With old-fashioned politeness, Aunt Marguerite tried to take Pradelle's attention from the accident. "Are you going for a walk this evening, Mr Pradelle?" "Yes," he said; "I daresay we shall smoke a cigar together after the labours of the day." Aunt Marguerite sighed and looked pained. "Tobacco! Yes, Mr Pradelle," she sighed; and she continued, in a low tone, "Do pray try to use your influence on poor Henri, to coax him from these bad pursuits." Harry was talking cynically to his sister and Madelaine, who had been pressed by Vine to stay, a message having been sent down to the Van Heldres to that effect. "The old story," he said to himself; and then, as he caught his sister's eye after she had gazed uneasily in the direction of her aunt; "yes, she's talking about me. Surely you don't mind that." He, too, glanced now in Aunt Marguerite's direction, as Pradelle talked to her in a slow, impressive tone. "Ah! no," said Aunt Marguerite, in a playful whisper, "nothing of the kind. A little boy and girl badinage in the past. Look for yourself, Mr Pradelle; there is no warmth there! My nephew cannot marry a Dutch doll." "Lover's tiff, perhaps," said Pradelle. "No, no," said Aunt Marguerite, shaking her head confidently. "Harry is a little wild and changeable, but he pays great heed to my words and advice. Still I want your help, Mr Pradelle. Human nature is weak. Harry must win back his French estates." "Hear that, Louie?" said Harry, for Aunt Marguerite had slightly raised her voice. "Yes, I heard," said Louise quietly. "Aunt is sick of seeing her nephew engaged in a beggarly trade." "For which Mr Henry Vine seems much too good," said Madelaine to herself, as she darted an indignant glance at the young man. "Oh, Harry, what a weak, foolish boy you are! I don't love you a bit. It was all a mistake." "I hate business," continued Harry, as he encountered her eyes fixed upon him. "Yes," said Louise coldly, as an angry feeling of annoyance shot through her on her friend's behalf. "Harry has no higher ambition than to lead a lap-dog kind of life in attendance upon Aunt Marguerite, and listening to her stories of middle-aged chivalry." "Thank goodness?" said Harry, as they rose from the table. "No, no, aunt, I don't want any coffee. I should stifle if I stopped here much longer." Aunt Marguerite frowned as the young man declined the invitation to come to her side. "Only be called a lap-dog again. Here Vic, let's go and have a cigar down by the sea." "Certainly," said Pradelle, smiling at all in turn. "Yes, the room is warm," said the host, who had hardly spoken all through the dinner, being deep in thought upon one of his last discoveries. Harry gave his sister a contemptuous look, which she returned with one half sorrowful, half pitying, from which he turned to glance at Madelaine, who was standing by her friend.