"What a boy she would have made, and what a man I could have made of him! Van Heldre and Son once more, as it ought to be. I'd have made just such a man of business of him as I made of you. Going, sir?" "Yes, I'm going up to Tolzarn. By the way, send Mr Henry Vine up to me about twelve." "Yes, sir," said Crampton, beginning to write away very busily. "I suppose he'll come?" "Of course, of course," said Van Heldre, hastily, and leaving the office he went into the morning-room, where Madelaine was busy with her needle. She looked at him in an inquiring way, to which he had become accustomed during the past month, and in accordance with an unwritten contract. "No, my dear, not come yet." Madelaine's countenance changed as she saw her father glance at his watch, and she involuntarily darted a quick look at the clock on the chimney-piece. "I'm going up to the works," continued Van Heldre. "Back before one. Morning." Madelaine resumed her work for a few minutes, and then rose to stand where, unseen, she could watch the road. She saw her father go by up the valley, but her attention was turned toward the sea, from which direction Harry Vine would have to come. She stood watching for nearly a quarter of an hour before she heard a familiar step, and then the young man passed smoking the end of a cigar, which he threw away before turning in at the way which led to Van Heldre's offices. Directly after, as Madelaine sat looking very thoughtful over her work, there was the quick patter of Mrs Van Heldre's feet. "Madelaine, my dear," she said as she entered, "I thought you said that Mr Pradelle had gone away a fortnight ago." "I did, mamma." "Well, then, he has come back again." "Back again?" "Yes, I was at the up-stairs window just now and I saw him pass as I was looking out for Harry Vine. He's very late this morning, and it does make papa so vexed." It was late, for instead of being nine o'clock, the clock in the office was on the stroke of ten as Harry Vine hurriedly entered, and glanced at the yellowy-white faced dial. "Morning, Mr Crampton. I say, that clock's fast, isn't it?" "Eh? fast?" said the old man grimly. "No, Mr Harry Vine; that's a steady old time-keeper, not a modern young man." "Disagreeable old hunks," said Harry to himself, as he hung up his hat. "Bad headache this morning, Mr Crampton, thought I shouldn't be able to come." "Seidlitz powder," said the old man, scratching away with his pen. "Eh?" "Dissolve the blue in a tumbler of warm water." "Bother!" muttered Harry, frowning. "The white in a wineglassful of cold. Pour one into the other--and-- drink--while effervescing." The intervals between some of the words were filled up by scratches of the pen. "Headache, eh? Bad things, sir, bad things."