“Hold your tongue!” cried Harry roughly, as the door re-opened, and Louise, looking slightly flushed, again took her place at the table.
“Aunt poorly?” said Vine.
“Oh, no, papa; she is having her breakfast now.”
“If you’re too idle to take up auntie’s breakfast, I’ll take it,” said Harry severely. “Don’t send it up by that girl again.”
“I shall always take it myself. Harry,” said Louise quietly.
The breakfast was ended; George Vine went to his study to feed his sea-anemones on chopped whelk; Pradelle made an excuse about fishing lines, after reading plainly enough that his presence was unwelcome; and Harry stood with his hands in his pockets, looking on as his sister put away the tea-caddy.
“Will you not be late, Harry?”
“Perhaps,” he said, ill-humouredly. “I shall be there as soon as old bottle nose, I daresay.”
“How long is Mr Pradelle going to stay?”
“Long as I like.”