Duncan Leslie was a sturdy, manly young fellow in his way, but he had
arrived at a weak period. He thought over his position, and what life
would become had he a wife at home he really loved; and in spite of
various displays of reserve, and the sneers, hints, and lastly the plain
declaration that Louise was to marry some French gentleman of good
family and position, Duncan found himself declaring that his ideas were
folly one hour, and the next he was vowing that he would not give up,
but that he would win in spite of all the Frenchmen on the face of the
earth.
"I must have a walk," he used to say. "If I stop poring over books now,
I shall be quite thick-headed to-morrow. A man must study his health."
So Duncan Leslie studied his health, and started off that evening in a
different direction to the Vines'; and then, in spite of himself, began
to make a curve, one which grew smaller and smaller as he walked
thoughtfully on.
"I don't see why I should not call," he said to himself. "There's no
harm in that. Wish I had found some curious sea-anemone; I could go and
ask the old man what it was--and have her sweet clear eyes reading me
through and through. I should feel that I had lowered myself in her
sight."
"No," he said, emphatically; "I'll be straightforward and manly over it
if I can."
"Hang that old woman! She doesn't like me. There's a peculiarly
malicious look in her eyes whenever we meet. Sneering fashion,
something like her old brother, only he seems honest and she does not.
I'd give something to know whether Louise cares for that French fellow.
If she doesn't, why should she be condemned to a life of misery? Could
I make her any happier?"
"I'll go home now."
"No, I--I will not; I'll call."
These questions had been scattered over Duncan Leslie's walk, and the
making up of his mind displayed in the last words was three-quarters of
an hour after the first.
"I'm no better than a weak boy," he said, as he strode along manfully
now. "I make mountains of molehills. What can he more natural and
neighbourly than for me to drop in, as I am going to do, for a chat with
old Vine?"
There was still that peculiar feeling of consciousness, though, to
trouble him, as he knocked, and was admitted by Liza, whose eyelids were
nearly as red as the ribbon she had bought.
The next minute he was in the pleasant homely drawing-room, feeling a
glow of love and pride, and ready to do battle with any De Ligny in
France for the possession of the prize whose soft warm hand rested for a
few moments in his.
"Ah, Miss Van Heldre," he said, as he shook hands with her in turn, and
his face lit up and a feeling of satisfaction thrilled him, for there
was something in matter-of-fact Madelaine that gave him confidence.
Aunt Marguerite's eyes twinkled with satisfaction, as she saw the
cordial greeting, and built up a future of her own materials.
"Miss Marguerite," said the young man ceremoniously, as he touched the
extended hand, manipulated so that he should only grasp the tips; and,
as he saluted, Leslie could not help thinking philosophically upon the
different sensations following the touch of a hand.
A growing chill was coming over the visit, and Leslie was beginning to
feel as awkward as a sturdy well-grown young tree might, if suddenly
transplanted from a warm corner to a situation facing an iceberg, when
the old naturalist handed a chair for his visitor.
"Glad to see you, Leslie," he said; "sit down."
"You will take some tea, Mr Leslie?"
Hah! The moment before the young man had felt ready to beat an
ignominious retreat, but as soon as the voice of Louise Vine rang in his
ears with that simple homely question, he looked up manfully, declared
that he would take some tea, and in spite of himself glanced at Aunt
Marguerite's tightening lips, his eyes seeming to say, "Now, then, march
out a brigade of De Lignys if you like."
"And sugar, Mr Leslie?"
"And sugar," he said, for he was ready to accept any sweets she would
give.
Then he took the cup of tea, looked in the eyes that met his very
frankly and pleasantly, and then his own rested upon a quaint-looking
cornelian locket, which was evidently French.
There was nothing to an ordinary looker-on in that piece of jewellery,
but somehow it troubled Duncan Leslie: and as he turned to speak to Aunt
Marguerite, he felt that she had read his thoughts, and her lips had
relaxed into a smile.
"Well, George, if you do not mind Mr Leslie hearing, I do not," said
Aunt Marguerite. "I must reiterate that the poor boy is growing every
day more despondent and unhappy."
"Nonsense, Margaret!"
"Ah, you may say nonsense, my good brother, but I understand his nature
better than you. Yes, my dear," she continued, "such a trade as that
carried on by Mr Van Heldre is not a suitable avocation for your son."
"Hah!" sighed Vine.
