The Nonesuch

There was silence for a few moments. Then Miss Trent drew a breath, and said: “I have been obliged to be a good deal in his company, ma’am, but I do not stand upon such intimate terms with him as—as you seem to suggest.” She managed to smile. “My sins have found me out! I allowed myself to be persuaded to accept Lady Colebatch’s invitation, and was imprudent enough to waltz with Sir Waldo, twice. I have been made to regret it. I’m afraid the pleasure of dancing again, after such a long time, went to my head!”

Mrs Chartley’s face softened; she leaned forward, and briefly clasped one of Ancilla’s hands. “No wonder! I perfectly understand. But—My dear, will you permit me to speak frankly to you? You are a young woman, in spite of your sober ways! And you have not your mama at hand to advise you, have you? I am most sincerely fond of you, so you must forgive me if I seem to you to take too much upon myself. I have been feeling a little anxious about you, for I’m afraid you may be cherishing hopes which are unlikely to be fulfilled. Don’t think that I blame you! Sir Waldo’s attentions have been marked: it is even common knowledge that not a day has passed since Charlotte has been laid up without his calling on you at Staples.”

“To enquire after her progress—to bring her what he thought might entertain her!” Ancilla uttered, her throat constricted.

“My dear!” protested Mrs Chartley, with a slight laugh.

“Ma’am, I only once saw him—and then in company!”

“If you tell me so, I believe you, but it will be a hard task to convince others.”

“I am aware of it, ma’am,” said Ancilla bitterly. “I am held to be setting my cap at him, am I not?”

“We need not concern ourselves with expressions of spite. That is not at all my opinion. What makes me uneasy is his pursuit of you.If it had been any other man than Sir Waldo, I should have known it to be a determined courtship, and I should have been expecting every day to be able to wish you happy—for you cannot conceal from me, my dear, that you are by no means indifferent to him. That doesn’t surprise me in the least: I fancy there are few women strong-minded enough to withstand him. Even I—and he does not make up to me, you know!—am very conscious of his charm. I think him dangerously attractive, and don’t for a moment doubt that a great many females have fallen in love with him.”

“Did Mrs Mickleby tell you so, ma’am?”

“On the authority of her cousin in London. I should be sorry to place too much reliance on mere gossip, but it has been to some extent borne out by Lindeth—not, you may be sure, with any intention of traducing his cousin. Indeed, the reverse! He often talks about Sir Waldo, and always with admiration—I had almost said, with pride! And one must bear in mind, my dear Miss Trent, that Sir Waldo belongs to a certain set which is considered to be the very height of fashion. In fact, he is its leader, and very much a man of the world. You must know, perhaps better than I do, that the manners and too often the conduct of those who are vulgarly called Top-of-the-Trees are not governed by quite the same principles which are the rule in more modest circles.”

“Are you trying to warn me, ma’am, that Sir Waldo is a libertine?” asked Ancilla bluntly.

“Oh, good gracious! No!” exclaimed Mrs Chartley. “You must not think—my dear, I beg you won’t say that I said that! No doubt he has had his—shall we say his adventures?—but pray don’t imagine that I suspect him of—of—”

“Offering me a carte blanche? That, I believe, is the term, is it not? I promise you I should not accept it!”

Mrs Chartley was thrown still more off her balance by this, and said: “No, no! I don’t suspect him of meaning to do you the least harm! What I fear is that he may harm you unwittingly, not realizing that you might fall far more deeply in love with him than he knew, or intended. He is accustomed to associate, recollect, with fashionable females who understand the rules of flirtation as you, I am happy to say, do not. Very likely he has been a trifle misled into thinking you are as worldly wise as any of his London flirts: you are posée beyond your years, you know! He would not, I am persuaded, tamper with the affections of a girl whom he knew to be inexperienced.”

“But you don’t hold him in very high esteem, do you, ma’am?” said Ancilla, with a painful smile.

“Oh, you are quite mistaken! In some respects, I hold him in the highest esteem!” Mrs Chartley replied quickly. “I have every reason—” She checked herself, colouring, and added: “All I wish to say to you, my dear, is that you should be on your guard. Don’t refine too much upon his gallantry, but recollect that he is a man of five or six-and-thirty, handsome, rich, very much courted—and still a bachelor!”