The Nonesuch

Chapter 18

She turned away her face, aware of her rising colour. He said reflectively: “I can’t recall that I was ever so blue deviled before.”

She knew that it was unwise to answer him, but she was stung into saying: “That, Sir Waldo, is—as you would say yourself—doing it rather too brown! You do not appear to me to be suffering from any want of spirits!”

He laughed. “Oh, no! Not since it occurred to me that you were blue deviled too!”

“To be thrown into a ditch is enough to blue devil anyone!” she retorted.

“What, twice?” he exclaimed. “I had no notion that such an accident had befallen you on the way to the ball!”

“It didn’t. Last night,” she said carefully, “I was not feeling at all the thing. I had the headache.”

“Again?” he said, in a voice of deep concern. “My dear Miss Trent, I’m persuaded you should consult a physician about these recurrent headaches of yours!”

She did her best to stifle it, but he caught the sound of the tiny choke of laughter in her throat, and said appreciatively:

“Do you know, I think that of all your idiosyncrasies that choke you give, when you are determined not to laugh, is the one that most enchants me. I wish you will do it again!”

Only the recollection that he must of necessity be expert in the art of seduction prevented her from complying with this request. Appalled to discover that in despite of upbringing and principles her every fibre was responsive to the Nonesuch’s wicked charm, she said, apparently addressing the ears of his leaders: “Sir Waldo, circumstance compelled me to accept a seat in your carriage. When I consented to go with you to Leeds, I trusted that chivalry—a sense of propriety—would prohibit you from entering again upon this subject.”

“Did you?” he said sympathetically. “Only to find your trust misplaced! Well, that is a great deal too bad, and one must naturally shrink from shattering illusions. At the same time—where did you pick up such a ridiculous notion?”

The Reverend William Trent, whose mind was of a serious order, had several times warned his elder sister that too lively a sense of humour frequently led to laxity of principle. She now perceived how right he was; and wondered, in dismay, whether it was because he invariably made her laugh that instead of regarding the Nonesuch with revulsion she was obliged to struggle against the impulse to cast every scruple to the winds, and to give her life into his keeping.

“What is it that troubles you, my heart?” he asked gently, after a short pause.

The change of tone almost overset her, but she managed to say, though faintly: “Nothing!”

“No, don’t say that. What did I do to bring about this alteration in your sentiments? I’ve racked my brain to discover the answer—searched my memory too, but quite in vain. God knows I’m no saint, but I don’t think I’m more of a sinner than any other man. Tell me!”

She realized from these words that they must be poles apart. She thought it would be useless to enter upon any discussion, even if she could have brought herself to broach a subject of such delicacy. She said, with as much composure as she could command: “Sir Waldo, pray leave this! I don’t wish to be married.”

“Why not?”

She ought to have guessed, of course, that he would disconcert her. Casting wildly in her mind for an excuse, she produced, after a betraying pause: “I am an educationist. No doubt it seems strange to you that I should prefer to pursue that profession, but—but so it is!”

“My dear girl, so you might, with my goodwill!”

“You would hardly wish your wife to be employed as a teacher in a school!”

“No, certainly not, but if superintending the education of the young is your ambition I can provide you with plenty of material on which to exercise your talents,” he said cheerfully.

For a moment she could hardly believe her ears. She turned her head to stare at him; and then, as she saw the familiar glint in his eyes, wrath at his audacity surged up in her, and she gasped; “How dare you?”

The words were no sooner uttered than she regretted them; but she had at least the satisfaction of seeing the glint vanish from his eyes. It was succeeded by a look of astonishment. Sir Waldo pulled up his team. “I beg your pardon?” he said blankly.

Furiously blushing, she said: “I should not have said it. I didn’t intend—Pray forget it, sir!”

“Forget it! How could I possibly do so? What the devil did I say to make you rip up at me? You don’t even know what I was talking about, for I haven’t yet told you my dark secret! Do you remember that I promised I would do so?”

“I do remember,” she replied, in a stifled voice. “You said that you would make a clean breast of it, but it is unnecessary. I know what your—your dark secret is, Sir Waldo.”

“Do you indeed? Which of my cousins took it upon himself to enlighten you?” he asked grimly. “Laurie?”

