style="font-size:15px;"> “Except my husband,” said Mrs Van Heldre, beaming.
“Nonsense, ma’am, I don’t trust him a bit. You do as I tell you, Van. Put those notes in your safe till I ask you for them. I had that bit of money in a company I doubted, so I sold out. I shall put it in something else soon.”
“You’re a queer fellow, Luke.”
“Eh? I’m not the only one of my family, am I? What’s to become of brother George when that young scapegrace has ruined him? What’s to become of Louie, when we’re all dead and buried, and out of all this worry and care? What’s to become of my mad sister, who squandered her money on a French scamp, and made what she calls her heart bankrupt?”
“Nearly done questioning?” said Van Heldre, doubling the notes longwise.
“No, I haven’t, and don’t play with that money as if it was your wife’s curl-papers.”
Van Heldre shrugged his shoulders, and placed the notes in his pocket.
“And as I was saying when your husband interrupted me so rudely, Mrs Van Heldre, what’s to become of that boy by and by? Money’s useful sometimes, though I don’t want it myself.”
“All! you needn’t look at me, Mr Luke Vine. It’s of no use for you to pretend to be a cynic with me.”
“Never pretend anything, ma’am,” said Uncle Luke, rising; “and don’t be rude. I did mean to come in and have some conger-pie to-night; now I won’t.”
“No, you didn’t mean to do anything of the sort, Luke Vine,” said Mrs Van Heldre tartly; “I know you better than that. If I’ve asked you to come and have a bit of dinner with us like a Christian once I’ve asked you five hundred times, and one might just as well ask the hard rock.”
“Just as well, ma’am; just as well. There, I’m going. Take care of that money, Van. I shall think out a decent investment one of these days.”
“When you want it there it is,” said Van Heldre quietly.
“Hope it will be. And now look here: I want to know a little more about the Count.”
“The Count?” said Mrs Van Heldre.
“My nephew, ma’am. And I hope you feel highly honoured at having so distinguished a personage in your husband’s service.”
“What does he mean, dear?”
“Mean, ma’am? Why, you know how his aunt has stuffed his head full of nonsense about French estates.”
“Oh! that, and the old title,” cried Mrs Van Heldre. “There, don’t say any more about it, for if there is anything that worries me, it’s all that talk about French descents.”
“Why, hang it, ma’am, you don’t think your husband is a Frenchman, and that my sister, who has made it all the study of her life, is wrong?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care whether my husband’s a Dutchman or a double Dutchman by birth; all I know is he’s a very good husband to me and a good father to his child; and I thank God, Mr Luke Vine, every night that things are just as they are; so that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Tut – tut! tut – tut! This is all very dreadful, Van,” said Uncle Luke, fastening his basket, and examining his old straw hat to see which was the best side to wear in front; “I can’t stand any more of this. Here, do you want a bit of advice?”
“Yes, if it’s good.”
“Ah! I was forgetting: about the Count. Keep the curb tight and keep him in use.”
“I shall do both, Luke, for George’s sake,” said Van Heldre warmly.
“Good, lad! – I mean, more fool you!” said Uncle Luke, stumping out after ignoring extended hands and giving each a nod. “That’s all.”
He left the room, closing the door after him as loudly as he could without the shock being considered a bang; and directly after the front door was served in the same way, and they saw him pass the window.
“Odd fish, Luke,” said Van Heldre.
“Odd! I sometimes think he’s half mad.”
“Nonsense, my dear; no more mad than Hamlet. Here he is again.”
For the old man had come back, and was tapping the window-frame with his stick.
“What’s the matter?” said Van Heldre, throwing open the window, when Uncle Luke thrust in the basket he carried and his stick, resting his arms on the window-sill.
“Don’t keep that piece of conger in this hot room all the morning,” he said, pointing with his stick.
“Why, goodness me, Luke Vine, how can you talk like that?” cried Mrs Van Heldre indignantly.
“Easy enough, ma’am. Forgot my bit of advice,” said Uncle Luke, speaking to his old friend, but talking at Mrs Van Heldre.
“What is it?”
“Send that girl of yours to a boarding-school.”
“Bless my heart, Luke Vine, what for?” cried the lady of the house. “Why, she finished two years ago.”
“To keep her out of the way of George Vine’s stupid boy, and because her mother’s spoiling her. Morning.”
Volume One – Chapter Thirteen.
To Reap the Wind
Late dinner was nearly over – at least late according to the ideas of the West-country family, who sat down now directly Harry returned from his office work. Aunt Marguerite, after a week in her bedroom, had come down that day, the trouble with Liza exciting her; and that maiden had rather an unpleasant time as she waited at table, looking red-eyed and tearful, for Aunt Marguerite watched her with painful, basilisk-like glare all through the meal, the consequence being a series of mishaps and blunders, ending with the spilling of a glass dish of clotted cream.
With old-fashioned politeness, Aunt Marguerite tried to take Pradelle’s attention from the accident.
“Are you going for a walk this evening, Mr Pradelle?”
“Yes,” he said; “I dare say we shall smoke a cigar together after the labours of the day.”
Aunt Marguerite sighed and looked pained.
“Tobacco! Yes, Mr Pradelle,” she sighed; and she continued, in a low tone, “Do pray try to use your influence on poor Henri, to coax him from these bad pursuits.”
Harry was talking cynically to his sister and Madelaine, who had been pressed by Vine to stay, a message having been sent down to the Van Heldres to that effect.
“The old story,” he said to himself; and then, as he caught his sister’s eye after she had gazed uneasily in the direction of her aunt; “yes, she’s talking about me. Surely you don’t mind that.”
He, too, glanced now in Aunt Marguerite’s direction, as Pradelle talked to her in
