“Ah, fool—fool—fool!” he exclaimed. “Can’t you keep out of those trammels? Louise? Yes, a nice girl—now; but she’ll grow up exactly like her aunt. We’re a half-mad family, Leslie. Keep away from us.”
“Mr Luke Vine—”
“No, no. You need not say anything. Be content as you are, young man. Women are little better than monkeys, only better-looking. Look at my sister. Told George last night that he was living under false pretences, because he signed his name Vine. Bah! she’s an idiot. Half mad.”
He turned sharply round from gazing out to sea, and looked keenly in Leslie’s face.
“Very well,” he said quickly. “I don’t care if you think I am.”
“Really, Mr Luke Vine, I—”
“Don’t trouble yourself to say it. You thought I wasn’t much better than my sister. I could see you did. Very well; perhaps I am not, but I don’t go dancing my lunacy in everybody’s face. Ah, it’s a queer world, Leslie.”
“No, sir; it is the people who are queer.”
“Humph! That’s not bad for you, Leslie. Yes; you are about right. It is the people who are queer. I’m a queer one, so my folks think, because I sent my plate to the bank, had my furniture in a big town house sold, and came to live down here. My sister says, to disgrace them all. There, I’m better now. Want to speak to me?”
“N-no, nothing very particular, Mr Vine.”