Aunt Marguerite sat bolt upright in her chair for a few moments without speaking, and the look she gave her brother was of the most withering nature.
“Am I to understand,” she said at last, “that you prefer to stay here and visit and nurse your Dutch friend?”
Her brother looked at her, but there was no trace of anger in his glance.
Aunt Marguerite lowered her eyes, and then turned them in a supercilious way upon Louise.
“May I count upon your companionship,” she said, “if I decide to go through Auvergne and stay there for a few days, on my way to Hyères.”
“If you go, aunt?” said Louise wonderingly.
“There is a certain estate in the neighbourhood of Mont d’Or,” she continued; “I wish to see in what condition it is kept. These things seem to devolve now on me who am forced to take the lead as representative of our neglected family.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Marguerite!” cried Vine impetuously. “No—no, no,” he muttered, checking himself hastily. “Better not—better not.”
“I beg pardon, brother,” she said, raising her glass.
“Nothing—nothing,” he replied.