Leslie bit his lip, and Madelaine gave the old man an imploring look; but in a mocking way, he went on.
“Now suppose I say to you two, what can be better than for you to join hands—partners for life you know, and—”
“Mr Luke Vine!” cried Leslie sternly, “setting aside the insult to me, is this gentlemanly, to annoy Miss Van Heldre with your mocking, ill-chosen jokes?”
“Hark at the hot-blooded Scotchman, Maddy; and look here how pleasantly and patiently my little Dutch doll takes it, bless her!”
He put his arm round Madelaine and held her to his side.
“Why, what are you ruffling up for in that fashion? Only a few minutes ago you were swearing that you hated Louie, and that you gave her up to the French nobleman—French nobleman, Maddy!—and I offer you a pleasant anodyne for your sore heart—and a very pleasant anodyne too, eh, Maddy? Ah, don’t—don’t cry—hang it all, girl, don’t. I do hate to see a woman with wet eyes. Now what have you got to sob about?”
“Is this helping us?”
“No. But I’m going to, little one. I was obliged to stick something into Leslie, here. He is such a humbug. Swore he didn’t care a bit for Louie now, and that he believed everything that was bad of her, and yet look at his face.”
“It is impossible to quarrel with you, sir,” said Leslie, with the look of a human mastiff.
“Of course it is,” cried Uncle Luke. “Well, Maddy, I’ve converted him. He sees now that it’s a puzzle we don’t understand, and he is coming up to town with me to solve the problem.”