Trifles And Toys

19

Trifles And Toys

    Bobby leant an elbow on the mantelpiece of his nephew’s breakfast room. “Saw her in the Park, yester morning,” he noted dreamily. He expelled a long stream of blue smoke.

    “I wish to God you’d buy your own cigars, Bobby!”

    Richard Amory had come up to town in order to call on Lady Benedict and present his Mamma’s compliments to Lizzie’s cousin. He laughed. “He does not have your source of supply, Noël!”

    “If I furnish you with the direction of my shipper, will you stop smoking my cigars, Bobby?” said Noël irritably.

    “Absolutely, old man!” he panted.

    “The Senhora Alvorninha does not, contrary to what you have spread around Boodle’s, send me express packets of cigars!”

    Bobby and Richard both broke down in awful sniggers.

    Noël gave his uncles a jaundiced look. He carved himself more ham and retired behind the Morning Post.

    Richard leant forward, grinning, and forcibly lowered the paper. “Pay attention: Bobby is about to describe the Portuguese Widow as attended in the Park!”

    Noël sighed. “Go on, then. Get it over with.”

    “Guess!” said Bobby with relish.

    “Military, naval, or diplomatic?” asked Noël resignedly.

    “All three. Plus noble, as a matter of fact.”

    Face all twinkles. Richard said: “Or do we say, rather, military, naval, diplomatic, noble and royal?”

    Bobby removed the cigar. “Royal, pooh!”

    “We cannot all be Plantagenet-Amorys, of course,” said his brother smoothly.—Bobby choked and glared indignantly at Noel.—“Dear boy, I called at Cousin Betsy’s yester afternoon and le petit Monsieur was at Lady Benedict’s feet with a great basket of pinks! –She had mentioned casually that she likes their clove scent.”

    “Well, it don’t astonish me, Richard,” Bobby conceded. “It was apparent he was frightfully épris at the G.-G. dance. But nothin’ will come of it: the on-dit is they have lined up some German Princess for the boy with a face like a fortnight-old plum duff.”

    “Austrian, but you are correct in essentials,” murmured Noël. “If you are not about to tell us anything after all—”

    Glaring, Bobby said: “I am telling you: I had strolled out for a little fresh air and exercise. –And if you wish to know, I have thought it over, and though she is the most delicious piece I have ever laid eyes on, she ain’t for me. And if you would but listen, I’ll tell you the sort of fellow that does fancy he is up to her weight!”

    “We are all ears,” murmured Noël in a bored voice, raising his coffee cup.

    “Vane,” said Bobby defiantly.

    Noël choked on his coffee.

    “Hah!” he said triumphantly. “Well, it was!”

    “Bobby, is he hanging out for a wife?” asked Richard.

    “Yes. And before you say it, we know he is your age,” he said nastily.

    Mildly Richard replied: “He is considerably my junior.”

    “Well, he don’t act it!” he said, shuddering.

    Noël was wiping coffee off his elegant frogged dressing gown. “Are you serious? Colonel Vane? Stamforth’s heir?”

    “Aye. Cecil Jerningham will have it he saw her at Lady Mary Vane’s dinner t’other night and asked instantly for an introduction.”

    There was a little pause.

    “Cousin Betsy was telling me just yesterday that Lady Benedict needs a firm hand,” said Richard shakily, “but good God, he must be the hardest man in London!”

    “He is certainly one of the few men in London who are capable of standing up to Wellington,” drawled Noël.

    “Exactly! And look where it got him! Half-pay before he was forty!” retorted Richard vigorously.

    “Quite,” he said, swallowing. “I doubt he has changed since I served under him. I think it is generally agreed that though he is hard, he is just.”

    “Oh, completely just and ferociously upright,” agreed Richard. “Bobby, I really cannot see it! I mean, little Lady Benedict?”

    “Did she appear to affect him?” asked Noël.

    Bobby scratched his curls. “Hard to say. She was hanging on his arm, laughin’ like nobody’s business, when I came up to them, but on the other hand, so to speak, she was hanging on to old Hugh Throgmorton’s, also!”

    “Lewis Vane must be the least amusing man in England,” said Richard faintly. “Laughing?”

    They looked limply at Bobby.

    “Well, don’t look at me, I am merely telling what I observed! She was laughing.”

    “Next he will say Lewis Vane was smiling,” said Richard faintly.

    “He was,” said Bobby defiantly.

