“Now, you are a tradesman, Mr Leslie—” continued Aunt Marguerite.
“Eh? I, a tradesman?” said Leslie, looking at her wonderingly. “Yes, of course; I suppose so; I trade in copper and tin.”
“Yes, a tradesman, Mr Leslie; but you have your perceptions, you have seen, and you know my nephew. Now, answer me honestly, is Mr Van Heldre’s business suitable to a young man with such an ancestry as Henri’s?”
Louise watched him wonderingly, and her lips parted as she hung upon his words.
“Well, really, madam,” he began.
“Ah,” she said, “you shrink. His French ancestors would have scorned such a pursuit.”
“Oh, no,” said Leslie, “I do not shrink; and as to that, I think it would have been very stupid of his French ancestors. Trading in tin is a very ancient and honourable business. Let me see, it was the Phoenicians, was it not, who used to come to our ports for the metal in question. They were not above trading in tin and Tyrian dye.”
Aunt Marguerite turned up her eyes.
“And a metal is a metal. For my part, it seems quite as good a pursuit to trade in tin as in silver or gold.”
Aunt Marguerite gave the young man a pitying, contemptuous look, which made Louise bite her lip.