The Nonesuch

“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!”