    “Pour me another cup of coffee, Noël, dear boy,” he begged faintly. “My nerves are shattered.”

    “I think mine are, too,” admitted Noël, freshening his cup. “Colonel Vane?”

    Bobby looked smug.

    “Bobby, for the Lord’s sake, he was damn’ nearly cashiered over that affair in the Peninsula!” said Richard urgently.

    “Uh—so?”

    “Wake up! She is half-Portuguese, and from what you have both told me, very well thought of at the Embassy!”

    “So?” said Bobby crossly. “Thought you were pleased about that?”

    “Dear old fellow, Vane shot some damned Portuguese princeling for interfering with a poor little wench who claimed to be the intended of one of his sergeants.—She was not a lady, you understand.—He would have been cashiered, but it was a duel, all right and tight: seconds present. The princeling was a mere boy, but then Vane was not elderly himself, I suppose. But a dead shot, y’know.”

    “I knew there was some story of a duel that Wellington was said to be furious over... He challenged a Portugee prince over a serving-wench?” said Bobby dazedly.

    “Mm. Well, that is Vane all over,” said Richard on a dry note. “Upright to the point of mania. Though I suppose it was entirely admirable, in its way.”

    “I liked the word ‘mania’ better.”

    Noël grimaced in wry agreement. “Mm. Wellington is said to have been unapproachable for a full week after it. Had just given Vane his regiment, y’see. I gather the Portuguese tried to pressure him into seeing the fellow was cashiered: Old Hooky cut up stiff, compromised by retiring Vane on half-pay.”

    “Oh, Lor’, I see what you mean,” said Bobby limply. “The Embassy will not be best pleased to see her encouraging his attentions.”

    “Furious, I imagine,” agreed Richard. “So will old Baldaya: it will certainly do him no good at the Portuguese court.”

    “No. –Maybe she don’t know,” croaked Bobby.

    Richard nodded. “I think that is more than likely. I suppose one of us had better drop a word in Cousin Betsy’s ear.”

    “You can do it,” said his brother instantly.

    “Coward,” said Noël languidly. “Surely you know Lady Benedict well enough to drop her a hint, Bobby?”

    “No, I don’t!” he said crossly. “And don’t be taken in by that pretty face and soft manner, she is the stubbornest creature I have come across this many a long year!”

    There was an astounded silence.

    “She has thrown him over for Lewis Vane,” concluded his brother silkily.

    “No, don’t be ridiculous,” said Bobby tiredly. “I said: I ain’t up to her weight, so drop it!”

    Noël sighed. “Well, for the Lord’s sake sit down and have some ham or something, Bobby, and tell us the rest. Old Throgmorton?”

    Bobby chucked the stub of his cigar into the fireplace. “What is this?” He eyed the ham suspiciously.

    “A Black Berkshire from off our own lands, Bobby,” said his nephew with a twinkle in his eye.

    “Ah!” Bobby carved ham enthusiastically. “F’mor-hon’sh—” he said through it.

    “Swallow,” said Richard with a grin.

    Bobby swallowed noisily. “Throgmorton’s nose was not half put out of joint, I can tell you! Well, he is always stately, ain’t he? Gentleman of the old school. Only she appeared to prefer Vane’s attentions to his.”

    “Er—to be fair, Bobby, Hugh Throgmorton is over seventy,” said Noël.

    “Nevertheless.”

    “Go on,” said Richard  on a weak note. “What about the rest?”

    “Naval?” drawled Noël.

    Bobby nodded enthusiastically round a mouthful of ham. “Aye!” he said, swallowing. “Damn’ good ham, Noel. –Arthur Jerningham hauled his keel into view”—he eyed his nephew sardonically: Noël was a keen amateur sailor—“and heaved to in our vicinity. ‘Sir Arthur!’ she cries. ‘Well met! We were having a discussion’—well, actually she said ‘deescussion’, thought Jerningham was about to pass out—‘about the tactics at Trafalgar! Perhaps you can clarify eet for me?’ Once he can speak, Jerningham comes down on Vane’s side like the blockhead he is, and poor old Hugh T. bows stiffly and takes himself off with his nose well and truly out of joint.”

    “Bobby, that’s apocryphal!” protested Noel.

    “He will be at White’s this afternoon as usual, if you wish to toddle along and inspect the nose.”

    “Hugh Throgmorton went off in a huff?” croaked Richard.

    Bobby held his head on one side. “Huff? I’d have said it were more a snit, meself. No: I tell a lie: a sulk.”

