"Going? Where?" he replied dreamily. "On the Continent for our change." "We shall not go on the Continent, Marguerite," he said gravely. "I shall not think of leaving here." Aunt Marguerite rose from the table, and gazed at her brother, as if not sure that she had heard aright. Then she turned to her niece, to look at her with questioning eyes, but to gain no information there, for Louise bent down over the work she had taken from a stand. "Did you understand what your father said?" she asked sharply. "Yes, aunt." "And pray what did he say?" "That he would not go on the Continent." "What?" "That he would not leave home with this terrible weight upon his mind." Aunt Marguerite sat bolt upright in her chair for a few moments without speaking, and the look she gave her brother was of the most withering nature. "Am I to understand," she said at last, "that you prefer to stay here and visit and nurse your Dutch friend?" Her brother looked at her, but there was no trace of anger in his glance. Aunt Marguerite lowered her eyes, and then turned them in a supercilious way upon Louise. "May I count upon your companionship," she said, "if I decide to go through Auvergne and stay there for a few days, on my way to Hyeres?" "If you go, aunt?" said Louise wonderingly. "There is a certain estate in the neighbourhood of Mont d'Or," she continued; "I wish to see in what condition it is kept. These things seem to devolve now on me, who am forced to take the lead as representative of our neglected family." "For Heaven's sake, Marguerite!" cried Vine impetuously. "No--no, no," he muttered, checking himself hastily. "Better not--better not." "I beg your pardon, brother," she said, raising her glass. "Nothing--nothing," he replied. "Well, Louise, child, I am waiting," she continued, turning her eyes in a half-pitying, condescending way upon her niece. "Well? May I count upon you?" "Aunt, dear--" "It will do you good. You look too pale. This place crushes you down, and narrows your intellect, my child. A little French society would work a vast change in you." "Aunt, clear," said Louise, rising and crossing to her to lay her hands upon the old lady's shoulder, "don't talk about such things now. Let me come up to your room, and read to you a little while." Aunt Marguerite smiled. "My dear Louise, why do you talk to me like this? Do you take me for a child?" George Vine heaved a deep sigh, and turned in his chair. "Do you think I have lived all these years in the world and do not know what is best for such a girl as you?" "But indeed, aunt, I am not ill. I do not require a change." "Ah, poor young obstinacy! I must take you well in hand, child, and see if I cannot teach you to comport yourself more in accordance with your position in life. I shall have time now, especially during our little journey. When would it be convenient for you to be ready?" "Aunt dear! It is impossible; we could not go."