"Have a cigar, uncle?" said Harry, holding out his case. "I tell you we came on purpose to see you." "Humph!" said Uncle Luke, taking the handsome morocco cigar-case, and turning it over and over with great interest. "How much did that cost?" "Don't remember now: fifteen shillings I think." "Ah," said Uncle Luke, pressing the snap and opening it. "One, two, three, four; how much do these cigars cost?" "Only fourpence, uncle; can't afford better ones." "And a cigar lasts--how long?" "Oh, I make one last three-quarters of an hour, because I smoke very slowly. Try one one." "No, thankye; can't afford such luxuries, my boy," said the old man, shutting the case with a snap, and returning it. "That case and the cigars there cost nearly a pound. Your income must be rising fast." Harry and Pradelle exchanged glances. The reception did not promise well for a loan. "Cigar does you good sometimes." "Harry," said the old man, laughing and pointing at the case. "What's the matter, uncle?" said Harry eagerly; "want one?" "No, no. Why didn't you have it put on there?" "What?" "Crest and motto, and your title--Comte des Vignes. You might lose it, and then people would know where to take it." "Don't chaff a fellow, uncle," said Harry, colouring. "Here, we may come and sit down, mayn't we?" "Oh, certainly, if your friend will condescend to take a seat in my homely place." "Only too happy, Mr Luke Vine." "Are you now? Shouldn't have thought it," sneered the old man. "No wine to offer you, sir; no brandy and soda; that's the stuff young men drink now, isn't it?" "Don't name it, my dear sir; don't name it," said Pradelle, with an attempt at heartiness that made the old man half close his eyes. "Harry and I only came up for a stroll. Besides, we've just dined." "Have you? That's a good job, because I've only a bit of conger in the house, and that isn't cooked. Come in and sit down, sir. You, Harry, you'll have to sit down on that old oak chest." "Anywhere will do for me, uncle. May we smoke?" "Oh, yes, as fast as you like; it's too slow a poison for you to die up here." "Hope so," said Harry, whose mission and the climb had made him very warm. "Now, then," said Uncle Luke, fixing his eyes on Pradelle--like gimlets, as that gentleman observed on the way back; "what is it?" "Eh? I beg pardon; the business here is Harry's." "Be fair, Vic," said Harry, shortly; "the business appertains to both." "Does it really," said Uncle Luke, with a mock display of interest. "Yes, uncle," said the nephew, uneasily, as he sat twiddling the gold locket attached to his chain, and his voice sounded husky; "it relates to both." "Really!" said Uncle Luke, with provoking solemnity, as he looked from one to the other. "Well, I was young myself once. Now, look here; can I make a shrewd guess at what you want!"