The Nonesuch

Sir Waldo was neither dazzled by Tiffany’s beauty, nor so stupid as to suppose that any good purpose would be served by his pointing out to Julian those defects in the lovely creature which were perfectly plain to him, but to which Julian was obviously blind. But Julian, under his compliance, had a sensibility, and a delicacy of principle, to which virtues Sir Waldo judged Tiffany to be a stranger; and nothing could more effectually cool his ardour than the discovery that in their stead she had vanity, and a sublime disregard for the comfort or the susceptibilities of anyone but herself. Julian might ignore, and indignantly resent, warnings uttered by even so revered a mentor as his Top-of-the-Trees cousin, but he would not disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. So the Nonesuch, instead of damping the beautiful Miss Wield’s pretensions, blew hot and cold on her, encouraging her one day to believe that she had awakened his interest, and the next devoting himself to some other lady. He paid her occasional compliments, but was just as likely to utter a lazy set-down; and when he engaged her in a little mild flirtation he did it so lightly that she could never be quite sure that he was not merely being playful, in the manner of a man amusing a child. She had not previously encountered his like, for her admirers were all much younger men, quite lacking in subtlety. Either they languished for love of her, or (like Humphrey Colebatch) paid no attention to her at all. But the Nonesuch, by turns fascinating and detestable, was maddeningly elusive, and so far from showing a disposition to languish he laughed at her suitors, and said that they were making great cakes of themselves. Tiffany took that as an insult, and determined to bring him to her feet. He saw the flash of anger in her eyes, and smiled. “No, no! You’d be gapped, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“Why, that you’re wondering whether you might not make me a great cake. I shouldn’t attempt it, if I were you: I never dangle—not even after quite pretty girls.”

“Quite pretty—?” she gasped. “M-me?”

“Oh, decidedly!” he said, perfectly gravely. “Or so I think, but, then, I’ve no prejudice against dark girls. I daresay others might not agree with me.”

“They do!” she asserted, pink with indignation. “They say—everyone says I’m beautiful!”

He managed to preserve his countenance, but his lips twitched slightly. “Yes, of course.” he replied. “It’s well known that all heiresses are beautiful!”

She stared up at him incredulously. “But—don’t you think I’m beautiful?”

“Very!”

“Well, I know I am,” she said candidly. “Ancilla thinks I shouldn’t say so—and I meant not to, on account of losing some of my beauty when I do. At least, that’s what Ancilla said, but I don’t see how it could be so, do you?”

“No, indeed: quite absurd! You do very right to mention the matter.”

She thought this over, darkly suspicious, and finally demanded: “Why?”

“People are so unobservant!” he answered in dulcet accents.

She broke into a trill of delicious laughter. “Oh, abominable! You are the horridest creature! I’ll have no more to do with you!”

He waved a careless farewell as she flitted away, but he thought privately that when she forgot her affectations, and laughed out suddenly, acknowledging a hit, she was disastrously engaging.

Miss Trent, who had approached them in time to hear these last sallies, observed in a dispassionate voice: “Quite abominable!”

He smiled, his eyes dwelling appreciatively on her. She was always very simply attired; but she wore the inexpensive muslins and cambrics which she fashioned for herself with an air of elegance; and never had he seen her, even on the hottest day, presenting anything but a cool and uncrumpled appearance.

Sir Waldo, having cleared up one small misunderstanding, had contrived to get upon excellent terms with Miss Trent. His ear had been quick to catch the note of constraint in her voice when she had asked him if he was acquainted with her cousin; he fancied that she was pleased when he disclaimed any knowledge of Mr Bernard Trent; and he presently sought enlightenment of Julian.

“Bernard Trent?” said Julian. “No, I don’t think—oh, yes, I do, though! You mean General Trent’s son, don’t you? I’ve only seen him by scraps: the sort of cawker who talks flash, and is buckish about horses!” He broke off, as a thought occurred to him, and exclaimed: “Good God, is he related to Miss Trent?”

“Her cousin, I collect.”

“Lord! Well, he’s the greatest gull that ever was!” said Julian frankly. “Crony of Mountsorrel’s—at Harrow together, I fancy—and you know what a Peep o’ Day boy he is, Waldo! Always kicking up larks, and thinking himself at home to a peg, which the lord knows he ain’t, and going about town accompanied by the worst barnacles you ever clapped eyes on!”

“Yes, I know young Mountsorrel: one of the newer Tulips!”