“No, Luke, no; our usual time,” said his brother mildly.
“You will sit down and have some, uncle?”
“No, Louy, no,” he replied, nodding his head and looking a little less hard at her. “I’ve had some bread and skim milk, and I’m just off to catch my dinner. The idiot know?”
“My dear Luke!” said his brother mildly, as Uncle Luke made a gesture upward towards Aunt Marguerite’s room; “why will you strive to increase the breach between you and our sister?”
“Well, she tells every one that I’m mad. Why shouldn’t I call her an idiot? But nice goings on, these. Wonder you’re all alive.”
“Then you have heard?”
“Heard? Of course. If I hadn’t I could have read it in your faces. Look here, sir,” he cried, turning sharply on his nephew, “where were you last night?”
Harry clutched the table-cloth that hung into his lap.
“I? Last night?” he faltered.
“Yes; didn’t I speak plainly? Where were you last night? Why weren’t you down at Van Heldre’s, behaving like a man, and fight for your master along with your henchman?”