“But knowing Harry as he does, uncle, and being so much younger than you are, would it not be better if he were working with you? We must try and save poor Harry from that dreadful fate.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Uncle Luke slowly. “There, have some tea.”
Then rising from his seat, he rang, and going to the writing-table sat down; and while Louise made a miserable pretence of sipping her tea, the old man wrote down something and gave it to the waiter who entered.
“Directly,” he said; and the man left the room.
“Yes, on second thoughts you are quite right, my dear.”
Louise looked up at him inquiringly.
“So I have telegraphed down to Hakemouth for Leslie to come up directly.”
Louise’s eyes dilated, and she caught his arm.
“No, no,” she whispered, “don’t do that. No; you and I will do what is to be done. Don’t send to him, uncle, pray.”
“Too late, my dear; the deed is done.”