"Poor Uncle Luke!" she said softly. "I was right. He must have had some shock to change his life like this. Good night, dear Mr Vine. My dearest love to Louy." "Good night, my darling," he whispered huskily, and the next minute he was walking slowly away beside his brother in the direction of the turning up to the granite house. "Good night, Luke," said George Vine. "It is of no use to say come up." "Yes, it is," said Uncle Luke snappishly. "I want to see Louy, and have a decent cup of tea." "I am very glad," said his brother warmly. "Hah! that's right. Come more often, Luke. We are getting old men now, and it's pleasant to talk of the days when we were boys." "And be driven from the place by Madge with her pounce-box and her civet-cat airs. You kick her out, and I'll come often." "Poor Marguerite!" "There you go; encouraging the silly French notions. Why can't you call her Margaret, like a British Christian?" "Let her finish her span in peace, brother," said George Vine, whose visit to his old friend seemed to have brightened him, and made voice and step elastic. "We are crochety and strange too, I with my mollusc hobby, and you with your fishing." "If you want to quarrel, I'm not coming up." "Yes, you are, Luke. There, come often, and let poor Margaret say what she likes. We shall have done our duty by her, so that will be enough for us." "Hang duty! I'm getting sick of duty. No matter what one does, or how one tries to live in peace and be left alone, there is always duty flying in one's face." "Confession of failure, Luke," said his brother, taking his arm. "You have given up ordinary social life, invested your property, sent your plate to your banker's, and settled down to the life of the humblest cottager to, as you say, escape the troubles of everyday life." "Yes, and I've escaped 'em--roguish trades-people, household anxieties, worries out of number." "In other words," said Vine, smiling, "done everything you could to avoid doing your duty, and for result you have found that trouble comes to your cottage in some form or another as frequently as it does to my big house." Uncle Luke stopped short, and gave his stick a thump on the path. "I have done, Luke," said Vine quietly. "Come along; Louise will think we are very long." "Louise will be very glad to have an hour or two to herself without you pottering about her. Hah! what idiots we men are, fancying that the women are looking out for us from our point of view when they are looking out from theirs for fear of being surprised, and--" "Here we are, Luke. Come in, my dear boy." Uncle Luke grunted. "Oh, I don't know," he said, "it's getting late. Perhaps I had better not come in now." "The tea will be waiting," said his brother, holding his arm lightly as he rang. "Horribly dark for my walk back afterwards," grumbled Uncle Luke. "Really dangerous place all along there by the cliff. No business to be out at night. Ought to be at home."