Tono-Bungay by H.G. Wells — Read

I do not remember much of my journey to Wimblehurst with my mother except the image of her as sitting bolt upright, as rather disdaining the third-class carriage in which we traveled, and how she looked away from me out of the window when she spoke of my uncle. "I have not seen your uncle," she said, "since he was a boy. " She added grudgingly, "Then he was supposed to be clever."

She took little interest in such qualities as cleverness.