Then rising from his seat, he rang, and going to the writing-table sat down; and while Louise made a miserable pretence of sipping her tea, the old man wrote down something and gave it to the waiter who entered.
“Directly,” he said; and the man left the room.
“Yes, on second thoughts you are quite right, my dear.”
Louise looked up at him inquiringly.
“So I have telegraphed down to Hakemouth for Leslie to come up directly.”
Louise’s eyes dilated, and she caught his arm.
“No, no,” she whispered, “don’t do that. No; you and I will do what is to be done. Don’t send to him, uncle, pray.”
“Too late, my dear; the deed is done.”
Just then the waiter re-entered.
“Telegram, sir.”