“Well, Mr Pradelle?”
“Well, Miss Louy, I only wanted to say that some day you’ll find out who is your true friend. I want to help you both. I do, on my honour.”
“Your honour!” thought Louise.
“Have a little more confidence in a man if you can. I do want to help you. Good-bye.”
He held out his hand, and she felt constrained to give him hers, which he held, and, after glancing hastily at Harry, raised to his lips; but the kiss he imprinted was on the yielding air, for the hand was snatched indignantly away.
“You’ll know me better by-and-by,” said Pradelle; and giving her a peculiar look, he left the room.
Louise stood for a few minutes gazing after him, her brow knit and her eyes thoughtful. Then, going back to where her brother sat with his head resting upon his hand, she laid hers upon his shoulder.
“Harry, dear,” she said firmly, “that man is fighting against us.”
“Rubbish,” he cried impatiently. “You never liked Pradelle.”
“Better for you if you had hated him. Harry, he is striving to keep us here.”