“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 a slow, impressive tone.
“Ah! no,” said Aunt Marguerite, in a playful whisper, “nothing of the kind. A little boy and girl badinage in the past. Look for yourself, Mr Pradelle; there is no warmth there! My nephew cannot marry a Dutch doll.”
“Lovers’ tiff, perhaps,” said Pradelle.
“No, no,” said Aunt Marguerite, shaking her head confidently. “Harry is a little wild and changeable, but he pays great heed to my words and advice. Still I want your help, Mr Pradelle. Human nature is weak. Harry must win back his French estates.”
“Hear that, Louie?” said Harry, for Aunt Marguerite had slightly raised her voice.
“Yes, I heard,” said Louise quietly.
“Aunt is sick of seeing her nephew engaged in a beggarly trade.”
“For which Mr Henry Vine seems much too good,” said Madelaine to herself, as she darted an indignant glance at the young man. “Oh, Harry, what a weak, foolish boy you are! I don’t love you a bit. It was all a mistake.”
“I hate business,” continued Harry, as he encountered her eyes fixed upon him.