“No, no! He has never mentioned it to me, I promise you! Don’t ask me more!”

“I need not. Julian, of course! I might have known it! If ever there was a prattle-box—! But I can’t for the life of me understand why—”

She broke in rather desperately on this. “Oh, pray—! He asked me particularly not to tell you! It was very wrong of me to have said what I did. He thought I knew—he meant no harm! I don’t think he dreamed that I should not look upon it as—as lightly as he does himself—as you do! You told me that you believed I had too liberal a mind to disapprove. You meant it as a compliment, but you were mistaken: my mind is not so liberal. I am aware that in certain circles—the circles to which you belong—such things are scarcely regarded. It is otherwise in my circle. And my family—oh, you would not understand, but you must believe that I could not marry a man whose—whose way of life fills me with repugnance!”

He had listened to the first part of this speech in frowning bewilderment, but by the time she reached the end of it the frown had cleared, and a look of intense amusement had taken its place. “So that’s it!” he said, a quiver of laughter in his voice. He set his team in motion again. “I’ll wring Julian’s neck for this! Of all the leaky, chuckleheaded rattles—! Just what did he tell you?”

“Indeed, he said nothing more than you told me yourself!” she said earnestly. “Only that people would be bound to disapprove of the use to which you mean to put Broom Hall! He said nothing in your dispraise, I do assure you! In fact, he said that although one of your cousins thinks it not at all the thing to—to house children of that sort in a respectable neighbourhood—”

“George,” interpolated Sir Waldo. “Are you sure he didn’t refer to them as Waldo’s wretched brats?”

“I believe he did,” she replied stiffly.

“You shouldn’t tamper with the text. Go on!”

She eyed his profile with hostility. “There is nothing more to say. I wished merely to make it plain to you that Lord Lindeth spoke of you with as much admiration as affection.”

“I daresay. Heaven preserve me from affectionate and admiring relations! Laurie couldn’t have served me a worse turn! So you won’t help me to set up schools for my wretched brats, Miss Trent?”

“Schools?” she repeated, startled.

“In course of time. Oh, don’t look so alarmed! Only one at the moment! Those of my brats who are established in Surrey are already provided for.”

Dazed, she demanded: “How many children have you?”

“I’m not perfectly sure. I think they numbered fifty when I left London, but there’s no saying that there may not be one or two more by now.”

“Fifty?”

“That’s all. I expect shortly to double the number, however,” he said affably.

Her eyes kindled. “I collect that you think it a joking matter, Sir Waldo! I do not!”

“I don’t think it anything of the sort. It is, in fact, one of the few matters which I take seriously.”

“But you cannot possibly have fif—” She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. “Schools—wretched brats—carrying eccentricity too far—and only the Rector knew—! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” she cried, between laughter and tears. “And Lindeth said, when we took that child to the infirmary, that you were the man we wanted in such a situation! But how could I guess that you were interested in orphans?”

“Easier to think that I was a loose-screw, was it?” said Sir Waldo, who had once more halted his team. “Let me tell you, my girl, that I’m swallowing no more of your insults! And if I hear another word from you in disparagement of the Corinthian set it will be very much the worse for you!”

Since he palliated this severity by putting his arm round her she was undismayed. Overwhelming relief making her forgetful of the proprieties, she subsided thankfully into his embrace, clutching a fold of his driving-coat, and saying into his shoulder: “Oh, no, you never will! But I didn’t find it easy to believe! Only people said such things—and you talked of making a clean breast of it—and then Lindeth! Don’t scold me! If you knew how unhappy I’ve been—!”

“I do know. But what you don’t know is that if you don’t take your face out of my coat, and look at me, you will be still more unhappy!”

She gave a watery chuckle, and raised her head. The Nonesuch, his arm tightening round her, kissed her. The phaeton jerked forward, and back again, as Sir Waldo, who had transferred the reins to his whip-hand, brought his restive wheelers under control. Miss Trent, emerging somewhat breathlessly from his embrace, said, in shaken accents: “For goodness’ sake, take care! If I’m thrown into a ditch a second time I’ll never forgive you!”

“You must teach me sometime how to handle my cattle,” he said. “I imagine your lessons—Miss Educationist!—will bear a close resemblance to Laurie’s efforts to instruct Tiffany.”

