The Nonesuch

“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!”