“Never mind what poor aunt says. Be a man—a frank, honourable man, Harry. It is the order of the true haute noblesse after all. You will try?”
“Please God, yes, Lou—so hard—ah, so hard.”
“That’s like my dear brother once again,” she cried, fondling him. “There, darling, I’m speaking to you like our mother would. Let me be young mother to you as well as sister. You will begin again?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered hoarsely; “from this moment, Lou, I will.”
“May I say more?” she said gently, as her hand played about his brow.
“Yes, anything, Lou; anything. I’ve been a fool, but that’s all over now.”
“Then about Mr Pradelle?”
“Curse Mr Pradelle,” he cried passionately. “I wish I had never brought him here.”
“Don’t curse, dear,” said Louise, with a sigh of relief. “Yes, there has been an ugly cloud over this house, but it is lifting fast, Harry dear, and we are all going to be very happy once again. Good-night.”
He could not speak; something seemed to choke him; but he strained her to his heart, and ran out of the room.