“Good God! Tiffany!” she exclaimed. “I had quite forgotten her! Waldo, this is no time for dalliance—and it isn’t the place, either! What William would say if he knew—! You are an atrocious person! Since the day I met you I have become steadily more depraved. No, no, don’t! We must make haste to Leeds: you know we must! There’s no saying what Tiffany may do, if she becomes impatient.”

“To be honest with you,” said Sir Waldo, “I have very little interest in what she may do.”

“No, but I cannot cast her off so lightly. She was left to my guardianship, and if anything were to happen to her how dreadfully to blame I should be!”

“Yes, the sooner you’re rid of her the better. Is this fast enough for you, or do you wish me to spring ’em?”

“Oh, no! Not that I would venture to dictate to you, dear sir! Tell me about your orphanage! Lindeth said that you squandered a fortune on your wretched brats, and, indeed, I should think you must, if you mean to support a hundred of them. Is it for infants?”

“No, I don’t encroach on the Foundling Hospitals. Nor do I squander a fortune on my brats. Broom Hall, for instance, will be largely self-supporting; subsisting on rents, you know.”

She smiled. “Don’t think me impertinent!—But I am not wholly devoid of intelligence! What will it cost you to bring that estate into order?”

“No more than I can well afford!” he retorted. “Are you fearful of finding yourself in ebb-water if you marry me? You won’t! Lindeth misled you: only half my fortune is devoted to my favourite charity! My aunt Lindeth will inform you that the whole is indecent—if she doesn’t describe it in rather stronger terms, which, in moments of stress, she is prone to do.”

“My mind now being relieved of care, I wish you will tell me what prompted you to found an orphanage?”

He said reflectively: “I don’t know. Tradition, and upbringing, I suppose. My father, and my grandfather before him, were both considerable philanthropists; and my mother was used to be very friendly with Lady Spender—the one that died a couple of years ago, and was mad after educating the poor. So you may say that I grew up amongst charities! This was one that seemed to me more worth the doing than any other: collecting as many of the homeless waifs you may find in any city as I would, and rearing them to become respectable citizens. My cousin, George Wingham, swears they will all turn into hedge-birds, and, of course, we’ve had our failures, but not many. The important thing is to enter them to the right trades—and to take care they’re not bound to bad masters.” He stopped, and said, laughing: “What induced you to mount me on my pet hobby-horse? We have matters of more immediate importance to discuss than my wretched brats, my little educationist!—my mother, by the way, will welcome you with open arms, and will very likely egg you on to bully me into starting an asylum for female orphans: she’s got about a dozen of ’em already, down at Manifold. How soon may you leave Staples? I warn you, I don’t mean to wait on Mrs Underhill’s convenience, so if you’ve any notion of remaining there until Tiffany goes back to London—”

“I haven’t!” she interrupted. “Nor, I assure you, would Mrs Underhill ask it of me!”

“I’m happy to hear it. The devil of it is that I must leave with Julian, on Monday: I told the boy I would support his cause with my aunt, and I think I must. I should have wished to have postponed my departure until I could have escorted you to Derbyshire, but as things have fallen out I shall be obliged to leave you here until Julian’s affairs are settled, and one or two other matters as well. I’ll return as soon as I can, but—”

“I had as lief you did not,” she said. “And liefer by far that we should tell no one at Oversett, except Mrs Underhill (whom I hope to heaven I can pledge to secrecy!), of our intentions. Think me foolish if you will, but I don’t feel I could bear it! It will be so very much disliked, you know, and—well, I need not tell you what things will be said by certain ladies of our acquaintance! Then there is Tiffany. Waldo, she mustn’t know until she has recovered a little from Lindeth’s engagement! It would be too cruel—when you encouraged the poor child by flirting with her! Besides, I shudder to think of what life at Staples would be if she knew that you had preferred me to her! We should all of us be driven distracted. I must give Mrs Underhill time to fill my post—don’t ask me to leave her in the lurch, for I couldn’t do it: I have had nothing but kindness from her, remember! But as soon as she has done so I’ll go home to Derbyshire, and we may meet there. Oh, how much I long to make you known to Mama and William! But as for escorts—! My dear, how can you be so absurd as to suppose that at my age I should need one? The journey will be nothing—no more than fifty miles! I have only to go by the stage to Mansfield, and from there—”

“You will not go by the stage anywhere at all,” said Sir Waldo. “I’ll send my chaise to fetch you, with my own boys, of course.”

