Late dinner was nearly over--at least late according to the ideas of the
West-country family, who sat down now directly Harry returned from his
office work. Aunt Marguerite, after a week in her bedroom, had come
down that day, the trouble with Liza exciting her; and that maiden had
rather an unpleasant time as she waited at table, looking red-eyed and
tearful, for Aunt Marguerite watched her with painful, basilisk-like
glare all through the meal, the consequence being a series of mishaps
and blunders, ending with the spilling of a glass dish of clotted cream.
With old-fashioned politeness, Aunt Marguerite tried to take Pradelle's
attention from the accident.
"Are you going for a walk this evening, Mr Pradelle?"
"Yes," he said; "I dare say we shall smoke a cigar together after the
labours of the day."
Aunt Marguerite sighed and looked pained.
"Tobacco! Yes, Mr Pradelle," she sighed; and she continued, in a low
tone, "Do pray try to use your influence on poor Henri, to coax him from
these bad pursuits."
Harry was talking cynically to his sister and Madelaine, who had been
pressed by Vine to stay, a message having been sent down to the Van
Heldres to that effect.
"The old story," he said to himself; and then, as he caught his sister's
eye after she had gazed uneasily in the direction of her aunt; "yes,
she's talking about me. Surely you don't mind that."
He, too, glanced now in Aunt Marguerite's direction, as Pradelle talked
to her in a slow, impressive tone.
"Ah! no," said Aunt Marguerite, in a playful whisper, "nothing of the
kind. A little boy and girl badinage in the past. Look for yourself,
Mr Pradelle; there is no warmth there! My nephew cannot marry a Dutch
doll."
"Lovers' tiff, perhaps," said Pradelle.
"No, no," said Aunt Marguerite, shaking her head confidently. "Harry is
a little wild and changeable, but he pays great heed to my words and
advice. Still I want your help, Mr Pradelle. Human nature is weak.
Harry must win back his French estates."
"Hear that, Louie?" said Harry, for Aunt Marguerite had slightly raised
her voice.
"Yes, I heard," said Louise quietly.
"Aunt is sick of seeing her nephew engaged in a beggarly trade."
"For which Mr Henry Vine seems much too good," said Madelaine to
herself, as she darted an indignant glance at the young man. "Oh,
Harry, what a weak, foolish boy you are! I don't love you a bit. It
was all a mistake."
"I hate business," continued Harry, as he encountered her eyes fixed
upon him.
"Yes," said Louise coldly, as an angry feeling of annoyance shot through
her on her friend's behalf. "Harry has no higher ambition than to lead
a lap-dog kind of life in attendance upon Aunt Marguerite, and listening
to her stories of middle-aged chivalry."
"Thank goodness!" said Harry, as they rose from the table. "_No_, no,
aunt, I don't want any coffee. I should stifle if I stopped here much
longer."
Aunt Marguerite frowned as the young man declined the invitation to come
to her side.
"Only be called a lap-dog again. Here, Vic, let's go and have a cigar
down by the sea."
"Certainly," said Pradelle, smiling at all in turn.
"Yes, the room is warm," said the host, who had hardly spoken all
through the dinner, being deep in thought upon one of his last
discoveries.
Harry gave his sister a contemptuous look, which she returned with one
half sorrowful, half pitying, from which he turned to glance at
Madelaine, who was standing by her friend.
Aunt Marguerite smiled, for there was certainly the germ of an incurable
rupture between these two, and she turned away her head to hide her
triumph.
"She will never forgive him for speaking as he did about the beggarly
trade." Then crossing with a graceful old-world carriage, she laid her
hand on Madelaine's arm.
"Come into the drawing-room, my clear," she said, smiling, and to
Madelaine it seemed that her bright, malicious-looking eyes were full of
triumph. "You and I will have a good hard fight over genealogies, till
you confess that I am right, and that your father and you have no claim
to Huguenot descent."
"Oh no, Miss Vine," said the girl, laughing, "my father must fight his
own battle. As for me, I give up. Perhaps you are right, and I am only
a Dutch girl after all."
"Oh, I wish we were back in London!" cried Harry as they strolled along
towards the cliff walk.
"Ah, this is a dead-and-alive place, and no mistake," said Pradelle.
"Why don't you leave it, then?" said Harry sulkily. "You are free."
"_No_, I am not. I don't like to see a friend going to the bad; and
besides, I have your aunt's commission to try and save you from sinking
down into a miserable tradesman."
"Why don't you save me, then?"
"That's just like you. Look here, sink all cowardice, and go up to the
old boy like a Trojan. Plenty of money, hasn't he?"
"I suppose so. I don't know."
"He's sure to have."
"But he's such an old porcupine."
"Never mind. Suppose you do get a few pricks, what of that? Think of
the future."
"But that venture must be all over now."
"What of that? You get the money and I can find a dozen ways of
investing it. Look here, Harry, you profess to be my friend, and to
have confidence in my judgment, and yet you won't trust me."
"I trusted you over several things, and see how I lost."
"Come, that's unkind. A man can't always win. There, never look back,
look forward. Show some fight, and make one good plunge to get out of
that miserable shop-boy sort of life."
"Come along, then."
"You'll go up and ask him?"
"Yes, if you'll back me up."
"Back you up, lad? I should think I will. Lead on, I'll follow thee."
"We'll do it sensibly, then. If you speak before Uncle Luke in that
theatrical way we shall come down faster than we go up."
"I'll talk to the old man like a young Solomon, and he shall say that
never did youth choose more wisely for his friend than Harry Vine,
otherwise Henri, Comte des Vignes."
"Look here," said Harry peevishly--"`otherwise Comte des Vignes.' Why
don't you say _alias_ at once? Why, if the old man heard that he'd want
to know how long it was since you were in a police court. Here, you'd
better stay down here."
"All right, my dear fellow. Anything to help you on."
"No; I'd rather you came too."
There was a pause in a niche of the rocks, and then, after the
scratching of a match, the young men went up the cliff-path, smoking
furiously, as they prepared themselves for the attack.
Volume 1, Chapter XIV.