"Hallo," he said, coming in after his usual unceremonious fashion. "How is he?" "Very, very much better, Luke Vine," said Mrs Van Heldre. "George is going up to see him as soon as he wakes." "George? My brother George? Oh, you're there, are you? How are you, George? How's the girl?" "Sit down, Luke Vine." "No, thank you, ma'am. Sit too much as it is. Don't get enough exercise." "You shall go up and see John, as soon as he wakes." "No, thankye. What's the use? I couldn't do him any good. One's getting old now. No time to spare. Pity to waste what's left." "Well, I'm sure," said Mrs Van Heldre bridling. "Of all men to talk like that, you ought to be the last. I'll go up and see whether he is awake." "Poor little woman," said Uncle Luke, as she left the room. "Always puts me in mind, George, of a pink and white bantam hen." "As good a little woman as ever breathed, Luke." "Yes, of course; but it's comic to see her ruffle up her feathers and go off in a huff. How's Lou?" "Not very well, Luke. Poor girl, she frets. I shall have to take her away." "Rubbish! She'll be all right directly. Women have no brains." George Vine looked up at him with an air of mild reproof. "All tears and doldrums one day; high jinks and coquetry the next. Marry, and forget all about you in a week." "Luke, my dear brother, you do not mean this." "Don't soap, George. I hate to be called my dear brother. Now, do I look like a dear brother?" "I shall never forget your goodness to us over our terrible trouble." "Will you be quiet? Hang it all, George! don't be such an idiot. Let the past be. The poor foolish boy is dead; let him rest. Don't be for ever digging up the old sorrow, to brood over it and try to hatch fresh. The eggs may not be addled, and you might be successful. Plenty of trouble without making more." "I do not wish to make more, Luke; but you hurt me when you speak so lightly of Louise." "A jade! I hate her." "No, you do not." "Yes, I do. Here's Duncan Leslie, as good a fellow as ever stepped, who has stuck to her through thick and thin, in spite of my lady's powder, and fan, and her insults." "Marguerite has been very sharp and spiteful to Mr Leslie," said George Vine sadly. "She's mad. Well, he wants to marry the girl, and she has pitched him over." "Has Louise refused him?" "He doesn't say so; but I saw him, and that's enough. Of course I know that at present--et cetera, et cetera; but the girl wants a husband; all girls do. There was one for her, and she is playing _stand off_ with him. Just like woman. He! he! he! he!" He uttered a sneering laugh. "Going to marry Madge's French count, I suppose--Monsieur le Comte de Mythville. There, I can't help it, George, old lad; it makes me wild. Shake hands, old chap. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings; but between ourselves, though I've never shown it to a soul, I was rather hit upon the idea of Leslie marrying Louise."