“Thank you,” said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. “You needn’t mind me.”

“To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey,” pursued Mr. Murdstone, “rather than by letter. This unhappy boy who has run away from his friends and his occupation⁠—”

“And whose appearance,” interposed his sister, directing general attention to me in my indefinable costume, “is perfectly scandalous and disgraceful.”

“Jane Murdstone,” said her brother, “have the goodness not to interrupt me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasiness; both during the lifetime of my late dear wife, and since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit; a violent temper; and an untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister and myself have endeavoured to correct his vices, but ineffectually. And I have felt⁠—we both have felt, I may say; my sister being fully in my confidence⁠—that it is right you should receive this grave and dispassionate assurance from our lips.”