“But you know, sir, he ought to have made some little advance in a month.”
“No, no, Crampton,” said Van Heldre, smiling, “he has not grown used to the new suit yet; have patience, and he’ll come right.”
“That’s enough, sir,” said Crampton, climbing on to a high stool in front of a well-polished desk; “now for business. The St. Aubyn has taken in all her cargo, and will sail to-morrow. We ought soon to have news of the Madelaine. By the way, I hope Miss Madelaine’s quite well, sir. Haven’t seen her for a day and a half.”
“Quite well, Crampton.”
“That’s right, sir,” said the old man, smiling, and rubbing his hands. “Bless her! I’ve only one thing against her. Why wasn’t she a boy?”
Van Heldre smiled at his old confidential man, who still rubbed his hands softly, and gazed over his silver-rimmed spectacles at a file of bills of lading hanging from the wall.
“What a boy she would have made, and what a man I could have made of him! Van Heldre and Son once more, as it ought to be. I’d have made just such a man of business of him as I made of you. Going, sir?”
“Yes, I’m going up to Tolzarn. By the way, send Mr Henry Vine up to me about twelve.”
“Yes, sir,” said Crampton, beginning to write away very busily. “I suppose he’ll come?”
“Of course, of course,” said Van Heldre, hastily, and leaving the office he went into the morning-room, where Madelaine was busy with her needle.