“Only a tradesman’s son, my dear.”
“The descendant of a long line of ennobled gentry, George; a fact you always will forget,” said Aunt Marguerite, rising and leaving the room, giving Leslie, who opened the door, a Minuet de la Cour courtesy on the threshold, and then rustling across the hall.
Her brother took it all as a matter of course. Once that Marguerite had ceased speaking the matter dropped, to make way for something far more important in the naturalist’s eyes—the contents of one of his glass aquaria; but Louise, to remove the cloud her aunt had left behind, hastily kept the ball rolling.
“Don’t think any more about aunt’s remarks, Madelaine. Harry is a good fellow, but he would be discontented anywhere sometimes.”
“I do not think he would be discontented now,” she replied, “if his aunt would leave him alone.”
“It is very foolish of him to think of what she says.”
“Of course it is irksome to him at first,” continued Madelaine; “but my father is not exacting. It is the hours at the desk that trouble your brother most.”
“I wish I could see him contented,” sighed Louise. “I’d give anything to see him settle down.”
A very simple wish, which went right to Duncan Leslie’s heart, and set him thinking so deeply that for the rest of his visit he was silent, and almost constrained—a state which Madelaine noted as she rose.
“Must you go so soon, dear?” said Louise consciously, for a terrible thought crossed her mind, and sent the blood surging to her cheeks—Madelaine was scheming to leave her and the visitor alone.