    “Rubbish!” said Richard loudly.

    “True’s I sit here.”

    “Eating up our breakfast,” noted Noël, wrenching the platter out of his grasp. “A little more, Richard?”

    “Thanks,” said Richard, grinning. “I’ll have that last roll, too: pass it to me quickly before Bobby notices it.”

    Bobby ignored this, with a lofty expression on his face. “That ain’t all.”

    “Go on, then: Vane and Jerningham retired gracefully, leaving the field to your Plantagenet blood,” suggested Noël languidly.

    “No. First old Francis Kernohan comes up, stiff as a ramrod—”

    His audience choked.

    “Not that, dammit! Um, no, well, that, too,” he admitted drily.

    “General Kernohan?” gasped Richard.

    “Yes! It is all over town.”

    “Poor soul,” said Richard thoughtfully.

    Bobby eyed him uneasily. “Dare say. Only hope I am capable of it at his age.”

    “Amen to that,” said Noël. “So what for the Lord’s sake happened? Kernohan is Wellington’s blue-eyed boy.”

    “Well, exactly! He and Vane glared at each other like a couple of cats. Then Vane bows and says he sees Lady Benedict will be well protected. –Sounds all right when I say it, only you never heard anything so icy in your life!” He shuddered. “And off he goes.”

    Richard shook his head slowly. “Lewis Vane would have been a general by now if— Oh, well. Perhaps he would have disagreed with Wellington’s military tactics as much as he does with his politics: did you read that speech he made in the Commons t’other day?”

    “Mm,” said Noël with a wry grimace.

    Bobby shook his head firmly. “Never read political speeches, dear boy.”

    “No. Well, the fur will fly once old Stamforth goes and Lewis Vane is in the Lords!”

    “We’ll look forward to that,” said Noël sweetly. “Was there anyone else, Bobby, or does this saga consist entirely of Vane, Throgmorton, Kernohan and Jerningham? –Four of the most tedious bores in London,” he noted with a sort of awe.

    “Aye! Poor little girl!” choked Richard, suddenly going into a paroxysm.

    “Well, Wilf Rowbotham was with me—”

    Richard went into another paroxysm.

    “Very well, can’t count him,” Bobby agreed with a silly smile.

    “Go on,” drawled Noël. “Or are you claimin’ one Plantagenet-Amory and half a Rowbotham constitute noble?”

    “Too unkind, Noël!” choked Richard.

    “No,” said Bobby, grinning. “Keywes.”

    “Er—he is her cousin, Bobby,” murmured Noel.

    “Pooh! By this time she has taken the arm of yours truly,” he said, smirking.

    “Ooh, it shows what address will do!” cried Richard admiringly.

    “Hah, hah, very witty. Keywes comes up to us, and if we thought Vane and Kernohan was stiff in their manner—!” He nodded portentously.

    “How is this meaningful?” asked his nephew politely.

    “Look, just drop it! I’m telling you! At first I think it is only that in spite of the fact the Embassy is vouchin’ for her, he ain’t best pleased to have the connection published all over town. But it ain’t that. She is pretty formal with him, mind you. And makes sure he knows everyone, and so forth. So then I bow to him and say perhaps he would care to claim a cousin’s privilege, regretful though I am to resign her—you know the sort of thing.”

    “No: I’ve never been that silly myself,” said Noël.

    “Nor I,” agreed Richard.

    Glaring, Bobby said loudly: “You two have no notion, have you? I was testing the fellow! Well, guess what! He—not she, mind you—he blushes like a peony, bows stiffly again, and says there will be no need, cousins may see each other any time! And starts chatting to old Wilf!”

    There was a thoughtful silence.

    “I hate to admit it,” said Richard, little smiles coming and going round his long mouth, “but I think he may have a point.”

    “Perhaps… Bobby, dear old fellow, Keywes is purported to be an accomplished diplomat: are you sure about this blushing business?”

    “Yes,” said Bobby firmly.

    “He must be a gudgeon,” Noël decided limply.

    “Well, yes! Comin’ over all bashful and leavin’ the field to yours truly, when I was offerin’ her on a plate?”

    “Quite.”

    “How obvious did you make it?” asked Richard suddenly.

    Bobby took a deep breath. “I did not make it obvious at all. And perhaps you would care to step outside and discuss the matter?”

    “Sorry; I believe you, Bobby!” he said hastily. “I feel sorry for him,” he decided.

