"Oh! that, and the old title," cried Mrs Van Heldre. "There, don't say any more about it, for if there is anything that worries me, it's all that talk about French descents." "Why, hang it, ma'am, you don't think your husband is a Frenchman, and that my sister, who has made it all the study of her life, is wrong?" "I don't know and I don't care whether my husband's a Dutchman or a double Dutchman by birth; all I know is he's a very good husband to me and a good father to his child; and I thank God, Mr Luke Vine, every night that things are just as they are; so that's all I've got to say." "Tut--tut! tut--tut! This is all very dreadful, Van," said Uncle Luke, fastening his basket, and examining his old straw hat to see which was the best side to wear in front; "I can't stand any more of this. Here, do you want a bit of advice?" "Yes, if it's good." "Ah! I was forgetting about the Count. Keep the curb tight and keep him in use." "I shall do both, Luke, for George's sake," said Van Heldre warmly. "Good, lad!--I mean, more fool you!" said Uncle Luke, stumping out after ignoring extended hands and giving each a nod. "That's all." He left the room, closing the door after him as loudly as he could without the shock being considered a bang; and directly after the front door was served in the same way, and they saw him pass the window. "Odd fish, Luke," said Van Heldre. "Odd! I sometimes think he's half mad." "Nonsense, my dear; no more mad than Hamlet. Here he is again." For the old man had come back, and was tapping the window-frame with his stick. "What's the matter?" said Van Heldre, throwing open the window, when Uncle Luke thrust in the basket he carried and his stick, resting his arms on the window-sill. "Don't keep that piece of conger in this hot room all the morning," he said pointing with his stick. "Why, goodness me, Luke Vine, how can you talk like that?" cried Mrs Van Heldre indignantly. "Easy enough, ma'am. Forgot my bit of advice," said Uncle Luke, speaking to his old friend, but talking at Mrs Van Heldre. "What is it?" "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." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 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 stare all through the meal, the consequence being a series of mishaps and blunders, ending with the spilling of a glass dish of clotted cream.