“He’s bookish,” explained Sir Ralph, torn between pride in his son’s scholastic attainments and the horrid fear that he had fathered a miscreature. “Worst seat in the county! But there! No accounting for tastes, eh? Take my daughter, Lizzie! Never opened a book in her life, but rides with a light hand and an easy bit, and handles the reins in form.”

“Does she?” Sir Waldo said politely. He smiled encouragingly at Humphrey. “Oxford?”

“Cam-Cam-Cambridge!” He added, after a brief struggle: “M-Magdalene. J-just d-down. Th-third year.”

“Magdalene! So was I—Magdalen, Oxford, though. What do you mean to do next?”

“G-go up for a fourth year!” replied Humphrey doggedly, and with a challenging look at his father.

“Fellowship?”

“Yes, sir. I hope!”

But at this point Sir Ralph intervened, testily adjuring him not to keep boring on about his affairs; so he bowed awkwardly to Sir Waldo, and walked away. Upon which Sir Ralph said that scholarship was all very well in its way, but that if he had guessed that his heir was going to run mad after it he would never have let him go up to Cambridge at all. He showed a disposition to become even more confidential, asking to be told what Sir Waldo would do in such a case; but as Sir Waldo did not feel himself to be qualified to advise harassed parents, and was too little interested to bend his mind to the problem, he speedily extricated himself from this tête-à-tête. It spoke volumes for his social address that he contrived to do it without in any way offending Sir Ralph.

Meanwhile, those of Humphrey’s contemporaries who had jealously observed his encounter with the Nonesuch pounced upon him, demanding to be told what Sir Waldo had said to him.

“W-wouldn’t interest you!” responded Humphrey, with odious loftiness. “N-nothing about sport! We talked ab-about Cam-Cambridge.”

This disclosure stunned his audience. Mr Banningham was the first to recover his power of speech; he expressed the sentiments of his boon companions by saying: “He must have thought you a slow-top!”

“N-not at all!” retorted Humphrey, curling his lip. “W-what’s m-more, he’s not such a c-c-cod’s head as you l-led me to think him!”

At any other time so insufferable a speech must have goaded his childhood’s playmates into punitive action. A sense of propriety, however, restrained them, and enabled Humphrey to saunter away, not only unmolested, but filled with the comfortable conviction of having, in a few heaven-sent moments, paid off all the scores of a short lifetime.

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!”

Sir Waldo returned a light answer, but he was beginning to feel a little uneasy. There was a certain rapt note in Julian’s voice which was new to him; and he had not previously known his young cousin to pursue a fair object with a determination that brushed aside such obvious disadvantages as a vulgar aunt, and a cousin whom he frankly acknowledged to be a coxcomb. He set little store by his consequence, but Sir Waldo had never yet seen him either encouraging the advances of led-captains, or seeking the company of those whom he would himself have described as being not fit to go; and it seemed highly improbable that he would try to fix his interest with any girl, be she never so beautiful, who was sprung from the mushroom-class he instinctively avoided. At the same time, it would be unlike him to be thinking of mere dalliance. Under his gaiety, Sir Waldo knew, ran a vein of seriousness, and strong principles: he might (though his experienced cousin doubted it) look for amusement amongst the muslin-company, but it would be wholly foreign to his nature deliberately to raise in any virtuous breast expectations which he had no intention of fulfilling. He had once or twice fancied himself in love, and had paid court to the chosen fair; but these affairs had dwindled, and had died perfectly natural deaths. He had never dangled after any marriageable girl in the cynical spirit of the rake: his youthful adventures in love might be transient, but he had embarked on them in all sincerity.

“I like the Squire, don’t you?” remarked Julian idly.

“Better than I like his wife!”

“Oh, lord, yes! All pretension, ain’t she? The girls are very unaffected and jolly, too: nothing to look at, of course! I suppose the most striking, au fait de beauté,as Mama would say, was the redheaded dasher, with the quiz of a brother, but, for my part, I prefer Miss Chartley’s style—and her parents! No pretensions there,but—I don’t know how to express it!”

“A touch of quality?” suggested Sir Waldo.

“Ay, that’s it!” agreed Julian, yawning, and relapsing into sleepy silence.

He made no further reference to Miss Wield, either then or during the succeeding days; and so far from showing any of the signs of the love-lorn entered with enthusiasm on a search for a likely hunter, under the aegis of Mr Gregory Ash; struck up a friendship with Jack Banningham’s elder brother, and went flapper-shooting with him; dragged his cousin twenty miles to watch a disappointing mill; and in general seemed to be more interested in sport than in ravishing beauties. Sir Waldo did not quite banish his uneasy suspicion that he was harder-hit than his mother would like, but he relegated it to the back of his mind, thinking that he might well have been mistaken.

On Wednesday, when he saw Miss Wield at the Staples party, he knew that he had not been mistaken.

The hall at Staples was very large and lofty, with the main staircase rising from it in a graceful curve. Just as the cousins, having relinquished their hats and cloaks into the care of a powdered footman, were about to cross the floor in the wake of the butler, Miss Wield came lightly down the stairs, checking at sight of the guests, and exclaiming: “Oh! Oh, dear, I didn’t know anyone had arrived yet! I’m late, and my aunt will scold! Oh, how do you do, Lord Lindeth!”

As conduct befitting one who was to all intents and purposes a daughter of the house this belated arrival on the scene might leave much to be desired; but as an entrance it was superb. Sir Waldo was not at all surprised to hear Lord Lindeth catch his breath; he himself thought that he had never beheld a lovelier vision, and he was neither impressionable nor three-and-twenty. The velvet ribbons which embellished a ball dress of celestial blue crape and silver gauze were of an intense blue, but not more brilliant than Tiffany’s eyes, to which they seemed to draw attention. Pausing on the stairway, one gloved hand resting on the baluster-rail, her pretty lips parting in a smile which showed her white teeth, Tiffany presented a picture to gladden most men’s hearts.

O my God! thought Sir Waldo. Now we are in the basket!

She resumed her floating descent of the stairs, as Julian stood spellbound. Recovering he started forward to meet her, stammering: “M-Miss Wield! We meet again—at last!”

Enchanting dimples peeped as she gave him her hand. “At last? But it’s hardly more than a sennight since I disturbed you at your fishing! You were vexed, too—horridly vexed!”

“Never!” he declared, laughing. “Only when I looked in vain for you at the Manor last week—and I wasn’t vexed then: that’s too small a word!” He ventured to press her hand before releasing it, and turning to introduce his cousin to her.

Sir Waldo, who strongly (and quite correctly) suspected that Tiffany had been lying in wait on the upper landing, and had thus been able exactly to time her appearance on the scene, bowed, and said How-do-you-do, his manner a nice blend of civility and indifference. Tiffany, accustomed to meet with blatant admiration, was piqued. She had not sojourned for long under her uncle Burford’s roof in Portland Place, but she had not wasted her time there, and she was well aware that, notwithstanding his rank, Lord Lindeth was a nonentity, when compared with his splendid cousin. To attach the Nonesuch, however temporarily, would be enough to confer distinction on any lady; to inspire him with a lasting passion would be a resounding triumph; for although he was said to have many flirts these seemed always to be married ladies, and the decided preferences he showed from time to time had led neither to scandal nor to any belief that his affections had been seriously engaged.