“I thought he meant Vine’s girl,” said Van Heldre, as he walked along the wharves street, “but there is no accounting for these things.”
“I ought to explain to him how it was I came to be walking with Miss Van Heldre,” said Leslie to himself. “Good morning.”
He had suddenly found himself face to face with Harry, who walked by, arm in arm with Pradelle, frowning and without a word, when just as they passed a corner the wind came with a tremendous burst, and but for Leslie’s hand Harry Vine must have gone over into the harbour.
It was but the business of a moment, and Harry seemed to shake off the hand which held him with a tremendous grip and passed on.
“Might have said thank you,” said Leslie, smiling. “I seem to be doing quite a business in saving people this morning, only they are of the wrong sex—there is no heroism. Hallo, Mr Luke Vine. Come down to look at the storm?”
“Couldn’t I have seen it better up at home?” shouted the old man. “Ugh! what a wind. Thought I was going to be blown off the cliff. I see your chimney still stands, worse luck. Going home?”
“No, no. One feels so much unsettled at such a time.”
“Don’t go home then. Stop with me.”
Leslie looked at the quaint old man in rather an amused way, and then stopped with him to watch the tumbling billows off the point where his companion so often fished.