    Bobby sighed. “Matrimony,” he said sadly to Noël. “Softens the brain.”

    “Aye,” Noël agreed, grinning. “He is a lost cause.”

    Colonel Amory merely ate ham, looking smug.

    “You are honoured, dear Lady Benedict,” said Senhora Carvalho dos Santos in Portuguese while the ladies waited for the gentlemen after dinner. “He spoke to you!”

    Nan had been seated next to a Mr Tobias Vane. “Yes,” she said weakly.

    “Food?” asked the Senhora, raising her arched eyebrows even higher.

    Nan nodded limply. “How did you guess? There was a dish of pheasant in front of us: he asked me if I admired that fashion of dressing them.”

    “It was not a conventional enquiry,” stated the Senhora with a twinkle in her dark eye.

    Nan swallowed. “No, indeed.”

    The Ambassador’s lady nodded. “First he would have detailed every nuance of the dish—no? And then—let me see: there is a fifty-fifty chance... Either spoken of other ways of doing pheasant he had experienced, or drawn you out on ways you— Yes?”

    “An Indian dish,” said Nan feebly, nodding.

    The Senhora gave a trill of laughter.

    Fanny von Maltzahn-Dressen came up to them, smiling. “De quoi parlez-vous?”

    The Senhora switched to French and explained that Lady Benedict had been favoured with Mr Tobias Vane’s opinion of the faisan.

    The Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen went off into a delighted trill of laughter.

    “I see,” said Nan, smiling sheepishly. “He is a character, no?”

    “One of the quizzes of London!” gasped Fanny, mopping her eyes. “Ma pauvre! But you are flattered: many ladies have sat through an entire dinner without his addressing a word to them, even on the subject of food!”

    The Senhora gave another laugh but admitted: “I’m so sorry, my dear! But somebody had to have him, you know! And he is not nobody, of course: the Vanes.”

    “And I am new,” said Nan with a twinkle in her eye. “Précisément.”

    Both ladies at this laughed very much and nodded.

    ... “Hé bien?” said the Fürstin to her hostess a little later.

     Senhora Carvalho dos Santos smiled. “She will do very well, n’êtes-vous pas d’accord?”

    Fanny nodded thoughtfully. “Once she acquires a little town bronze: oui, je suis d’accord avec vous, ma chère Magnólia.”

    Senhora Carvalho dos Santos smiled and nodded, hoping she was concealing her considerable relief. The Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen’s opinion counted for quite a lot, in their little hot-house world.

    Mr Wilfred Rowbotham handed Nan tenderly into his phaeton. He mounted himself, and tenderly adjusted the rug for her. It was a pleasantly mild spring day: Nan still found the English weather chilly, and she was wearing her pale grey velvet carriage dress and carrying her silvery-grey swansdown muff: she did not feel that there was any need for the rug, but did not care to hurt his feelings by saying so.

    Mr Rowbotham was an amiable-looking man-about-town who was an old friend of Sir Noël Amory’s. He was known for his excellent taste, so Nan was duly flattered at his obvious admiration for herself. At the same time rather wishing it away, for she did not feel she could reciprocate it. But—well, he was very pleasant, and it was a very pleasant way to while away an hour, so—

    They went to the Park, and drove at a gentle pace up and down its wider and more fashionable avenues. Mr Rowbotham chatted gently on unexceptionable topics, recounted one or two very mild on-dits of the town—Nan concluding that she was being thus favoured because she was a widowed lady: she was very sure he would not have told them, harmless though they were, to a débutante—and pointed out one or two notables.

    Then he drove her gently home again, handed her down tenderly, bowed very low but not improperly so over her hand, and saw her back safely indoors.

    “Well?” said the sapient Mrs Urqhart with a twinkle.

    Nan collapsed onto a chair. “As you predicted, dear ma’am: the epitome of proper!”

    Regrettably, Mrs Urqhart went into a wheezing paroxysm. Even more regrettably, Nan immediately joined her.

    Tenderly Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham handed Nan into his curricle. He got up beside her. Tenderly he adjusted the rug...

    They drove to the Park. Commander Sir Arthur favoured Nan with an immense amount of information about the ships he had sailed on. It was very interesting, Nan admitted that to herself. He pointed out notables of the town. He did not tell her any on-dits, not even the mildest. They circled gently along the more fashionable avenues. After a correct period had elapsed he drove her home again...

    “Well?” said Mrs Urqhart.