“To be sure!” she said instantly. “Outriders, and a courier too, I hope! Now, do, do be sensible, my dear sir!”

They were still arguing the matter when they reached the King’s Head. Leaving the Nonesuch in the stableyard, Miss Trent walked into the inn. She had on several occasions refreshed there with Mrs Underhill, and the first person she encountered was an elderly waiter who was well-known to her. Greeting him with a smile, and speaking with studied coolness, she said: “Good-day to you, John! Are Miss Wield and Mr Calver still here, or have they given me up in despair? I should have been here long since, but was most tiresomely delayed. I hope they may not have left?”

Even as she said it she became aware of tension, and of curious glances cast in her direction, and her heart sank. The waiter coughed in obvious embarrassment, and replied: “No, ma’am. Oh, no, they haven’t left! The gentleman is in one of the parlours—the same one as you was in yourself, ma’am, when you partook of a nuncheon here the other day.”

“And Miss Wield?”

“Well, no, ma’am! Miss is in the best bedchamber—being as she is a trifle out of sorts, and the mistress not knowing what else to do but to persuade her to lay down on the bed, with the blinds drawn, till she was more composed, as you might say. Very vapourish, she was—but the mistress will tell you, ma’am!”

Sir Waldo, entering the house at that moment, encountered an anguished look from Miss Trent, and said: “What’s amiss?”

“I couldn’t take it upon myself to say, sir,” responded the waiter, casting down his eyes. “But the gentleman, sir, is in the parlour, the mistress having put some sticking-plaster over the cut, and one of the under-waiters carrying a bottle of cognac up to him—the best cognac, sir!—the gentleman, as I understand, having sustained an accident—in a manner of speaking!”

“We will go up to him!” said Miss Trent hastily.

“Sinister!” observed Sir Waldo, following her up the narrow stairs. “Where, by the way, is the heroine of this piece?”

“Laid down upon the bed in the best bedchamber,” replied Miss Trent, “with the landlady in attendance!”

“Worse and worse! Do you suppose that she stabbed poor Laurie with a carving-knife?”

“Heaven knows! It is quite appalling—and no laughing matter, let me tell you! Mrs Underhill is very well known here, and it is perfectly obvious to me that that atrocious girl has created a dreadful scandal! The one thing I was hopeful of avoiding! Whatever you do, Waldo, don’t let her suspect that you regard me even with tolerance!”

“Have no fear! I will treat you with civil indifference!” he promised. “I wonder what she did do to Laurie?”

He was soon to learn the answer to this. Mr Calver was discovered in the parlour, reclining on a sofa of antiquated and uncomfortable design, a strip of sticking-plaster adorning his brow, his beautifully curled locks sadly dishevelled, a glass in his hand, and a bottle of the King’s Head’s best cognac standing on the floor beside him. As she stepped over the threshold, Miss Trent trod on splinters of glass, and on the table in the centre of the room was an elegant timepiece, in a slightly battered condition. Miss Wield had not stabbed Mr Calver: she had thrown the clock at his head.

“Snatched it off the mantelpiece and dashed well hurled it at me!” said Laurence.

The Nonesuch shook his head. “You must have tried to dodge it,” he said. “Really, Laurie, how could you be such a cawker? If you had but stood still it would have missed you by several feet!”

“I should rather think I did try to dodge it!” said Laurence, glaring at him. “So would you have done!”

“Never!” declared the Nonesuch. “When females throw missiles at my head I know better than to budge! Er—would it be indelicate to ask why she felt herself impelled to throw the clock at you?”

“Yes, I might have known you would think it vastly amusing!” said Laurence bitterly.

“Well, yes, I think you might!” said Sir Waldo, his eyes dancing.

Miss Trent, perceiving that her beloved had allowed himself to fall into a mood of ill-timed frivolity, directed a quelling frown at him, and said to the injured dandy: “I am so sorry, Mr Calver! I wish you will lie down again: you are not looking at all the thing, and no wonder! Your cousin may think it a jesting matter, but I am excessively grateful to you! Indeed, I cannot conceive how you were able to hold that tiresome child in check for so long!”

