The grasp was needless, for Harry's rage was evaporating fast, and giving place to a desolate sensation of despair. "Look here," said Pradelle; "you've kicked that over. You can't ask him now." "No," said Harry, gazing at the departing figures, and trying to call up something about the fair daughters of France; "no, I can't ask him now." "Then look here, old fellow, I can't stand by and see you thrown over by everybody like this. You know what your prospects are on your own relative's showing, not mine; and you know what can be done if we have the money. You are not fit for this place, and I say you shall get out of it. Now then, you know how it can be done. Just a loan for a few weeks. Will you, or will you not?" Harry turned upon him a face that was ghastly pale. "But if," he whispered hoarsely, "if we should fail?" "Fail? You shan't fail." "One hundred," said Harry, hoarsely. "Well, I suppose so. We'll make that do. Now then, I'm not going to waste time. Is it yes or no?" Harry Vine felt a peculiar humming in the head, his mouth was hot and dry, and his lips felt parched. He looked Pradelle in the face, as if pleading to be let off; but there was only a cunning, insistent smile to meet him there, and once more the question came in a sharp whisper, "Yes or no?" "Yes," said Harry; and as soon as he had said that word, it was as if a black cloud had gathered about his life. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. MY AUNT'S BETE NOIRE. Duncan Leslie was a sturdy, manly young fellow in his way, but he had arrived at a weak period. He thought over his position, and what life would become had he a wife at home he really loved; and in spite of various displays of reserve, and the sneers, hints, and lastly the plain declaration that Louise was to marry some French gentleman of good family and position, Duncan found himself declaring that his ideas were folly one hour, and the next he was vowing that he would not give up, but that he would win in spite of all the Frenchmen on the face of the earth. "I must have a walk," he used to say. "If I stop poring over books now, I shall be quite thick-headed to-morrow. A man must study his health." So Duncan Leslie studied his health, and started off that evening in a different direction to the Vines'; and then, in spite of himself, began to make a curve, one which grew smaller and smaller as he walked thoughtfully on. "I don't see why I should not call," he said to himself. "There's no harm in that. Wish I had found some curious sea-anemone; I could go and ask the old man what it was--and have her sweet clear eyes reading me through and through. I should feel that I had lowered myself in her sight." "No," he said, emphatically; "I'll be straightforward and manly over it if I can."