The Haute Noblesse: A Novel. Fenn George Manville

cried Harry, and they were obliged to face round.

      There was no warm look of welcome from either, but Pradelle was too much of the London man of the world to be taken aback, and he stepped forward to Louise’s side, smiling.

      “You have chosen a delightful morning for your walk, Miss Vine.”

      “Yes, but we were just going back.”

      “No; don’t go back yet,” said Harry quickly, for he had strung himself up. “Vic, old boy, you walk on with my sister. I want to have a chat with Miss Van Heldre.”

      The girls exchanged glances, each seeming to ask the other for counsel.

      Then, in a quiet, decisive way, Madelaine spoke.

      “Yes, do, Louie dear; I wanted to speak to your brother, too.”

      There was another quick look passing between the friends, and then Louise bowed and walked on, Pradelle giving Harry a short nod which meant, according to his judgment, “It’s all right.”

      Louise was for keeping close to her companion, but her brother evidently intended her to have a tête-à-tête encounter with his friend, and she realised directly that Madelaine did not second her efforts. In fact the latter yielded at once to Harry’s manoeuvres, and hung back with him, while Pradelle pressed forward, so that before many minutes had elapsed, the couples, as they walked west, were separated by a space of quite a couple of hundred yards.

      “Now I do call that good of you, Maddy,” said Harry eagerly. “You are, and you always were, a dear good little thing.”

      “Do you think so?” she said directly, and her pleasant bright face was now very grave.

      “Do I think so! You know I do. There, I want a good talk to you, dear. It’s time I spoke plainly, and that we fully understood one another.”

      “I thought we did, Harry.”

      “Well, yes, of course, but I want to be more plain. We’re no boy and girl now.”

      “No, Harry, we have grown up to be man and woman.”

      “Yes, and ever since we were boy and girl, Maddy, I’ve loved you very dearly.”

      Madelaine turned her clear searching eyes upon him in the most calm and untroubled way.

      “Yes, Harry, you have always seemed to.”

      “And you have always cared for me very much?”

      “Yes, Harry. Always.”

      “Well, don’t say it in such a cold, serious way, dear.”

      “But it is a matter upon which one is bound to be cool and very serious.”

      “Well, yes, of course. I don’t know that people are any the better for showing a lot of gush.”

      “No, Harry, it is not so deep as the liking which is calm and cool and enduring.”

      “I s’pose not,” said the young man very disconcertedly. “But don’t be quite so cool. I know you too well to think you would play with me.”

      “I hope I shall always be very sincere, Harry.”

      “Of course you will. I know you will. We began by being playmates – almost like brother and sister.”

      “Yes, Harry.”

      “But I always felt as I grew older that I should some day ask you to be my darling little wife, and, come now, you always thought so too?”

      “Yes, Harry, I always thought so too.”

      “Ah, that’s right, dear,” said the young man flushing. “You always were the dearest and most honest and plain-spoken girl I ever met.”

      “I try to be.”

      “Of course; and look yonder, there’s old Pradelle, the dearest and best friend a fellow ever had, talking to Louise as I’m talking to you.”

      “Yes, I’m afraid he is.”

      “Afraid? Oh, come now, don’t be prejudiced. I want you to like Victor.”

      “That would be impossible.”

      “Impossible! What, the man who will most likely be Louie’s husband?”

      “Mr Pradelle will never be Louie’s husband.”

      “What! Why, how do you know?”

      “Because I know your sister’s heart too well.”

      “And you don’t like Pradelle?”

      “No, Harry; and I’m sorry you ever chose him for a companion.”

      “Oh, come, dear, that’s prejudice and a bit of jealousy. Well, never mind about that now. I want to talk about ourselves.”

      “Yes, Harry.”

      “I want you to promise to be my little wife. I’m four-and-twenty, and you are nearly twenty, so it’s quite time to talk about it.”

      Madelaine shook her head.

      “Oh, come!” he said merrily, “no girl’s coyness; we are too old friends for that, and understand one another too well. Come, dear, when is it to be?”

      She turned and looked in the handsome flushed face beside her, and then said in the most cool and matter-of-fact way:

      “It is too soon to talk like that. Harry.”

      “Too soon? Not a bit of it. You have told me that you will be my wife.”

      “Some day; perhaps.”

      “Oh, nonsense, dear! I’ve been thinking this all over well. You see, Maddy, you’ve let my not sticking to business trouble you.”

      “Yes, Harry, very much.”

      “Well, I’m very sorry, dear; and I suppose I have been a bit to blame, but I’ve been doing distasteful work, and I’ve been like a boat swinging about without an anchor. I want you to be my anchor to hold me fast. I’ve wanted something to steady me – something to work for; and if I’ve got you for a wife I shall be a different man directly.”

      Madelaine sighed.

      “Aunt Marguerite won’t like it, because she is not very fond of you.”

      “No,” said Madelaine, “she does not like fat Dutch fraüleins – Dutch dolls.”

      “Get out! What stuff! She’s a prejudiced old woman full of fads. She never did like you.”

      “Never, Harry.”

      “Well, that doesn’t matter a bit.”

      “No. That does not matter a bit.”

      “You see I’ve had no end of thinks about all this, and it seems to me that if we’re married at once, it will settle all the worries and bothers I’ve had lately. The governor wants me to go to business again; but what’s the use of that? He’s rich, and so is your father, and they can easily supply us with all that we should want, and then we shall be as happy as can be. Of course I shall work at something. I don’t believe in a fellow with nothing to do. You don’t either?”

      “No, Harry.”

      “Of course not, but all that toiling and moiling for the sake of money is a mistake. Never mind what Aunt Marguerite says. I’ll soon work her round, and of course I can do what I like with the governor. He’s so fond of you that he’ll be delighted, and he knows it will do me good. So now there’s nothing to do but for me to go and see your father and ask his permission. I did think of letting you coax him round; but that would be cowardly, wouldn’t it.”

      “Yes, Harry, very cowardly, and lower you very much in my eyes.”

      “Of course; but, I say, don’t be so serious. Well, it’s a bitter pill to swallow, for your governor will be down on me tremendously. I’ll face him, though. I’ll talk about our love and all that sort of thing, and it will be all right. I’ll go to him to-day.”

      “No,