“Mr Vine,” said Leslie hotly, “I cannot stay here to discuss this matter with Miss Vine.”
“Miss Marguerite Vine,” said the old lady with an aggravating smile.
Leslie gave an impatient stamp with one foot, essayed to speak, and choking with disappointment and anger, failed, and hurried out of the house.
“Such insufferable insolence! And at a time like this,” cried Aunt Marguerite, contemptuously, as her brother with a curiously absorbed look upon his face began to pace the room. “He has sent the poor girl sobbing to her room.”
“Louise has not engaged herself to this man, Marguerite?”
“Engaged herself. Pah! You should have been here. Am I to sit still and witness another wreck in our unhappy family through your weakness and imbecility? Mr Leslie has had his answer, however. He will not come again.”
She swept out of the room, leaving her brother gazing vacantly before him.
“She seems almost to have forgotten poor Harry. I thought she would have taken it more to heart. But Monsieur De Ligny—Monsieur De Ligny? I cannot think. Another time I shall remember all, I dare say. Ah, my darling,” he cried eagerly, as Louise re-entered the room. “You heard what Mr Leslie said?”
“Yes, father.”
“And refused him?”