The Haute Noblesse: A Novel. Fenn George Manville
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I said that I couldn’t do anything, and that I wouldn’t do anything if I could: but that I wouldn’t stand in your way if you liked to try.”
“Yes, I know what you said,” grumbled Pradelle, as they strolled down to the shore, went round the rocks, and then strolled on over and amongst the shingle and sand, till – a suitable spot presenting itself, about half a mile from the town – they sat down on the soft sand, tilted their hats over their eyes, leaned their backs against a huge stone, and then lit up and began to smoke.
“You see, it’s like this,” said Pradelle; “I know I’m not much of a catch, but I like her, and that ought to make up for a great deal.”
“Yes,” said Harry, whose mind was wandering elsewhere, and he was hesitating as to whether he should take his friend into his counsels or not.
“She don’t know her own mind, that’s about it,” continued Pradelle; “and a word from you might do a deal.”
“Got any money, Vic?”
“Now there’s a mean sort of a question to ask a friend! Have I got any money? As if a man must be made of money before he may look at his old chum’s sister.”
“I wasn’t thinking about her, but of something else,” said Harry hastily.
“Ah, well, I wasn’t. I’ve got a little bit of an income, a modest one I suppose you’d call it, and – but look there!”
“What at?” said Harry, whose eyes were shut, and his thoughts far away.
“Them. They’re going for a walk. Why, Hal, old chap, they saw us come down here.”
Harry started into wakefulness, and realised the fact that his sister and Madelaine Van Heldre were passing before them, but down by the water’s edge, while the young men were close up under the towering cliff.
“Let’s follow them,” said Pradelle eagerly.
“Wait a moment.”
Harry waited to think, and scraps of his aunt’s remarks floated through his brain respecting the fair daughters of France, who would fall at the feet of the young count when he succeeded to his property, and the castle in the air which she reconstructed for him to see mentally.
Harry cogitated. The daughters of France were no doubt very lovely, but they were imaginative; and though Madelaine Van Heldre might, as his aunt said, not be of the pure Huguenot blood, still that fact did not seem to matter to him. For that was not imagination before him, but the bright, natural, clever girl whom he had known from childhood, his old playfellow, who had always seemed to supply a something wanting in his mental organisation, the girl who had led him and influenced his career, and whom he now told himself he loved very dearly, principally because he felt bound to look up to her and submit to all she said.
It was a very raw, green, and acrid kind of love, though Harry Vine was not aware of the fact, and he leaped to his feet.
“Bother Aunt Marguerite!” he said to himself, and then a loud, “Come along!” in happy ignorance of the fact that his good genius had prepared for him an antidote for the poison of vanity lately administered by his aunt.
Chapter Six
Harry Vine Speaks Plainly; So Does His Friend
In perfect ignorance of their presence, Louise and Madelaine went on down by the water’s edge, picking their way among the rocks with an activity that would have startled some of their contemporaries, whose high heeled shoes and non perpendicular walk would have rendered such progress impossible. They were in profound ignorance of the fact that they were followed at a distance of about a couple of hundred yards, for Harry kept back his more eager friend, partly from a peculiar shrinking of a duplex nature, relating as it did to whether he was doing right in letting Pradelle make such very pronounced approaches to his sister, and the reception his own words would have upon Madelaine.
The two friends female were then in profound ignorance of the fact that they were watched, so were the two friends male.
For some time past the owner of the mine high up on the cliff, whose engine shaft went trailing along the ground like a huge serpent, higher and higher, till it reared its head for a landmark on the hill overlooking the sea, had for some time past been awakening to the fact that he had a heart, and that this heart was a good deal moved by Louise Vine. Till now he had been a thoroughly energetic man of business, but after the first introduction to the Vine family his business energy seemed to receive an impetus. He was working for her, everything might be for her.
Then came Pradelle upon the scene, and the young Scot was not long in seeing that the brother’s London friend was also impressed, and that his advances found favour with Harry. Whether they did with the sister he could not tell.
The consequence was that there was a good deal of indecision on Duncan Leslie’s part, some neglect of his busy mine, and a good deal of use of a double glass, which was supposed to be kept in a room, half office, half study and laboratory, for the purpose of scanning the shipping coming into port.
On the day in question the glass was being applied to a purpose rather reprehensible, perhaps, but with some excuse of helping Duncan Leslie’s affair of the heart. From his window he could see the old granite-built house, and with interruptions, due to rocks and doublings and jutting pieces of cliff, a great deal of the winding and zig-zag path, half steps, which led down to the shore.
As, then, was frequently the case, the glass was directed toward the residence of the Vines, and Duncan Leslie saw Louise and Madelaine go down to the sea, stand watching the receding tide, and then go off west.
After gazing through the glass for a time he laid it down, with his heart beating faster than usual, as he debated within himself whether he should go down to the shore and follow them.
It was a hard fight, and inclination was rapidly mastering etiquette, when two figures, hitherto concealed came into view from beneath the cliff and began to follow the ladies.
Duncan Leslie’s eyes flashed as he caught up the glass again, and after looking through it for a few minutes he closed it and threw it down.
“I’m making a fool of myself,” he said bitterly. “Better attend to my business and think about it no more.”
The desire was upon him to focus the glass again and watch what took place, but he turned away with an angry ejaculation and put the glass in its case.
“I might have known better,” he said, “and it would be like playing the spy.”
He strode out and went to his engine-house, forcing himself to take an interest in what was going on, and wishing the while that he had not used that glass in so reprehensible a way.
Oddly enough, just at that moment Uncle Luke was seated outside the door of his little cottage in its niche of the cliff below the mine, and wishing for this very glass.
His was a cottage of the roughest construction, which he had bought some years before of an old fisherman; and his seat – he could not afford chairs, he said – was a rough block of granite, upon which he was very fond of sunning himself when the weather was fine.
“I’ve a good mind to go and ask Leslie to lend me his glass,” muttered the old man. “No. He’d only begin asking favours of me. But all that ought to be stopped. Wonder whether George knows. What’s Van Heldre about? As for those two girls, I’ll give them such a talking to – the gipsies! There they go, pretending they can’t see that they are followed, and those two scamps making after them, and won’t close up till they’re round the point. Bah! it’s no business of mine! I’m not going to marry.”
Uncle Luke was quite right. Harry Vine and his friend were waiting till the jutting mass of cliff was passed – about a quarter of a mile to the westward, and they overtook the objects of their pursuit just as a consultation was taking place as to whether they should sit down and rest.
“Yes, let’s sit down,” said Madelaine, turning round. “Oh!”
“What is it? sprained your ankle?”
“No. Mr Pradelle