    Nan gave her a defiant look. “It was vairy interesting. He told me of hees ships—”

    Mrs Urqhart collapsed in helpless splutters.

    “Eet was!” she cried.

    “If—you—says—so—deary!” she gasped. “To each ’is own!”

    Tenderly le petit Monsieur handed Nan into his spanking-new curricle. He got up beside her. Tenderly he adjusted the rug...

    “Well?” said Mrs Urqhart.

    “The Park,” said Nan shortly, throwing her bonnet onto a chair and running her hands through her curls.

    “And?”

    “Vairy proper,” she said, glaring.

    Mrs Urqhart collapsed in sniggers.

    “Dare say you will not have had time to see much of London, as yet, Lady Benedict,” stated young Mr Shirley Rowbotham as their dance ended and he bowed her off the floor.

    “Not vairy much,” said Nan, suppressing an unworthy urge to say she had seen a lot of the Park. “I am going to an exhibition of pictures tomorrow afternoon.”

    “Oh, aye? The Royal Academy? Perhaps I shall see you there!”

    “That would be most pleasant,” said Nan, smiling kindly.

    “I say, perhaps you would care to come for a drive with me in the morning, in my phaeton?” said Mr Shirley, visibly encouraged.

    “That sounds delightful,” she said weakly.

    “Oh, splendid! I tell you what, ma’am, if you should care for it, we shall go to the Park! You will like that!” he predicted sunnily.

    “Three,” announced Dom, strolling into the downstairs sitting-room with a broad grin on his face.

    Mrs Urqhart was just up. “Trot ’em in, then, boy,” she said, yawning.

    “Don’t think I can carry ’em,” he said, the grin broadening.

    “Eh?”

    “You’ll see!” said Dom with a laugh, going out.

    Mrs Urqhart looked at Nan’s pink face, and laughed.

    “There ees absolutely nothing een—”

    “No, ’course there ain’t. Any gentleman may send a lady a posy, if ’e so pleases. In especial if she has favoured him with a dance the night before. Or a tour round the Park in ’is carriage. Or let ’im take her arm at the picture exhibition. Or let ’im show her how to play her cards at whist what she has been playin’ from her cradle—”

    “Dear Mrs Urqhart, please!” she said, blushing and laughing.

    “Tell me it ain’t so, and I’ll hold me peace.”

    Nan bit her lip, her eyes twinkling naughtily.

    “Bless us,” said Mrs Urqhart numbly as Dom staggered in under a bower of blooms.

    “See!” he panted.

    “Dom, what on earth—?” gasped Nan.

    “You said there was but three,” said his hostess, goggling.

    Dom set down his burden. “Phew! Three een all, yes. Thees ees but one: see?”

    “I see it be a cornucopia,” said Mrs Urqhart drily.

    “No: wrong shape. Eet’s a basket, ma’am.”

    “And we thought little Prince Whatsit’s great load o’ pinks was silly enough,” she said limply. “Well, come on, lad, where’s the card?”

    “Eet ain’t a card, eet’s a sealed note,” said Dom sadly.

    “Then give it her!”

    Grinning, Dom handed it to Nan, and waited.

    “Good gracious, when he said sealed, he meant sealed!” she gulped, looking at the wax.

    He sniggered.

    “Dom, thees ees a joke, eesn’t it?”

    “No! On my honour! That amount of flowers would have set some fool back a small fortune.” He came and peered at the seal. “Don’t recognize the crest.”

    Nan also peered at the seal. “Well, no.”

    Dom took the note off her, broke its seal, grinning, and handed it back.

    She looked at the folded sheet limply. “No really, I cannot.”

    “Old Mr Throgmorton?” suggested Dom.

    “I think he’d have more taste,” admitted Mrs Urqhart.

    “One of her military men?”

    “It certain-sure don’t look like Colonel Sour-Puss!” she said with feeling.

    Nan bit her lip. “No.” –Mrs Urqhart had most incautiously referred to the dark-visaged Colonel Vane in this fashion two days since in Dom’s hearing, and since then the pair of them had adopted the soubriquet with horrible enthusiasm.

    “Then the fat man, hees relative!” choked Dom.

    “I am vairy sure that Mr Tobias Vane ees not eenterested een me een that way.”

    “Then unfold that sheet, lovely,” Mrs Urqhart advised, shaking all over, “and put us out of our misery!”

    “I really can’t,” said Nan faintly, passing it to Dom. “Eet ees just too much!”