"Now, you are a tradesman, Mr Leslie--" continued Aunt Marguerite.
"Eh? I, a tradesman?" said Leslie, looking at her wonderingly. "Yes,
of course: I suppose so; I trade in copper and tin."
"Yes, a tradesman, Mr Leslie: but you have your perceptions, you have
seen, and you know my nephew. Now, answer me honestly, is Mr Van
Heldre's business suitable to a young man with such an ancestry as
Henri's?"
Louise watched him wonderingly, and her lips parted as she hung upon his
words.
"Well, really, madam," he began.
"Ah," she said, "you shrink. His French ancestors would have scorned
such a pursuit."
"Oh, no," said Leslie, "I do not shrink; and as to that, I think it
would have been very stupid of his French ancestors. Trading in tin is
a very ancient and honourable business. Let me see, it was the
Phoenicians, was it not, who used to come to our ports for the metal in
question? They were not above trading in tin and Tyrian dye."
Aunt Marguerite turned up her eyes.
"And a metal is a metal. For my part, it seems quite as good a pursuit
to trade in tin as in silver or gold."
Aunt Marguerite gave the young man a pitying, contemptuous look, which
made Louise bite her lip.
"Aunt, clear," she said hurriedly, "let me give you some more tea."
"I was not discussing tea, my dear, but your brother's future; and pray,
my dear child," she continued, turning suddenly upon Madelaine with an
irritating smile, "pray do not think I am disparaging your worthy father
and his business affairs."
"Oh, no, Miss Vine."
"Miss _Marguerite_ Vine, my child, if you will be so good. Oh, by the
way, has your father heard any news of his ship?"
"Not yet, Miss Marguerite," said Madelaine quietly.
"Dear me, I am very sorry. It would be so serious a loss for him, Mr
Leslie, if the ship did not come safe to port."
"Yes, of course," said Leslie; "but I should suppose, Miss Van Heldre,
that your father is well insured."
"Yes," said Madelaine quietly.
"There, never mind about Van Heldre's ship," said Vine pleasantly.
"Don't croak like a Cassandra, Margaret; and as to Harry, a year or two
in a good solid business will not do him any harm, eh, Leslie?"
"I should say it would do him a world of good."
"My nephew is not to be judged in the same light as a young man who is
to be brought up as a tradesman," said Aunt Marguerite, with dignity.
"Only a tradesman's son, my dear."
"The descendant of a long line of ennobled gentry, George; a fact you
always will forget," said Aunt Marguerite, rising and leaving the room,
giving Leslie, who opened the door, a _Minuet de la Cour_ courtesy on
the threshold, and then rustling across the hall.
Her brother took it all as a matter of course. Once that Marguerite had
ceased speaking the matter dropped, to make way for something far more
important in the naturalist's eyes--the contents of one of his glass
aquaria; but Louise, to remove the cloud her aunt had left behind,
hastily kept the ball rolling.
"Don't think any more about aunt's remarks, Madelaine. Harry is a good
fellow, but he would be discontented anywhere sometimes."
"I do not think he would be discontented now," she replied, "if his aunt
would leave him alone."
"It is very foolish of him to think of what she says."
"Of course it is irksome to him at first," continued Madelaine; "but my
father is not exacting. It is the hours at the desk that trouble your
brother most."
"I wish I could see him contented," sighed Louise. "I'd give anything
to see him settle down."
A very simple wish, which went right to Duncan Leslie's heart, and set
him thinking so deeply that for the rest of his visit he was silent, and
almost constrained--a state which Madelaine noted as she rose.
"Must you go so soon, dear?" said Louise consciously, for a terrible
thought crossed her mind, and sent the blood surging to her cheeks--
Madelaine was scheming to leave her and the visitor alone.
"Yes; they will be expecting me back," said Madelaine, smiling as she
grasped her friend's thoughts; and then to herself, "Oh, you stupid
fellow!" For Leslie rose at once.
"And I must be going too. Let's see, I am walking your way, Miss Van
Heldre. May I see you home?"
"I--"
"Yes, do, Mr Leslie," said Louise quietly.
"Ah! I will," he said hastily. "I want a chat with your father, too."
Madelaine would have avoided the escort, but she could only have done
this at the expense of making a fuss; so merely said "Very well;" and
went off with Louise to put on her hat and mantle, leaving Leslie alone
with his host, who was seated by the window with a watchmaker's glass in
his eye, making use of the remaining light for the study of some
wonderful marine form.
