Madelaine Van Heldre had seen the object of Uncle Luke’s vexation before he called attention to it; and at the first glance her eyes had lit up with pleasure, but only to give place to an anxious, troubled look, and faint lines came across her brow.
“Why, it is only Harry with his friend,” said Louise quietly.
“Yes: flopping and splashing about in the boat. There will not be a fish left when they’ve done.”
“I’ll tell them to land at the lower stairs,” said Louise eagerly.
“No; let ’em come and do their worst,” said the old man, with quite a snarl. “Why doesn’t Harry row, instead of letting that miserable cockney fool about with an oar?”
“Miserable cockney!” said Duncan Leslie to himself; and his face, which had been overcast, brightened a little as he scanned the boat coming from the harbour.
“Mr Pradelle likes exercise,” said Louise quietly.
Duncan’s face grew dull again.
“Then I wish he would take it in London,” said the old man, “jumping over his desk or using his pen, and not come here.”
The water glistened and sparkled with the vigorous strokes given by the two young men who propelled the boat, and quickly after there was a grating noise as the bows ground against the rocks of the point and a young man in white flannels leaped ashore, while his companion after awkwardly laying in his oar followed the example, balancing himself as he stepped on to the gunwale, and then, after the fashion of a timid horse at a gutter, making a tremendous bound on to the rocks.