There was a good deal more in the same strain, culminating in the iniquity of all concerned in coolly, and without as much as a by-your-leave, appropriating Tiffany’s carriage (for even if it did belong to her aunt it had been lent to her, not to Patience) for the conveyance of a dirty and thievish boy who ought rather to have been handed over to the constable. This was the crowning injury, and Tiffany’s eyes flashed as she recounted it. She did not deny that she had lost her temper. She had borne everything else without uttering a single complaint, but that had been Too Much.

The Nonesuch, quick to seize opportunity, agreed that such conduct passed all bounds. He was astonished to learn that Lindeth and Miss Trent were so lost to all sense of propriety as to suppose that Tiffany could be left to kick her heels at the King’s Arms while they jauntered about the town (with a dirty and thievish boy) in what was undoubtedly her carriage. He said that they would be well served if, when they at last returned to the King’s Arms, they were to find that the bird had flown.

“Yes,” agreed Tiffany, hiccupping on a sob. “Only, if I were to order John-Coachman to bring the carriage round he wouldn’t do it, because he is a detestable old man, and treats me as if I were a child!”

“I’ll take you home,” said the Nonesuch, with his glinting smile.

She stared at him. “You? In your phaeton? Now?”He nodded; and she jumped up, exclaiming ecstatically: “Oh, yes! I should like that of all things! And we won’t leave a message, either!”

“Oh, that will be quite unnecessary!” he said, with perfect truth.

Her tears ceased abruptly: and if the ill-usage she had suffered still rankled in her bosom it soon became at least temporarily forgotten in the elation of being driven by no less a person than the Nonesuch.

Mrs Underhill was very much shocked when she heard what had happened in Leeds, but although Sir Waldo left Tiffany to tell the story as she pleased the good lady’s reception of it was not at all what her niece desired or expected. She said she wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for the world. “Not with Mrs Chartley letting Patience go with you, as she did, which quite surprised me, for I never thought she would, and no more she would have, if it hadn’t been for Miss Trent being there to take care of her. And what she’ll say, when she hears about this—not that Miss Trent could have stopped it, by all I can make out, for it wasn’t a thing anyone would expect to happen! Well, thank goodness Miss Trent had the sense to stay with Patience! At least Mrs Chartley won’t be able to say we didn’t do our best, or that she was left to be brought home by his lordship, which she wouldn’t have liked at all! Not that I mean he wouldn’t have kept the line, as I hope I don’t need to explain to you, Sir Waldo, for I’m sure I never knew anyone more truly the gentleman—present company excepted, of course—but Mrs Chartley—well, she’s nice to a fault, and very strict in her notions!”

This speech was naturally extremely displeasing to Tiffany. There were danger signals in her eyes, which her aunt viewed with apprehension. Mrs Underhill hoped that she was not going to fly into one of her miffs, and she said feebly: “Now, Tiffany-love, there’s nothing to put you into high fidgets! To be sure, it was vexatious for you to be obliged to wait, when you was wanting to come home, but you wouldn’t have wished to leave poor Miss Chartley with no carriage, now, you know you wouldn’t! A very shabby thing that would have been! And Sir Waldo driving you home in his phaeton, which I’ll be bound you enjoyed!”

“They should have asked me!” said Tiffany obstinately. “If they had done so—”

“I see what it is!” suddenly announced Charlotte, whose penetrating gaze had been fixed for some minutes on her cousin’s face. “Nobody paid any heed to you! And you might just as easily have rescued the boy as Patience, only you didn’t, so it wasn’t you that was brave and noble, but her and that’s why you’re in such a pelter!”

“How dare you?” gasped Tiffany, glaring at her.

“Charlotte, don’t!”begged Mrs. Underhill, much agitated.

“And,”pursued Charlotte, with acute if deplorable insight, “it’s my belief the man in the tilbury didn’t pay any heed to you either, and that’s why you said he was rude and vulgar!”

“Now that’s enough!” said Mrs Underhill, with a very fair assumption of authority. “Whatever must Sir Waldo be thinking of you? I don’t know when I’ve been so mortified! You must please excuse her, sir!”

“I’ll excuse them both, ma’am, and leave them to enjoy their quarrel!” he replied, looking amused.

“Oh, dear, and I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t stop to eat your dinner with us!” exclaimed Mrs Underhill distressfully.

“Thank you: you are very good, ma’am, but I mustn’t stay,” he answered, smiling at her in a way which, as she afterwards told Miss Trent, made her feel all of a twitter.

