Breakfast-time, with George Vine quietly partaking of his toast, and
giving furtive glances at a _Beloe_ in a small squat bottle. He was
feeding his mind at the same time that he supplied the wants of his
body. Now it was a bite of toast, leaving in the embrowned bread such a
mark as was seen by the dervish when the man asked after the lost camel:
for the student of molluscous sea life had lost a front tooth. Now it
was a glance at the little gooseberry-shaped creature, clear as crystal,
glistening in the clear water with iridescent hues, and trailing behind
it a couple of filaments of an extreme delicacy and beauty that
warranted the student's admiration.
Louise was seated opposite, performing matutinal experiments, so it
seemed, with pots, cups, an urn, and various infusions and crystals.
Pradelle was reading the paper, and Harry was dividing his time between
eating some fried ham and glancing at the clock, which was pointing in
the direction of the hour when he should be at Van Heldre's.
"More tea, Louie; too sweet," said the head of the house, passing his
cup, _via_ Pradelle.
The cup was filled up and passed back, Louise failing to notice that
Pradelle manoeuvred to touch her hand as he played his part in the
transfer. Then the door opened, and Liza, the brown-faced, black-haired
Cornish maid, entered, bearing a tray with an untouched cup of tea, a
brown piece of ham on its plate, and a little covered dish of hot toast.
"Please, 'm, Miss Vine says she don't want no breakfast this morning."
The _Beloe_ bottle dropped back into George Vine's pocket.
"Eh? My sister ill?" he said anxiously.
"No, sir; she seems quite well, but she was gashly cross with me, and
said why didn't Miss Louie bring it up."
"Liza, I forbade you to use that foolish word--`gashly,'" said Louise,
pouring out a fresh cup of tea, and changing it for the one cooling on
the tray.
"Why don't you take up auntie's breakfast as you always do? You know
she doesn't like it sent up."
Louise made no reply to her brother, but turned to Pradelle.
"You will excuse me for a few minutes, Mr Pradelle," she said as she
rose.
"Excuse--you?" he replied with a peculiar smile; and, rising in turn he
managed so badly as he hurried to the door to open it for Louise's
passage with the tray, that he and Liza, bent on the same errand, came
into collision.
"Thank you, Mr Pradelle," said Louise, quietly, as she passed out with
the tray, and Liza gave him an indignant glance as she closed the door.
"Ha, ha! What a bungle!" cried Harry mockingly, as he helped himself to
more ham.
George Vine was absorbed once more in the study of the _Beloe_.
"Never you mind, my lord the count," said Pradelle in an undertone; "I
don't see that you get on so very well."
Harry winced.
"What are you going to do this morning?"
"Fish!"
"Humph! well to be you," said Harry, with a vicious bite at his bread,
while his father was too much absorbed in his study even to hear.
"You're going loafing about, and I've got to go and turn that
grindstone."
"Which you can leave whenever you like," said Pradelle meaningly.
"Hold your tongue!" cried Harry roughly, as the door re-opened, and
Louise, looking slightly flushed, again took her place at the table.
"Aunt poorly?" said Vine.
"Oh, no, papa; she is having her breakfast now."
"If you're too idle to take up auntie's breakfast, I'll take it," said
Harry severely. "Don't send it up by that girl again."
"I shall always take it myself. Harry," said Louise quietly.
The breakfast was ended; George Vine went to his study to feed his
sea-anemones on chopped whelk; Pradelle made an excuse about fishing
lines, after reading plainly enough that his presence was unwelcome; and
Harry stood with his hands in his pockets, looking on as his sister put
away the tea-caddy.
"Will you not be late, Harry?"
"Perhaps," he said, ill-humouredly. "I shall be there as soon as old
bottle nose, I daresay."
"How long is Mr Pradelle going to stay?"
"Long as I like."
There was a pause. Then Harry continued: "He's a friend of mine, a
gentleman, and Aunt Marguerite likes him to stay."
"Yes," said Louise gravely. "Aunt Marguerite seems to like him."
"And so do you, only you're such a precious coquette."
Louise raised her eyebrows. This was news to her, but she said nothing.
"The more any one sees of Pradelle the more one likes him. Deal nicer
fellow than that Scotch prig Leslie."
There was a slight flush on Louise Vine's face, but she did not speak,
merely glanced at the clock.
"All right; I'm not going yet."