The Nonesuch

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—”