“Eh?” said Vine sharply, as he dragged his mind back from where it had gone under a tide-covered rock. “Oh, I see, about having that young man here. Well, Louie, it’s like this: I don’t want to draw the rein too tightly. Harry is at work now, and keeping to it. Van Heldre says his conduct is very fair. Harry likes Mr Pradelle, and they are old companions, so I feel disposed to wink at the intimacy, so long as our boy keeps to his business.”
“Perhaps you are right, dear,” said Louise.
“You don’t like Mr Pradelle, my dear?”
“No, I do not.”
“No fear of his robbing me of you, eh?”
“Oh, father!”
“That’s right; that’s right; and look here, as we’re talking about that little thing which makes the world go round, please, understand this, and help me, my dear. There’s to be no nonsense between Harry and Madelaine.”
“Then you don’t like Madelaine?”
“Eh? What? Not like her? Bless her! You’ve almost cause to be jealous, only you need not be, for I’ve room in my heart for both of you. I love her too well to let her be made uncomfortable by our family scape-grace. Dear me! I’m sure that it has.”
“Have you lost anything, dear?”