Slightly mollified, Laurence said: “It wasn’t easy, I can tell you, ma’am. It’s my belief she’s queer in her attic. Well, would you credit it?—she wanted me to sell her pearl necklet, or put it up the spout, just to pay for the hire of a chaise to carry her to London! I had to gammon her I’d pawned my watch instead!”

“How very wise of you!” said Miss Trent sycophantically.

“Pray do sit down, sir! I wish you will tell me—if you feel able—what caused her to—to take a sudden pet?”

“To do what?” interpolated the Nonesuch. Miss Trent, turning her back on him in a marked manner, sat down in a chair by the sofa, and smiled at Laurence encouragingly.

“You may well ask, ma’am!” said Laurence. He glanced resentfully at his cousin. “If you are fancying I was trying to make love to her, Waldo, you’re no better than a Jack Adams! For one thing, I ain’t in the petticoat-line, and for another I wouldn’t make love to that devil’s daughter if I was!”

“Of course you would not!” said Miss Trent.

“Well, I didn’t. What’s more, it wasn’t my fault at all! Mind you, I had the deuce of a task to keep her here! Still, we were going on prosperously enough until she suddenly took it into her head she must drink some tea. Why she should want to maudle her inside with tea at this time of day the lord knows, but I’d no objection, as long as it stopped her from riding grub. Which I daresay it would have done if she hadn’t asked the jobbernoll who brought in the tray what time the London Mail was expected to arrive in the town. Couldn’t catch the fellow’s eye—wasn’t close enough to give him a nudge! The silly bleater told her there wouldn’t be another till tomorrow morning. That brought the trap down! Talk of ringing a peal—! She scolded like a cat-purse! You’d have supposed I was a regular Bermondsey boy! And the waiter standing there with his mouth at half-cock, until I told him to take himself off—which I wish I hadn’t done!” Shuddering at the memory, he recruited his strength with a sip or two of cognac. “The names she called me! It beats me where she learned ’em, I can tell you that, ma’am!”

“What did she call you, Laurie?” enquired Sir Waldo, much interested.

“I wonder,” said Miss Trent, in a voice of determined coldness, “if you would be so obliging, sir, as to refrain from asking quite unimportant questions? Mr Calver, what can I say but that I am deeply mortified? As Miss Wield’s governess, I must hold myself to blame, but I trust—”

“Learned them from you, did she, ma’am?” said Sir Waldo irrepressibly.

“Very witty!” snapped Laurence. “You wouldn’t be so full of fun and gig if you’d been in my shoes!”

“Pray don’t heed your cousin!” begged Miss Trent. “Only tell me what happened!”

“Well, she twigged I’d been hoaxing her, of course, and it didn’t take her above a minute or two to guess why I’d kept her kicking her heels here. I give you my word, ma’am, if she’d had a dagger about her she’d have stuck it into me! Not that I cared for that, because I knew she hadn’t one. But the next thing was that she said she was going off to spout her pearls that instant, so that she could be gone from the place before you reached us! She’d have done it, too! What’s more, I wish I’d let her!”

“I don’t wonder at it. But you did not—which was very well done of you, sir!”

“I don’t know that,” he said gloomily. “She wouldn’t have raised such a breeze if I’d had the sense to have taken off my bars. The thing was she’d put me in such a tweak by that time that I was hanged if I’d cry craven! Told her that if she tried to shab off I’d squeak beef—what I mean is, tell the landlord who she was, and what she was scheming to do. So then she threw the clock at me. That brought the landlord in on us, and a couple of waiters, and the boots, and a dashed gaggle of chambermaids—and it’s my belief they’d had their ears to the door! And before I could utter a word the little hussy was carrying on as though she thought she was Mrs Siddons! Well, she’d threatened to tell everyone I’d been trying to give her a slip on the shoulder if I wouldn’t let her leave the room, and, by God, she did it!”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Miss Trent, changing colour. “Oh, how could she?”

“If you was to ask me, ma’am, there’s precious little she couldn’t do! So there was nothing for me to do but tell the landlord she was Mrs Underhill’s niece—which he knew—and that she was trying to run off to London, and all I was doing was holding on to her till you arrived to take her in charge. Which he believed, because I’d hired one of the postboys to carry a message to Waldo. So, as soon as she saw he did believe it, off went her ladyship into hysterics. Lord, you never heard such a commotion in your life!”

