“I shall feel vexed if you refuse,” said Van Heldre quietly. “Come along, Luke, and dine with us. I’m depressed and worried to-day; be a bit neighbourly if you can.”
“Oh, I’ll come,” said the old man; “but it serves you right. Why can’t you be content as I am, instead of venturing hundreds and hundreds of pounds in ships on the sea? Here, come along, Leslie, and let’s eat and drink all we can to help him, the extravagant spendthrift.”
Van Heldre smiled, and they went along to the house together.
“The boy in yonder at work?” said Uncle Luke, giving a wag of his head toward the office.
“Yes,” said Van Heldre, and ushered his visitors in, the closed door seeming directly after to shut out the din and confusion of the wind-swept street.
“There, throw your mackintoshes on that chair,” said Van Heldre; and hardly had Leslie got rid of his than Mrs Van Heldre was in the hall, her short plump arms were round Leslie’s neck, and she kissed him heartily.
“God bless you!” she whispered with a sob; and before Leslie had well recovered from his surprise and confusion, Madelaine was holding one of his hands in both of hers, and looking tearfully in his face in a way which spoke volumes.
“Ah, it’s nice to be young and good-looking, and well off,” said Uncle Luke. “Nobody gives me such a welcome.”
“How can you say that!” said Madelaine, with a laugh. “Come, Uncle Luke, and we’re very glad to see you.”
As she spoke she put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his wrinkled cheek.