He then took his leave, and went away. He reached Broom Hall as the shadows were lengthening, and strolled into the house, stripping off his gloves. The door leading into the book-room opened, and a slender sprig of fashion emerged, and paused on the threshold, saying with would-be jauntiness: “Hallo, Waldo!”

At sight of this unexpected visitor Sir Waldo had halted, one glove still only half drawn from his hand, a sudden frown in his eyes. He stood still for an instant; then the frown vanished, and he pulled off his glove, and laid it down on the table. “Dear me!” he said, in a tone of mild surprise. “And what brings you here, Laurie?”

Mr Calver, with the memory of his last encounter with his cousin uncomfortably in mind, was much relieved by the calm friendliness of this greeting. He had not expected to be met with an explosion of wrath, because Waldo never ripped up, or came the ugly; but he had feared that he might cut up a trifle stiff, perhaps. He came forward, saying awkwardly: “I’ve been visiting friends in York. Thought I’d come over to see how you go on.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Sir Waldo politely.

“Well, I—well—you know, I don’t like to be at outs with you! The last time I saw you—Well, I was in a damned bad skin, and I daresay I may have said things I don’t mean! shouldn’t wish you to think—”

“Oh, that’s enough, Laurie!” Sir Waldo interrupted, a swift smile banishing the slightly stern look on his face. “Looby! Did you suppose I had taken an affront into my head? What a gudgeon you must think me!”

“No, I don’t, but—Well, I thought I’d post over to see you—beg your pardon, you know!”

“I’m much obliged to you. Come into the book-room! Has Wedmore done the honours of the house—such as they are?”

“Oh, yes! Well, I haven’t been here much above half-an-hour, but he brought me some sherry, and took Blyth off to unpack my bags.” He shot a sidelong look at his cousin, and ventured on a small joke. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t throw me out of doors even if you had nabbed the rust!”

“Very unlikely,” agreed Sir Waldo, walking over to a side-table, and pouring himself out a glass of sherry. He drank a little, and stood thoughtfully regarding Laurence.

That exquisite, failing, not for the first time in a somewhat chequered career, to meet that steady, faintly amused gaze, cast himself into a chair, with an assumption of ease, and picked up his own glass from a table at his elbow, saying airily: “I hadn’t thought you meant to remain here above a sennight. Everyone is wondering what’s become of you! Is Lindeth still with you? Don’t he find it devilish slow?”

“Apparently not. Tell me! Who are these friends of yours who live in York?”

“Oh, no one you’re acquainted with!”

“I didn’t think I was.” He picked up the decanter, and walked across the room to refill Laurence’s glass. “What is it you want, Laurie?”

“I told you! We came to cuffs, and—”

“No, don’t sham it! You haven’t travelled all the way from London merely to beg my pardon!”

“I’ve come from York!” said Laurence, reddening. “If you don’t believe me you may enquire at the Black Horse, where I hired a chaise to bring me here!”

“I do believe you. I think you went to York on the Edinburgh mail. Or are you on the rocks again, and was it the stage? Stop trying to make a pigeon of me! You’ll only be gapped, you know! What’s the matter? Are you in the suds?”

“No, I am not!” replied Laurence angrily. “I may not be flush in the pocket, but I haven’t come to ask you to pay any gaming debts!”

“Don’t be so ready to sport your canvas! I didn’t suppose that was it. There might be other debts which you forgot to mention when you were last down the wind.”

“Well, there ain’t!” growled Laurence. “Nothing to signify, that is! And if there was, I shouldn’t ask you to dub up the possibles! Not after what you said a month ago! I daresay you think I’m a loose screw, but I don’t run thin!”

“I wish you will come down from these high ropes! I don’t think you a loose screw—though if I were to tell you what I do think you you’d be ready to eat me! If you don’t want me to dub up the possibles, what do you want me to do?”

“It may interest you to know, coz, that it’s been make and scrape with me ever since you left London!” said Laurence bitterly. “And when I think of the shifts I’ve been put to—Well, it’s the outside enough for you to be suspecting me of having come to see you only to get you to tip over the dibs! It isn’t that at all!” He paused. “At least,” he amended, “it ain’t debt! If you must know, I’ve hit upon a devilish good scheme—if I can but raise the recruits! Of course, if you don’t care to frank me—though it ain’t so much franking me, mind, as investing your blunt!—there’s no more to be said. But considering the times you’ve offered to buy me a pair of colours—”