"She would give anything to see her brother settled down," said Leslie
to himself, over and over again. "Well, why not?"
Five minutes later he and Madelaine were going along the main street,
with Louise watching them from behind her father's chair, and wondering
why she did not feel so happy as she did half an hour before; and Aunt
Marguerite gazing from her open window.
"Ah!" said the old lady; "that's better. Birds of a feather do flock
together, after all."
But the flocking pair had no such thoughts as those with which they were
given credit, for directly they were outside, Duncan Leslie set
Madelaine's heart beating by his first words.
"Look here," he said, "I want to take you into my counsel, Miss Van
Heldre, because you have so much sound common-sense."
"Is that meant for a compliment, Mr Leslie?"
"No; I never pay compliments. Look here," he said bluntly, "you take an
interest in Harry Vine."
Madelaine was silent.
"That means yes," said Leslie. "Now to be perfectly plain with you,
Miss Van Heldre, so do I; and I want to serve him if I can."
"Yes?" said Madelaine, growing more deeply interested.
"Yes, it is--as the sailors say. Now it's very plain that he is not
contented where he is."
"I'm afraid not."
"What do you say to this?--I will not be a sham--I want to serve him for
reasons which I dare say you guess; reasons of which I am not in the
least ashamed. Now what do you think of this? How would he be with
me?"
Madelaine flushed with pleasure.
"I cannot say. Is this a sudden resolve?"
"Quite. I never thought of such a thing till I went there."
"Then take time to think it over, Mr Leslie."
"Good advice; but it is a thing that requires very little thought. I
cannot say what arrangements I should make--that would require
consideration--but I should not tie him to a desk. He would have the
overlooking of a lot of men, and I should try to make him as happy as I
could."
"Oh, Mr Leslie!" said Madelaine, rather excitedly.
"Pray do not think I am slighting your father, or looking down upon what
he has done, which, speaking as a blunt man, is very self-sacrificing."
"As it would be on your part."
"On mine? Oh, no," said Leslie frankly. "When a man has such an
_arriere pensee_ as I have, there is no self-sacrifice. There, you see
I am perfectly plain."
"And I esteem you all the more for it."
The conversation extended, and in quite a long discussion everything was
forgotten but the subject in hand, till Leslie said:--
"There, you had better sit down and rest for a few minutes. You are
quite out of breath."
Madelaine looked startled, for she had been so intent upon their
conversation that she had not heeded their going up the cliff walk.
"Sit down," said Leslie; and she obeyed. "Get your breath, and we'll
walk back to your house together; but what do you think of it all?"
"I cannot help thinking that it would for many reasons be better."
"So do I," said Leslie, "in spite of the risk."
"Risk?"
"Yes. Suppose I get into an imbroglio with Master Harry? He's as
peppery as can be. How then?"
"You will be firm and forbearing," said Madelaine gravely. "I have no
fear."
"Well, I have. I know myself better than you know me," said Leslie,
placing a foot on the seat and resting his arm on his knee, as he spoke
thoughtfully. "I am a very hotheaded kind of Highlander by descent, and
there's no knowing what might happen. Now one more question. Shall I
open fire on your father to-night?"
"That requires more consideration," said Madelaine. "We will talk that
over as we go back. Here is Harry," she said quickly, as that gentleman
suddenly burst upon them; and the walk back to Van Heldre's was
accomplished without the discussion.
"I'm afraid I've made a very great mistake, Miss Van Heldre," said
Leslie, as they neared the house.
"Don't say that," she replied. "It was most unfortunate."
"But you will soon set that right?" he added, after a pause.
"I don't know," said Madelaine quietly. "You will come in?"
"No; not this evening. We had better both have a grand think before
anything is said."
"Yes," said Madelaine; and they parted at the door--to think.
"Why, John," said Mrs Van Heldre, turning from the window to gaze in
her husband's face, "did you see that?"
"Yes," said Van Heldre shortly; "quite plainly."
"But what does it mean?"
"Human nature."
"But I thought, dear--"
"So did I, and now I think quite differently."
"Well, really, I must speak to Madelaine: it is so--"
"Silence!" said Van Heldre sternly. "Madelaine is not a child now.
Wait, wife, and she will speak to us."
Volume 1, Chapter XVI.