    Dom unfolded it slowly, relishing the moment. The two ladies stared at him. His eyebrows rose. He whistled.

    “Well?” cried Mrs Urqhart loudly.

    “Please, Dom, eet ees not le petit Monsieur: he—he could not be that seelly?”

    “No. Surprisingly enough, eet ain’t Henri-Louis.” He shook his head and whistled again.

    “Well, what’s it say, you dratted pest?” cried his hostess.

    Dom raised his eyebrows very high again and read slowly: “Veuillez agreéer les sentiments les plus—”

    “Lovey, don’t say it in furrin!”

    “Eet ees een furrin, Mrs Urqhart,” he said solemnly.

    “De la part de qui?” croaked Nan.

    Dom looked at Mrs Urqhart and smiled a little. “It gets vairy—uh—flowery. Eet’s from Son Altesse—sorry, His Highness the Prince Frédéric von Maltzahn-Dressen. Be Friedrich, really, I suppose.”

    There was a blank silence.

    Finally Mrs Urqhart said: “I thought he were dead.”

    “So deed I,” said Nan numbly.

    “No, no: not Son Altesse le Prince von Maltzahn-Dressen, but Son Altesse le Prince Frédéric von Maltzahn-Dressen!” said Dom on a triumphant note.

    “Dom, that be clear as mud!” said Mrs Urqhart loudly.

    “Oh, good gracious,” said Nan limply. “Eet cannot be.”

    “Yes, eet can,” he said instantly.

    “WELL?” shouted Mrs Urqhart, at the end of her tether.

    Dom shook all over. “What does the leetle red-headed girl call heem, again?”

    Nan swallowed. “Oncle Pom-Pom.”

    “Eh?” said Mrs Urqhart.

    “Eet—eet must be the Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen’s brother-in-law, dear ma’am,” said Nan shakily.

    “But you don’t know him!” Mrs Urqhart goggled at the immense basket of towering delphiniums, slender irises, and delicate daisies: all in shades of blue, white and yellow. Very pretty, but as the complete thing was nigh on four foot tall, most extremely overdone indeed.

    “No!” gasped Dom. “And he don’t know her! Those ain’t her colours!”“

    “No, I cannot wear blues or yellows,” said Nan limply.

    “Thees weell be to eentroduce heemself: eet must be true what Senhora Carvalho dos Santos were sayin’ t’other night: he ees hangin’ out for a rich wife!” said Dom with relish.

    “Horrors!” gulped Nan.

    Mrs Urqhart gave a wolfish grin, “That’ll be somethin’ for us to look forward to, then! –Well, you can’t top that, I s’pose, me love, only was there not two others?”

    Dom jumped. “Oh, aye! They pale into insigneeficance.” He went out to get them.

    “Thees ees dreadful,” said Nan numbly, looking at the basket.

    “Rats. A real European gent of the old school a-comin’ to pay ’is court? I cannot wait!”

    The other two posies were merely pink blooms with pink ribbons from le petit Monsieur, and pale yellow blooms with pale yellow ribbons from Mr Jack Beresford.

    “Did you want either of ’em?” asked Mrs Urqhart drily.

    Nan swallowed. “Not particularly. Pray excuse me, I shall take Johnny and Rosebud for their walk.”

    Mrs Urqhart smiled and nodded, but as Nan went out, looked at the two posies abandoned on a table and shook her head a little.

    “Een a week?” gulped Daphne.

    “Nine posies? Most girls go all Season with not as many as that!” cried Tarry.

    Dom looked bland, “Nine. Since the reception at the Embassy, last Tuesday,”

    It was Monday: the party from The Towers had arrived late last night, and there had been time only for greetings, an exchange of the most urgent news, and a hot supper before Mrs Urqhart had bundled them all off to bed.

    “That is certainly a week,” admitted Cherry with a twinkle in her eye.

    Eagerly Dom told them all about Prince Pom-Pom’s “cornucopia.”

    “Dom! That ees a lie from beginning to end!” cried Daphne.

    “Pooh. Look: half the theengs ees still goin’ strong,” he said, nodding at the huge vaseful which adorned the bow window of the room in which they sat.

    “He must be mad!” declared Daphne crossly, pouting.

    “Leetle Princess Adélaïde says he ees, more or less,” said Dom, grinning broadly.

    Eric Charleson was solemnly examining the flowers. “I would say they are several days old. Just past their best,” he pronounced.

    “That proves eet!” said Dom, collapsing in helpless giggles.

