“Ah! it’s a puzzle—it’s a puzzle,” said Vine irritably. “One of the great difficulties of domestic service. I shall soon begin to think that your Uncle Luke is right after all. He has no troubles, eh, Louise?”
She looked up in his face with a peculiar smile, but made no reply. Her father, however, seemed to read her look, and continued,
“Ah, well, I dare say you are right, my dear; we can’t get away from trouble; and if we don’t have one kind we have another. Get more than our share, though, in this house.”
Louise smiled in his face, and the comical aspect of chagrin displayed resulted in a general laugh.
“Is one of the sea-anemones dead?”
“Yes, confound it! and it has poisoned the water, so that I am afraid the rest will go.”
“I think we can get over that trouble,” said Louise, laughing. “It will be an excuse for a pleasant ramble with you.”
“Yes,” said Vine dryly, “but we shall not get over the trouble of the thief quite so well. I’m afraid these Perrows are a dishonest family. I’ll speak to the girl.”
“No, father, leave it to me.”
“Very well, my child; but I think you ought to speak.”