage stopped before the door of their mansion, and an old man alighted. He was dusty and travel-stained; his hair and beard were white as snow; his clothing—a common business suit—considerably the worse for the wear; while he wore a dark-green visor or shade over his eyes, and appeared both weary and feeble. He inquired of the servant who answered his ring for Mrs. Richards, and was told in an indifferent, almost impudent, manner that she was “engaged.” “Humph!” ejaculated the visitor, lifting the green shade and giving the man a keen look; “where is your master?” “In the library,” was the rather more respectful answer. “Show me the way there,” commanded the stranger, authoritatively; and the servant turned with a subdued air to obey him, recognizing at once his superior in spite of the travel-stained, shabby clothing. Mr. Richards received his wife’s relative with every appearance of cordiality, although there was a restraint in his manner which could be felt rather than explained. “Ah, Uncle Jacob!” he said, as he shook him by the hand and took his hat from him; “we hardly thought you could arrive quite so soon. I should have looked for you to-morrow, however. Sit down—sit down; and, John,” turning to the man who had shown him in, “tell Mrs. Blunt to fix up a nice little supper and send it in here on a tray.” “Don’t put yourself out, George; anything will do for to-night. I am more tired than hungry,” the old man said, sinking into a luxurious chair with a weary sigh, and removing the green shade entirely from his eyes. Mr. Richards fidgeted and looked uneasy.