I met him on the stairs.

Oh! how like dear uncle Mel he looks, in the militia, with that moustache.

I just remember him as a child; and, oh, what a gentleman he is!' At the end of the sentence Mrs.Mel's face suddenly darkened: she said, in a deep voice: 'Don't dare to talk that nonsense before him, Ann.' Mrs.Fiske looked astonished.
'What have I done, aunt ?' 'He shan't be ruined by a parcel of fools,' said Mrs.Mel.

'There, go! Women have no place here.' 'How the wretches can force themselves to touch a morsel, after this morning!' Mrs.Fiske exclaimed, glancing at the table.
'Men must eat,' said Mrs.Mel.
The mourners were heard gathering outside the door.

Mrs.Fiske escaped into the kitchen.