“No, Miss Van Heldre has not said a word; but your face is as plain as a newspaper, and I know what Maddy would say if anybody attacked my niece. There, what’s the use of talking? You will say with your lips that Louise is nothing to you now, and that you believe she has eloped with some French scoundrel.”
Leslie bit his lip and made an impatient gesture.
“While that noble countenance of yours, of which you are so proud, has painted upon it love and trust and hope, and all the big-boy nonsense in which young men indulge when they think they are only a half, which needs another half to make them complete.”
“I am not going to quarrel with you,” said Leslie, flushing angrily, all the same.
“No, my boy, you are not. You are coming with me, my unfortunate young hemisphere, to try and find that other half to which you shall some day be joined to make you a complete little world of trouble of your own, to roll slowly up the hill of life, hang on the top for a few hours, and then roll rapidly down. There, we have wasted time enough in talking, and I’ll hold off. Thank ye, though, Leslie, you’re a good fellow after all.”
He held out his hand, which Leslie slowly took, and Uncle Luke was shaking it warmly as Madelaine re-entered the room.
“Well,” said the old man grimly, “have you put the baby to bed?”
“Uncle Luke!” said Madelaine imploringly, “pray be serious and help us.”
“Serious, my girl! I was never so serious before. I only called Margaret a baby. So she is in intellect, and a very troublesome and mischievous one. Glad to see though that my little matter-of-fact Dutch doll has got the better of her. Why, Maddy, henceforth, you’ll be able to lead her with a silken string.”
“Uncle Luke dear—Louise,” said Madelaine imploringly.