If there existed in his frigid breast one sentiment of kindness for any human creature, I think it was for her.
With women he was no favourite.

He had no respect for the sex, and I question whether he was ever in love in his life.

If he had ever owned a tender passion, it must have been in very early youth, before his heart got hardened and iced in the world.

My aunt seemed necessary to his comfort, his convenience, his vanity: however he might be disliked by others he was certain of her fidelity and attachment.

His respect for her was the one bright spot in his character, and even that was tarnished by a refined system of selfishness.
The only comfort I enjoyed during my cheerless childhood, I derived from her silent attention to my wants and wishes, which she gratified as far as she dared, without incurring the jealous displeasure of her exacting husband.
In private, Mrs.Moncton always treated me as her own child.