"I think I will go out and meet them." Mrs.White lifted her eyes very slowly towards her son, and spoke in the measured syllables and unvibrating tone which always marked her utterance when she was displeased.
"Do you think you are under any obligation to do that?
Suppose they had hired a house of you in some other part of the town: would you have felt called upon to pay them that attention?
I do not know what the usual duties of a landlord are.

You know best." Stephen colored.

This was the worst of his mother's many bad traits,--an instinctive, unreasoning, and unreasonable jealousy of any mark of attention or consideration shown to any other person than herself, even if it did not in the smallest way interfere with her comfort; and this cold, sarcastic manner of speaking was, of all the forms of her ill-nature, the one he found most unbearable.

He made no reply, but stood still at the window, watching Mercy's light and literally joyful movements, as she helped her mother out of, and down from, the antiquated old carriage, and carried parcel after parcel and laid them on the doorstep.
Mrs.White continued in the same sarcastic tone,-- "Pray go and help move all their baggage in, Stephen, if it would give you any pleasure.

It is nothing to me, I am sure, if you choose to be all the time doing all sorts of things for everybody.