“I have frequently heard just such a commotion!” said Miss Trent. “Where is she, sir?”

“I don’t know. The landlady took, her off somewhere. No use asking me!”

She got up. “I will go and find the landlady, then. But you must let me thank you, Mr. Calver! Indeed, I am so very much obliged to you! You have had the most disagreeable time imaginable, and I am astonished you didn’t abandon the wretched child!”

“Well, I couldn’t do that,” said Laurence. “I ain’t such a rum touch! Besides—Well, never mind that!”

He watched her cross the room towards the door, and his cousin move to open it for her. In deepening gloom, he observed the punctilious civility of Sir Waldo’s slight bow, and the rigidity of Miss Trent’s countenance.

Sir Waldo shut the door, and strolled back into the middle of the room. Drawing his snuff-box from his pocket, he tapped it with one long finger, and flicked it open. Taking an infinitesimal pinch, he said, his amused gaze on Laurence’s face: “Do tell me, Laurie! Why did you send for me rather than for Underhill?”

Laurence shot him a resentful look. “Thought I could do you a good turn, that’s why! And well you know it!”

“But how kind of you!” said Sir Waldo. “I never had the least guess that you had my interests so much at heart.”

“Oh, well!” said Laurie awkwardly. “I don’t know that I’d say that, precisely, but we’re cousins, after all, and it was easy to see your affair was hanging in the hedge, so—”

“What affair?”

Laurence set his empty glass down rather violently. “I know you, coz!” he said angrily. “So don’t think to bamboozle me! It’s as plain as a pikestaff—”

“And don’t you think to bamboozle me!” said Sir Waldo, quite pleasantly. “All you wish to do is to put me under an obligation to you, so that I shall be moved to set you up in the horse-coping line. I’m familiar with your tactics.”

“Well, damn it, what else can I do?” demanded Laurence in an aggrieved tone. “Who the devil do you suppose is going to dub up the possibles if you don’t?”

Sir Waldo’s mouth quivered. “I shouldn’t think anyone is going to,” he replied.

“Yes, that’s just like you!” Laurence said, his resentment flaring up. “You’re so full of juice you don’t know what it is to be bushed—and don’t care, either! It wouldn’t mean any more to you to lend me five thousand than it would mean to me to tip over a bull’s eye to a waiter. But will you do it?—”

“No,” said Sir Waldo. “I’m far too hard-fisted. So don’t waste any more time or effort in trying to put me under an obligation! You won’t do it You’re awake upon some suits, but not on all! And you can’t know me as well as you think you do if you imagine I’m not very well able to manage my affairs without your assistance.”

“You didn’t seem to me to be managing them so very well. No, and even when I threw you and Miss Trent together, you must have made wretched work of it! And you ain’t even grateful to me for trying to bring you about! When I think of all the trouble I’ve taken since I came into Yorkshire—let alone being obliged to put up with the infernal racket those builders make!—damme if I don’t think you owe me that paltry five thousand! Because you came the concave suit over me, Waldo, and don’t you deny it! Oh, yes, you did! You let me pretty well wear myself out, drawing off that vixen from Lindeth, and it’s my belief you knew all along that he was tired of her! And just look what it’s led to! Let alone the riot and rumpus I’ve had to endure, and the blunt I laid out on hiring this parlour, and giving her tea, and lemonade, and buying a ticket for the Mail, my head’s been laid open, and I shall very likely carry a scar for the rest of my life!”

“But what have all these misfortunes to do with me?”

“They’ve got everything to do with you! They’d none of ’em have happened if you hadn’t behaved so scaly! Yes, you laugh! It’s just what I expected you’d do!”

“You might well!” replied Sir Waldo. “What a hand you are! You know perfectly well that that’s nothing but a bag of moonshine!”

“No, I—oh, Waldo, be a good fellow, and oblige me just this once!” Laurence said, with a sudden change of tone. “You wouldn’t be so shabby as to refuse, when it was you who made it impossible for me to come by the ready by my own exertions!”

