"Never mind the ring, my boy, and I'm very glad you have the cards. Now for a little serious talk about the future." "Wish to goodness there was no future," said Harry glumly. "Would you like to talk about the past, then?" said the old lady playfully. "Wish there was no past neither," grumbled Harry. "Then we will talk about the present, my dear, and about--let me whisper to you--love!" She placed her thin lips close to her nephew's ear, and then held him at arm's length and smiled upon him proudly. "Love! Too expensive a luxury for me, auntie. I say, you are ruffling my hair so." "Too expensive, Henri? No, my darling boy; follow my advice, and the richest and fairest of the daughters of France shall sue for your hand." "I say, auntie," he said laughingly, "aren't you laying on the colour rather thick?" "Not a bit, my darling; and that's why I want to talk to you about your sister's friend." "What, Maddy?" he said eagerly; "then you approve of it." "Approve! Pah! you are jesting, my dear. I approve of your making an alliance with a fat Dutch fraulein!" "Oh, come, aunt!" said Harry, looking nettled; "Madelaine is not Dutch, nor yet fat." "I know better, my boy. Dutch! Dutch! Dutch! Look at her father and her mother! No, my boy, you could not make an alliance with a girl like that. She might do for a kitchen-maid." "Auntie!" "Silly boy!" "And she'll be rich some day." "If she were heiress to millions she could not marry you. As some writer says, eagles do not mate with plump Dutch ducklings. No, Henri, my boy, you must wait." Harry frowned. "That is a boyish piece of nonsense, unworthy the Comte des Vignes, my dear boy. But tell me--you have been with your father--what does he say now?" "The old story. I must go to work." "Poor George!" sighed Aunt Margaret: "always so sordid in his ideas in early life: now that he is wealthy so utterly wanting in aspirations! Always dallying over some miserable shrimp. He has no more ambition than one of those silly fish over which he sits and dreams. Oh, Henri, my boy, when I look back at what our family has been--right back into the distant ages of French history--valorous knights and noble ladies; and later on, how they graced the court at banquet and at ball, I weep the salt tears of misery to see my brother sink so low." "Ah! well, it's of no use, aunt. I must go and turn somebody's grindstone again." "No, Henri, it shall not be," cried the old lady, with flashing eyes. "We must think; we must plot and plan." "If you please, ma'am, I've brought your lunch," said a voice; and Liza, the maid, who bore a strong resemblance to the fish-woman who had accosted Uncle Luke at the mouth of the harbour, set down a delicately-cooked cutlet and bit of fish, all spread on a snowy napkin, with the accompaniments of plate, glass, and a decanter of sherry.