“He would come, George Vine;” and the giver of these last kisses and warm tears did battle for the possession of the returned truant. “Maddy, my dear,” she cried reproachfully, and in a loud parenthesis, “let me have one hand. He ought not to have left the house, but he is so determined. He would come.”
“Well, Dutch doll, don’t I deserve a kiss?” cried old Luke grimly.
“Dear Uncle Luke!”
“Hah, that’s better. George, I think I shall go home with the Van Heldres. I’m starving.”
“But you can’t,” cried the lady of that house in dismay; “we are all coming up to you. Ah, Mr Leslie, how do you do?”
“Quite well,” said that personage quietly; and Madelaine felt Louise’s hand close upon hers spasmodically.
“Leslie! you here?” said George Vine eagerly.
“Yes; I came down from town in the same train.”
“Too proud to be seen with us, eh?” said Uncle Luke sarcastically, as there was a warm salute from the Van Heldres to one as great a stranger as the Vines.
“I thought it would be more delicate to let you come down alone,” said Leslie gravely.