The Haute Noblesse: A Novel

“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.”

Then, changing his manner —

“Oh, Lou, you can’t think what a life it is,” he cried impetuously.

“Why, Harry, it ought to be a very pleasant one.”

“What, with your nose over an account book, and every time you happen to look up, old Crampton staring at you as much as to say, ‘Why don’t you go on?’”

“Never mind, dear. Try and think that it is for your good.”

“For my good!” he said with a mocking laugh.

“Yes, and to please father. Why, Harry, dear, is it not something to have a chance to redeem your character?”

“Redeem my grandmother! I’ve never lost it. Why, Lou, it’s too bad. Here’s father rich as a Jew, and Uncle Luke with no end of money.”

“Has he, Harry?” said Louise thoughtfully. “Really I don’t know.”

“I’m sure he has – lots. A jolly old miser, and no one to leave it to; and I can’t see then why I should be ground down to work like an errand boy.”

“Don’t make a sentimental grievance of it, dear, but go and do your duty like a man.”

“If I do my duty like a man I shall go and try to recover the French estates which my father neglects.”

“No, don’t do that, dear; go and get my old school spelling-book and read the fable of the dog and the shadow.”

“There you go, sneering again. You women can’t understand a fellow. Here am I worried to death for money, and have to drudge as old Van Heldre’s clerk.”

“Worried for money, Harry? What nonsense!”

“I am. You don’t know. I say, Lou, dear.”

“Now, Harry! you will be so late.”

“I won’t go at all if you don’t listen to me. Look here; I want fifty pounds.”

“What for?”

“Never mind. Will you lend it to me?”

“But what can you want with fifty pounds, Harry? You’re not in debt?”

“You’ve got some saved up. Now, lend it to me, there’s a good girl; I’ll pay you again, honour bright.”

“Harry, I’ve lent you money till I’m tired of lending, and you never do pay me back.”

“But I will this time.”

Louise shook her head.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I believe you would pay me again if you had the money; but if I lent it you would spend it, and be as poor as ever in a month.”

“Not this time, Lou. Lend it to me.”

She shook her head.

“Then hang me if I don’t go and ask Duncan Leslie.”

“Harry! No; you would not degrade yourself to that.”

“Will you lend it?”

“No.”