"Miss Marguerite," said the young man ceremoniously, as he touched the extended hand, manipulated so that he should only grasp the tips; and, as he saluted, Leslie could not help thinking philosophically upon the different sensations following the touch of a hand. A growing chill was coming over the visit, and Leslie was beginning to feel as awkward as a sturdy well-grown young tree might, if suddenly transplanted from a warm corner to a situation facing an iceberg, when the old naturalist handed a chair for his visitor. "Glad to see you, Leslie," he said; "sit down." "You will take some tea, Mr Leslie?" Hah! The moment before the young man had felt ready to beat an ignominious retreat, but as soon as the voice of Louise Vine rang in his ears with that simple homely question, he looked up manfully, declared that he would take some tea, and in spite of himself glanced at Aunt Marguerite's tightening lips, his eyes seeming to say, "Now, then, march out a brigade of De Lignys if you like." "And sugar, Mr Leslie?" "And sugar," he said, for he was ready to accept any sweets she would give. Then he took the cup of tea, looked in the eyes that met his very frankly and pleasantly, and then his own rested upon a quaint-looking cornelian locket, which was evidently French. There was nothing to an ordinary looker-on in that piece of jewellery, but somehow it troubled Duncan Leslie: and as he turned to speak to Aunt Marguerite, he felt that she had read his thoughts, and her lips had relaxed into a smile. "Well, George, if you do not mind Mr Leslie hearing, I do not," said Aunt Marguerite. "I must reiterate that the poor boy is growing every day more despondent and unhappy." "Nonsense, Margaret!" "Ah, you may say nonsense, my good brother, but I understand his nature better than you. Yes, my dear," she continued, "such a trade as that carried on by Mr Van Heldre is not a suitable avocation for your son." "Hah!" sighed Vine. "Now, you are a tradesman, Mr Leslie--" continued Aunt Marguerite. "Eh? I, a tradesman?" said Leslie, looking at her wonderingly. "Yes, of course: I suppose so; I trade in copper and tin." "Yes, a tradesman, Mr Leslie: but you have your perceptions, you have seen, and you know my nephew. Now, answer me honestly, is Mr Van Heldre's business suitable to a young man with such an ancestry as Henri's?" Louise watched him wonderingly, and her lips parted as she hung upon his words. "Well, really, madam," he began. "Ah," she said, "you shrink. His French ancestors would have scorned such a pursuit." "Oh, no," said Leslie, "I do not shrink; and as to that, I think it would have been very stupid of his French ancestors. Trading in tin is a very ancient and honourable business. Let me see, it was the Phoenicians, was it not, who used to come to our ports for the metal in question? They were not above trading in tin and Tyrian dye." Aunt Marguerite turned up her eyes.