“Let them,” said Aunt Margaret grandly. “By-and-by they will bow down. Let me see.”
The young man took a card-case from his pocket, on which was stamped in gold a French count’s coronet.
“Ah! yes; that is right,” said the old lady, snatching the case with trembling fingers, opening it, and taking out a card on which was also printed a coronet. “Comte Henri des Vignes,” she read, in an excited manner, and with tears in her eyes. “My darling boy! that will carry conviction with it. I am very glad it is done.”
“Cost a precious lot, aunt; made a regular hole in your diamond ring.”
“Did you sell it?”
“No; Vic Pradelle pawned it for me.”
“Ah! he is a friend of whom you may be proud, Henri.”
“Not a bad sort of fellow, aunt. He got precious little on the ring, though, and I spent it nearly all.”
“Never mind the ring, my boy, and I’m very glad you have the cards. Now for a little serious talk about the future.”
“Wish to goodness there was no future,” said Harry glumly.