    Mr Charleson was a very even-tempered young man of a remarkably placid disposition. He came back to the circle of chairs and sofas, grinning amiably. “’Pears to, aye! Well, aren’t you glad your sister is the rage of the town, Miss Daphne?”

    Daphne pouted. “I suppose. But eet’s rideeculous: she ees a widow!”

    “I am sure that as soon as you have met some pleasant young gentlemen, you will also receive bouquets,” said Susan hurriedly.

    “Of course,” agreed Cherry, smiling anxiously.

    “Or at least one: even my sister Prosy was said once to have received a posy,” said Tarry thoughtfully.

    Turning puce, Daphne ran out of the room.

    “Thees fancy what Nan was telling me of, for the Marquis of R.,” said Dom delicately: “has eet—?”

    Mr Charleson shuddered.

    “She has been worse than ever these past few days,” said Susan with a sigh.

    Forthwith Dom broke down in a terrific sniggering fit.

    The girls were hesitating on the stairs, with a certain amount of hissing of “You go first!”

    “Cherry and I will go first,” said Mrs Stewart, smiling determinedly. She took the quailing Cherry’s arm and the party proceeded downstairs.

    The salon was full of fashionable gentlemen! Tarry went bright crimson as the tallest one in the wonderful naval uniform resolved itself into Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham, and became incapable of speech. Daphne turned deep puce as the broad-shouldered one with the carelessly tied neckcloth and black hair silvering at the temples resolved itself into the Most Noble the Marquis of Rockingham, and became incapable of speech. Cherry went as pale as the lace collar at her throat as the tall exquisite in the blue coat resolved itself into Sir Noel Amory, and was incapable of speech. Susan was so overcome at the sight of all these fashionable gentlemen that she was pretty well incapable of speech anyway.

    Numbly the girls seated themselves. And watched numbly as the tall, Romantick-looking gentleman in the naval uniform presented something to Nan.

    “No, no: it’s the merest trifle!” he said, laughing, as she protested.

    Smiling, she opened it. “Oh, Sir Arthur!” she said with a gurgle. “Where deed you find eet?”

    Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham preened himself. “Oh—happened to remember a fellow on my last ship what makes ’em. Cunning, is it not?”

    It was a small bottle, with a very small representation of Nelson’s Victory in it.

    “Eendeed! I have seen larger ones, but thees ees quite charming!”

    “So glad you think so, Lady Benedict. The fellow has not managed to work in the detail of the rigging, of course, but—”

    None of the young ladies noticed that at this point one or two of the older gentlemen exchanged resigned glances.

    The room had barely settled after the presentation of this trifle when three more gentlemen were announced. Certain youthful jaws sagged. A Prince?

    Henri-Louis in palest fawn pantaloons and a chocolate-brown coat, Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon in full regimentals, and Senhor Cavalcanti de Albuquerque in a dark coat and pale yellow pantaloons came in smiling eagerly.

    Captain Lord Vyvyan was clutching a tight posy of pale pink rosebuds: they were nothing, just a trifle, he had spotted a flower seller and had thought immediately of Lady Benedict...

    Cousin Mauro had a small parcel which he explained, laughing, was for “leetle Zhonny”: he had picked it up in the Spanish Bazaar: he thought it might amuse the little boy.

    Nan unwrapped it and gave a startled gurgle.

    “See, eet ees to trap zhe flies!” said Cousin Mauro proudly.

    The Marquis of Rockingham got up and came over unaffectedly to examine it. “Tricky,” he approved. “Look, they crawl in here, y’see, and the little gate snaps closed—”

    “Eet ees rideeculous,” admitted Cousin Mauro, “but fun, no?”

    “Vairy much so, and Johnny weell love eet!” said Nan, wiping her eyes.

    “Aye: we’ll get one for our brats,” said the Marquis, taking out his pocketbook.

    The young ladies watched limply as the Marquis of Rockingham wrote down the exact direction of the stall at the Spanish Bazaar which sold fly traps.

    “I cannot possibly improve on that,” Henri-Louis then said with a twinkle in his eye: “but I beg you will accept this trifle from me, Lady Benedict.”

    Captain Lord Vyvyan grinned. “He picked it up in the Spanish Bazaar, too.”

    “Well, yes,” said Henri-Louis, looking at Nan somewhat anxiously.

    It was very beautifully wrapped in silver paper: Nan unwrapped it carefully.