“Now, what in the name of all that’s marvelous—”

“You did!” insisted Laurence. “You made me give you my word I wouldn’t play for more than chicken-stakes! I daresay you think I’ll run thin, but that’s where you’re mistaken!”

“I know very well you won’t.”

Laurence looked at him in quick surprise, flushing. He said, with a short laugh: “Much obliged to you! It’s more than George does!”

“George doesn’t mean all he says.”

“He can mean it or not for anything I care. Waldo, if I asked you to buy me a cornetcy, would you do it?”

“Tomorrow!”

“Would you expect me to pay it back?”

“Good God, no! Of course I shouldn’t!”

“Then why won’t you lend me the blunt for something I want? You’ll say a cornetcy wouldn’t cost you much above seven or eight hundred pounds, but you wouldn’t get it back, remember! Whereas if you was to invest in my scheme you’d make a profit!”

Sir Waldo sighed. “I’ve already told you, Laurie, that—”

He broke off, as the door opened, and Miss Trent came in, accompanied by Tiffany.

“Oh, so you’ve recovered, have you?” said Laurence, surveying Tiffany with acute dislike. “In prime twig, I daresay! Never stouter in your life!”

Tiffany was looking rather pale, and decidedly tear-stained, but she was evidently restored to good-humour. Paying no heed to Laurence, she smiled seraphically upon the Nonesuch, and said: “Thank you for coming to rescue me! I might have known you would do so, and I’m glad now, though I didn’t wish anyone to come after me, at first. But Ancilla says I have made such a scandal that there’s nothing for it but to take me back to my Uncle Burford, which is exactly what I want! She says she shall write to Aunt Underhill immediately, and as soon as Aunt sends back her consent we shall be off.”

“God help your Uncle Burford!” said Laurence.

“You needn’t think I have anything to say to you, because I haven’t!” Tiffany informed him. “And I won’t beg your pardon for throwing the clock at you, whatever Ancilla says, because you told lies, and cheated me, and you deserved to have it thrown at you! And, in any event, everything has turned out for the best, and I am going to London! So I’m not sorry about anything. When are you going to London, Sir Waldo?”

“Almost immediately!” he replied promptly.

For an instant his eyes met Miss Trent’s, brimful of laughter. So fleeting was the silent message that passed between them that Tiffany was unaware of it. She looked up at Sir Waldo through her lashes. “I thought you might be,” she said demurely.

But Laurence had not missed that swift, revealing exchange of glances, and he ejaculated: “So I didn’t miss my tip! Well, I had a notion you was shamming it, coz! Now perhaps you’ll own—”

“Laurie!” interrupted Sir Waldo. “I should warn you, perhaps, that if you wish to succeed as a horse-coper you must learn to keep your tongue between your teeth!”

Laurence looked at him. “Are you bamming me?” he asked suspiciously.

“No: merely warning you!”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” complained Tiffany, by no means pleased at being overlooked.

“Well, who wants you to?” retorted Laurence. “It’s coming to something, so it is, if I can’t talk to my cousin without having an uppish scrub of a brat prying into what don’t concern her!”

“Scrub?” cried Tiffany, colour flaming into her cheeks. “How dare you speak to me like that? I’m not a scrub! I’m not, I’m not!”

“A scrub!” repeated Laurence, with relish. “Distempered into the bargain!”

“Quiet!” commanded Sir Waldo.

“Oh, very well!” said Laurence, subsiding.

“I’d liefer be anything but a Bartholomew baby, which is what Courtenay says you are! And also a—”

“I said, Quiet!”

Tiffany was so much startled by this peremptory reminder that she gasped, and stood staring up at the Nonesuch as though she could not believe that he was speaking not to his cousin, but actually to her. She drew in her breath audibly, and clenched her hands. Miss Trent cast a look of entreaty at Sir Waldo, but he ignored it. He strolled up to the infuriated beauty, and pushed up her chin. “Now, you may listen to me, my child!” he said sternly. “You are becoming a dead bore, and I don’t tolerate bores. Neither do I tolerate noisy tantrums. Unless you want to be soundly smacked, enact me no ill-bred scenes!”

There was a moment’s astonished silence. Laurence broke it, seizing his cousin’s hand, and fervently shaking it. “I knew you was a right one!” he declared. “‘A great gun, Waldo! Damme, a Trojan!”