“What do you mean?”
“What Aunt Margaret says. That long Scotch copper-miner is no match for you.”
“Harry!”
“And I shall tell him this, if he comes hanging about here where he sees he is not wanted, and stands in the way of a gentleman of good French Huguenot descent, I’ll horsewhip him. There!”
He turned on his heel, and bounded up the old staircase three steps at a time.
“Oh!” ejaculated Louise, as she stood till she heard a sharp tap at her aunt’s door and her brother enter and close it after him. “Mr Pradelle, too, of all people in the world!”
“Ah, my darling,” cried Aunt Margaret, looking up from the tambour-frame and smoothing out the folds of her antique flowered peignoir. “Bring that stool, and come and sit down here.”
Harry bent down and kissed her rather sulkily. Then in a half-contemptuous way he fetched the said stool, embroidered by the lady herself, and placed it at her feet.
“Sit down, my dear.”
Harry lowered himself into a very uncomfortable position, while Aunt Margaret placed one arm about his neck, struck a graceful pose, and began to smooth over the young man’s already too smooth hair.