"Send that girl of yours to a boarding-school." "Bless my heart, Luke Vine, what for?" cried the lady of the house. "Why, she finished two years ago." "To keep her out of the way of George Vine's stupid boy, and because her mother's spoiling her. Morning." Volume 1, Chapter XIII. TO REAP THE WIND. Late dinner was nearly over--at least late according to the ideas of the West-country family, who sat down now directly Harry returned from his office work. Aunt Marguerite, after a week in her bedroom, had come down that day, the trouble with Liza exciting her; and that maiden had rather an unpleasant time as she waited at table, looking red-eyed and tearful, for Aunt Marguerite watched her with painful, basilisk-like glare all through the meal, the consequence being a series of mishaps and blunders, ending with the spilling of a glass dish of clotted cream. With old-fashioned politeness, Aunt Marguerite tried to take Pradelle's attention from the accident. "Are you going for a walk this evening, Mr Pradelle?" "Yes," he said; "I dare say we shall smoke a cigar together after the labours of the day." Aunt Marguerite sighed and looked pained. "Tobacco! Yes, Mr Pradelle," she sighed; and she continued, in a low tone, "Do pray try to use your influence on poor Henri, to coax him from these bad pursuits." Harry was talking cynically to his sister and Madelaine, who had been pressed by Vine to stay, a message having been sent down to the Van Heldres to that effect. "The old story," he said to himself; and then, as he caught his sister's eye after she had gazed uneasily in the direction of her aunt; "yes, she's talking about me. Surely you don't mind that." He, too, glanced now in Aunt Marguerite's direction, as Pradelle talked to her in a slow, impressive tone. "Ah! no," said Aunt Marguerite, in a playful whisper, "nothing of the kind. A little boy and girl badinage in the past. Look for yourself, Mr Pradelle; there is no warmth there! My nephew cannot marry a Dutch doll." "Lovers' tiff, perhaps," said Pradelle. "No, no," said Aunt Marguerite, shaking her head confidently. "Harry is a little wild and changeable, but he pays great heed to my words and advice. Still I want your help, Mr Pradelle. Human nature is weak. Harry must win back his French estates." "Hear that, Louie?" said Harry, for Aunt Marguerite had slightly raised her voice. "Yes, I heard," said Louise quietly. "Aunt is sick of seeing her nephew engaged in a beggarly trade." "For which Mr Henry Vine seems much too good," said Madelaine to herself, as she darted an indignant glance at the young man. "Oh, Harry, what a weak, foolish boy you are! I don't love you a bit. It was all a mistake." "I hate business," continued Harry, as he encountered her eyes fixed upon him.