The Haute Noblesse: A Novel. Fenn George Manville

at me, and thinking me weak; but it’s better to have my weakness than hers. Only fancy: ever since she formed that mad, foolish attachment for that French scoundrel, who coaxed the whole of her money away from her and then threw her over, has George Vine taken her to his home and let her tyrannise over him. A silly woman! Your father always said the man was a scamp. And, by the way, that Mr Pradelle, I don’t like him, my dear.”

      “Neither do I, mamma.”

      “That’s right, my dear; I’m very glad to hear you say so; but surely Louie Vine is not going to be beguiled by him?”

      “Oh, no.”

      “Ah, that’s all very well; but Luke Vine came in as he went by, to say in his sneering fashion that Louie and Mr Pradelle were down on the shore, and that you were walking some distance behind with Harry.”

      “Mr Luke Vine seems to have plenty of time for watching his neighbours,” said Madelaine, contemptuously.

      “Yes; he is always noticing things; but don’t blame him, dear. I’m sure he means well, and I can forgive him anything for that. Ah! here’s your father.”

      “Ah! my dears,” said Van Heldre cheerily. “Tired out.”

      “You must be,” said Mrs Van Heldre, bustling about him to take his hat and gloves. “Here do come and sit down.”

      The merchant went into the drawing-room very readily, and submitted to several little pleasant attentions from wife and daughter, as he asked questions about the bullfinch, laughing slily the while at Madelaine.

      Evening came on with Van Heldre seated in his easy chair, thoughtfully watching wife and daughter, both of whom had work in their laps; but Mrs Van Heldre’s was all a pretence, for, after a few stitches, her head began to nod forward, then back against the cushion, and then, as if by magic, she was fast asleep.

      Madelaine’s needle, however, flew fast, and she went on working, with her father watching her attentively, till she raised her eyes, let her hands rest in her lap, and returned his gaze with a frank, calm look of love and trust that made him nod his head in a satisfied way.

      “You want to say something to me, Maddy,” he said in a low voice.

      “Yes, papa.”

      “About your walk down on the beach?”

      Madelaine nodded.

      “You know I went.”

      “Yes; I saw you, and Luke Vine came and told me as well.”

      “It was very kind of him,” said Madelaine, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

      “Kind and unkind, my dear. You see he has no business – nothing to do but to think of other people. But he means well, my dear, and he likes you.”

      “I have often thought so.”

      “Yes; and you were right. He warned me that I was not to let your intimacy grow closer with his nephew.”

      “Indeed, papa!”

      “Yes, my dear. He said that I was a – well, I will not tell you what, for not stopping it directly, for that Harry was rapidly drifting into a bad course – that it was a hopeless case.”

      “That is not the way to redeem him, father.”

      “No, my dear, it is not. But you were going to say something to me?”

      “Yes,” said Madelaine, hesitating. Then putting down her work she rose and went to her father’s side, knelt down, and resting her arms upon his knees, looked straight up in his face.

      “Well, Maddy?”

      “I wanted to speak to you about Harry Vine.”

      There was a slight twitching about the merchant’s brows, but his face was calm directly, and he said coolly —

      “What about Harry Vine?”

      Madelaine hesitated for a few moments, and then spoke out firmly and bravely.

      “I have been thinking about his position, father, and of how sad it is for him to be wasting his days as he is down here.”

      “Very sad, Maddy. He is, as Luke Vine says, going wrong. Well?”

      “I have been thinking, papa, that you might take him into your office and give him a chance of redeeming the past.”

      “Nice suggestion, my dear. What would old Crampton say?”

      “Mr Crampton could only say that you had done a very kind act for the son of your old friend.”

      “Humph! Well?”

      “You could easily arrange to take him, papa, and with your firm hand over him it would do an immense deal of good.”

      “Not to me.”

      There was a pause during which Van Heldre gazed into his child’s unblenching eyes.

      “So we are coming at facts,” he said at last. “Harry asked you to interfere on his behalf?”

      Madelaine shook her head and smiled.

      “Is this your own idea?”

      “Entirely.”

      “Then what was the meaning of the walk on the beach to-day?”

      “Harry sought for it, and said that we had been playfellows from children, that he loved me very dearly, and he asked me to be his wife.”

      “The – ”

      Van Heldre checked himself.

      “And what did you say?”

      “That it was impossible.”

      “Then you do not care for him?” cried Van Heldre eagerly.

      Madelaine was silent.

      “Then you do not care for him?” said Van Heldre again.

      “I’m afraid I care for him very much indeed, father,” said Madelaine firmly; “and it grieves me so to see him drifting away that I determined to ask you to come to his help.”

      “Let me thoroughly understand you, my darling. You love George Vine’s son – your old friend’s brother?”

      “Yes, father,” said Madelaine, in a voice little above a whisper.

      “And he has asked you to be his wife?”

      “Yes.”

      “Tell me what answer you gave him?”

      “In brief, that I would never marry a man so wanting in self-respect and independence as he has shown himself to be.”

      “Hah!”

      It was a softly-uttered ejaculation, full of content.

      “He said that our parents were rich, that there was no need for him to toil as he had done, but that if I consented it would give him an impetus to work.”

      “And you declined conditionally?”

      “I declined absolutely, father.”

      “And yet you love him?”

      “I’m afraid I love him very dearly, father.”

      “You are a strange girl, Madelaine.”

      “Yes, father.”

      “Do you know what it means for me to take this wilful young fellow into my office?”

      “Much trouble and care.”

      “Yes. Then why should I at my time of life fill my brain with worry and care?”

      “Because, as you have so often taught me, we cannot live for ourselves alone. Because he is the son of your very old friend.”

      “Yes,” said Van Heldre softly.

      “Because it might save him from a downward course now that there is, I believe, a crisis in his life.”

      “And because you love him, Maddy?”

      She