The Nonesuch

“I’m going to ride into the village,” said Tiffany, a hint of defiance in her voice. She cast a sidelong glance at Miss Trent, and added: “Well, I mean to call at the Rectory! And you know that pink velvet rose I purchased in Harrogate? I am going to wrap it up in silver paper, and give it to Patience! Especially to wear with her gauze ball-dress! Do you think that would be a handsome present? It was very expensive, you know, and I haven’t worn it, because though I did mean to, last night, I found it didn’t become me after all. But Patience frequently wears pink, so I should think she would feel very much obliged to me, shouldn’t you? And that will just show people! And also I shall invite her to go for a walk with us tomorrow—just you and me, you know!”

“That would indeed be a noble gesture!” said Miss Trent admiringly.

“Yes, wouldn’t it?” said Tiffany naively. “It will be horridly dull, and you may depend upon it Patience will be a dead bore, going into raptures over some weed, and saying it’s a rare plant, or—But I mean to bear it, even if she moralizes about nature!”

Miss Trent was unable to enter with any marked degree of enthusiasm into these plans, but she acquiesced in them, feeling that they did at least represent a step in the right direction, even though they sprang from the purest self-interest. So she went away to prepare for her long and rather tedious drive to the home of the indigent Mrs Tawton, while Tiffany, tugging at the bell rope, allowed her imagination to depict various scenes in which her faithless admirers, hearing of her magnanimity, and stricken with remorse at having so wickedly misjudged her, vied with one another in extravagant efforts to win her forgiveness.

It was an agreeable picture, and since she really did feel that she was being magnanimous she rode to the Rectory untroubled by any apprehension that she might not meet with the welcome which she was quite sure she deserved.

The Rector’s manservant, who admitted her into the house, seemed to be rather doubtful when she blithely asked to see Miss Chartley, but he ushered her into the drawing-room, and said that he would enquire whether Miss Chartley was at home. He then went away, and Tiffany, after peeping at her reflection in the looking-glass over the fireplace, and rearranging the disposition of the glossy ringlets that clustered under the brim of her hat, wandered over to the window.

The drawing-room looked on to the garden at the rear of the house. It was a very pretty garden, gay with flowers, with a shrubbery, a well-scythed lawn, and several fine trees. Round the trunk of one of these a rustic seat had been built, and in front of it, as though they had just risen from it, Patience and Lindeth were standing side by side, confronting the Rector, who was holding a hand of each.

For a moment Tiffany stood staring, scarcely understanding the significance of what she saw. But when Lindeth looked down at Patience, smiling at her, and she raised her eyes adoringly to his, the truth dawned on her with the blinding effect of a sudden fork of lightning.

She was so totally unprepared that the shock of realization turned her to stone. Incredulity, fury, and chagrin swept over her. Her conquest—her most triumphant conquest!—stolen from her by Patience Chartley? It wasn’t possible! Patience to receive an offer of marriage from Lindeth? The thought flashed into her mind that he had never so much as hinted at marriage with herself, and she felt suddenly sick with mortification.

The door opened behind her; she heard Mrs Chartley’s voice, and turned, pride stiffening her. She never doubted that Mrs Chartley hoped to enjoy her discomfiture, and because the thought uppermost in her mind was that no one should think that she cared a rush for Lindeth she achieved a certain dignity.

She said: “Oh, how do you do, ma’am? I came to bring Patience a trifle I purchased for her in Harrogate. But I must not stay.”

She put out her hand rather blindly, proffering the silver-wrapped parcel. Mrs Chartley took it from her, saying in some surprise: “Why, how kind of you, Tiffany! She will be very much obliged to you.”

“It’s nothing. Only a flower to wear with her gauze dress. I must go!”

Mrs Chartley glanced uncertainly towards the window.

“Won’t you wait while I see whether I can find her, my dear? I am persuaded she would wish to thank you herself.”

“It’s of no consequence. The servant said he fancied she was engaged.” Tiffany drew in her breath, and said with her most glittering smile: “That’s true, isn’t it? To Lindeth! Has he offered for her? I—I have been expecting him to do so this age!”

“Well—if you won’t spread it about, yes!” admitted Mrs Chartley. “But there must be nothing said, you know, until he has told his mother. So you must not breathe a word, if you please!”

“Oh, no! Though I daresay everyone has guessed! Pray—pray offer her my felicitations, ma’am! I should think they will deal extremely together!”