The Nonesuch

Laurence affected unconcern, but he was secretly as much exhilarated as surprised by his sudden and unexpected rise to importance. In London, amongst men of more natural parts and longer purses than his, it was almost impossible to make a hit: particularly (as he had often and resentfully thought) if one had the misfortune to be overshadowed by so magnificent a cousin as the Nonesuch, who, besides being universally acknowledged as Top-of-the-Trees, commanded as much liking as admiration. Far too frequently had Laurence been presented to strangers as Sir Waldo Hawkridge’s cousin; and although he had not scrupled to use this relationship to gain the entrance to certain exclusive circles it galled him very much to know that he was accepted merely because of the respect in which Waldo was held. He would have repudiated with scorn any suggestion that he should seek fame in a rural district remote from the hub of fashion; but having been compelled by circumstances to visit his cousin he did not find it at all disagreeable to have become a star in this lesser firmament. Elderly and bucolic gentlemen might look upon him with disfavour; their hard-riding sons were welcome to make Waldo their model: to be admired or despised by dotards and schoolboys were matters of equal indifference to him while he was courted by the ladies, and enjoyed the exquisite satisfaction of knowing that his hair-style, his neckties, and many of his mannerisms were being copied by several aspirants to dandyism. His success made it possible for him to bear, with tolerable equanimity, his cousin’s tacit refusal to allow him to reopen the discussion which had brought him to Yorkshire. He had only once attempted to do so. He had been foiled, and he had thought that he had been a trifle too precipitate, perhaps, and must allow Waldo more time for consideration. He meant to have another touch at him after a discreet interval; meanwhile he was very well pleased to bridge the gap with whatever entertainments were offered him.

His appearance at the Colebatches’ ball transcended all expectations, and quite eclipsed the local smarts. The beautiful arrangement of his pomaded locks, the height of his shirt-points, the intricacies of his neckcloth, the starched frill which protruded between the lapels of his tightly-fitting coat, with its short front and its extravagantly cutaway tails, the fobs and the seals which hung from his waist, and even the rosettes on his dancing-pumps, proclaimed him to be a Tulip of the first stare. His bow was much admired; if he was not precisely handsome, he was generally held to be good-looking; and when he led Tiffany Wield on to the floor for the first waltz even the most hostile of his critics acknowledged him to be a most accomplished dancer. The Squire went further, setting Sir Ralph Colebatch off into an alarming choking fit by growling in his ear: “Damned caper-merchant!”

The eyes that followed his progress round the room might have remained fixed in his direction had they not been drawn off by a less agreeable but far more startling sight.

“Look!” ejaculated Mrs Banningham to Mrs Mickleby, in throbbing accents.

The Broom Hall party had arrived just as the opening set of country-dances had come to an end. Having greeted his hostess, Sir Waldo passed on, pausing to exchange a word or two with various acquaintances, unhurried, but scanning the room searchingly as he moved from group to group. His height enabled him to see over many heads, and it was thus that he discovered Miss Trent, who was seated beside Mrs Underhill against the wall on one side of the room. She was wearing a ball-dress of pale orange Italian crape, trimmed with lace, and cut low across the bosom; and instead of the demure braids she considered suitable for a companion-governess she had allowed her natural ringlets to fall becomingly from a knot placed high on her head. She looked very much younger, and, in Sir Waldo’s eyes, beautiful.

He made his way towards her, reaching her as the musicians were about to strike up. A smile, and a brief how-do-you-do Mrs Underhill, and he was bowing to Miss Trent, and saying: “May I have the honour, ma’am?”

He had told her that he should ask her for the first waltz, but she had expected him rather to invite her to dance with him later in the evening. She hesitated, feeling that she ought not to be the first lady to stand up with him. “Thank you, but—Miss Colebatch? Should you not—”

“No, certainly not!” he replied. “That’s Lindeth’s privilege.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. But there are many other ladies who have a claim to—”

“No,” he interrupted. He smiled down at her, holding out his hand. “With you or no one! Come!”

“That’s right, Sir Waldo!” said Mrs Underhill, beaming up at him. “Don’t you take no for an answer, that’s my advice to you! And as for you, my dear, just you say thank you kindly, sir,and no more nonsense!”