The Nonesuch

Since Mrs Mickleby seated the Nonesuch between herself and Lady Colebatch at her extended dining-table, it was not until much later in the evening that he made the acquaintance of Mrs Underhill. In the welter of introductions he had scarcely distinguished her amongst so many matrons; but Lord Lindeth had not been so careless. Undismayed by a gown of puce satin lavishly adorned with lace and diamonds, and by a headdress supporting a plume of curled feathers clasped by a glittering brooch of opulent dimensions, he had seized the first opportunity that offered of approaching Mrs Underhill, when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner; and it was he who made Sir Waldo known to her. Obedient to the summons telegraphed to him by his young cousin, Sir Waldo came across the room, and was immediately made aware of his duty.

“Oh, here is my cousin!” said his lordship artlessly. “Waldo, I fancy you have already been presented to Mrs Underhill!”

“Yes, indeed!” responded Sir Waldo, rising nobly to the occasion.

“Well, we were introduced,” conceded Mrs Underhill, “but it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t happen to catch my name. I’m sure there’s nothing more confusing than to be introduced to a score of strangers. Many’s the time I’ve been in a regular hobble, trying to set the right names to the right faces!”

“But in this instance, ma’am, I have something to assist my memory!” said Sir Waldo, with admirable aplomb. “Did I not have the pleasure of meeting your daughter not so many days since? Miss—Miss Charlotte Underhill? She was helping another lady—a tall lady, older than herself—to deck the Church with flowers.”

“That’s right!” said Mrs Underhill, pleased with him. “And mightily puffed-up she’s been ever since, you talking to her so kindly, as she tells me you did! As for the tall lady, that would be Miss Trent: her governess. Well, properly speaking, she’s my niece’s companion, and a very superior young female. Her uncle is General Sir Mordaunt Trent!”

“Indeed!” murmured Sir Waldo.

“Waldo!” interrupted Julian, “Mrs Underhill has been so kind as to invite us to attend the party she is holding on Wednesday next! I believe we have no other engagement?”

“None that I know of. How delightful! We are very much obliged to you, ma’am!” said Sir Waldo, with the courtesy for which he was renowned.

But afterwards, jolting back to Broom Hall in the late Mr Calver’s ill-sprung carriage, he expressed the acid hope that his cousin was properly grateful to him for accepting the invitation.

“Yes, very grateful!” replied Julian blithely. “Not but what I knew you would!”

“Having thrust me into an impossible position I imagine you might!”

Julian chuckled. “I know, but—She’s that glorious creature’s aunt, Waldo!”

“I am aware! It remains only for you to discover that your glorious creature is engaged to one of the local blades, and you will have come by your deserts.”

“Oh, no! I’m tolerably sure she’s not!” said Julian confidently. “Her cousin must have mentioned the circumstance, if—Besides,—”

“Do you mean Charlotte? Was she there tonight?”

“Charlotte? No—who’s she? Courtenay Underhill!”

“Oh, a male cousin! What is he like?”

“Oh—oh, very agreeable!” said Julian. He hesitated, and, then said: “Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I suppose he is inclined to be what you’d call a coxcomb, but he’s very young: hardly more than a schoolboy!”

“Quoth the graybeard!” said Sir Waldo lazily.

“Now, Waldo—! I only meant that I shouldn’t think he could be twenty yet, and I’m three-and-twenty,after all!”

“No, are you? I’ll say this for you then: you’re wearing very well!”

The infectious chuckle broke from Julian again. He retorted: “I’m too old, at all events, to ape your modes!”

“Is that what Master Underhill does?”

“Corinthian fashions, anyway. He was looking you over so closely that I wouldn’t bet a groat on the chance that he won’t turn out in your sort of rig within the week. He asked me all manner of questions about you, too.”

“Julian!” said Sir Waldo, with deep foreboding. “Tell me at once just how rum you pitched it to that wretched youth?”

“I didn’t! I saidI didn’t know what larks you was used to engage in—which was true, though I know more now than I did yesterday! Waldo, did you once win five guineas by flooring the bruiser at some Fair in the second round?”

“Good God! How the devil did that story reach Yorkshire? I did: and if that’s the sort of folly this chuckleheaded new friend of yours admires I hope you told him it was a fudge!”

“No, how could I? I told him to ask you for the truth of it. He didn’t like to approach you tonight, but I daresay he will, when we go to Staples next week.”

“Before then—long before then!—I shall have sent you packing, you hell-born brat!”

“Not you! I’d rack up at the Crown if you cast me out! Only wait until you have seen Miss Wield! Then you’ll understand!”