    “A fan? Why, that ees—Oh!” she said, unfurling it. The fan was but a cheap affair, but mounted on it was— Nan turned it to display it to the company, her face all smiles. “See! A panorama of Bombay! Look, Daphne, just exactly here ees where the ship was moored, you recall?”

    Daphne blushed horribly, nodded, and was incapable of speech.

    “Oh, I shall treasure eet!” cried Nan, beaming at Henri-Louis.

    He bowed very low. “I am so glad. But truly, madame, it is the merest trifle.”

    “Non, non, but eet ees the thought, Monsieur!” she cried.

    When the room had cleared at last, the young ladies just looked at Nan limply.

    Nan was admiring the fan again. She looked up. “What ees eet?”

    “How can you?” said Daphne hoarsely.

    “What?” she said in a puzzled voice.

    “He’s a prince!” gulped Tarry.

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed slightly. “Bobby reckons he’s about as much a prince as what he is a Plantagenet.”

    “Mrs Urqhart, he is a Bourbon,” said Cherry faintly.

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed again. “Aye, well, that’s no recommendation. No, well: he’s quite a sweet young feller.”

    “Vairy sweet!” said Nan, admiring the panorama.

    “Yes—um—but—but those gentlemen!” gulped Tarry.

    “Oh!” said Nan, laughing. “Well, they are all so well-meaning, you know? And they are members of the human race, too!”

    The girls just looked at her limply.

    Nobody was up very early the morning after the girls’ first dance, not surprisingly. Various persons eventually made it down to the small salon, however. If they had expected a dawdling morning of yawns they were due to be disappointed.

    The doorknocker was heard. Tarry went to the bow window and peered from behind the curtains. “It will be a trifle for Lady Benedict!”

    Thirty seconds later Albert came in bearing a salver. A posy of mixed blooms. He bowed. “Miss Daphne.”

    “Me?” she gasped, falling upon it.

    “Who?” gasped Tarry, rushing to her side.

    Daphne read the card. She gulped. “Panardouche Carvalho dos Santos.”

    “Not really?” said Susan limply.

    Dom yawned. “They are both hangin’ out for a rich wife: what do you expect? Senhora Carvalho dos Santos weell have put heem up to eet. Panardouche ain’t got that much nous.”

    Daphne reddened, and looked dubiously at the posy.

    Ten minutes or so passed in musing silence. And on Dom’s part in flipping through some sporting papers, yawning.

    Then the knocker was heard again. Tarry shot to the window again.

    “It will be a footman with a posy for Daphne from Senhor Papelardouche Carvalho dos Santos,” said Susan primly.

    It was. Dom choked and had to be revived by Susan patting his back and Tarry administering a glass of water.

    Ten minutes later a carriage was heard to draw up. All three girls unceremoniously shot to the window.

    “If thees be an offerin’ for Daphne from Cousin Mauro I theenk I shall go off to Jackson’s and take eet out een a morning’s sparring!” said Dom.

    It wasn’t. It was an offering for Tarry from Cousin Mauro. Tarry turned puce. They were beautiful blooms: really beautiful. Carnations, a poem in cream and pink.

    “You have made a hit there. Hot-house,” said Dom. “But Uncle Érico won’t permit eet, so you had best resign yourself to eet. And he ain’t got a groat of hees own.”

    “Nor have I,” said Tarry numbly.

    “He may still admire you, Tarry, dear,” said Susan gamely.

    “But I—I duh-don’t... Oh, dear,” said Tarry numbly.

    “Can one send them back?” asked Daphne abruptly.

    “No,” said Dom definitely.

    “But I do not like Panardouche and Papelardouche!” she wailed.

    “I confess, I could not care for Senhor Cavalcanti de Albuquerque,” admitted Tarry.

    Alas, Dom collapsed in helpless hysterics.

    “Eet was so funny!” said Nan with a laugh.

    Lord Keywes frowned a little. “There is the consideration that these young men’s feelings may have been truly engaged.”

    “My dear Lord Keywes, not Panardouche and Papelardouche! Why, eet ees well known that they do whatever their Mamma orders them!”

    “That includes falling in love to order, I presume,” he said stiffly.

    “Why, yes, obviously!” said Nan with a light laugh.

    He was silent.

    “Do you not see, eet was the—the combination of—of circumstances which made eet so funny,” she said limply.

    “I see you found it so, Cousin.”

    Nan swallowed. What on earth was wrong? She had not spoken spitefully, she had merely made a funny little story out of it—and really, there was nothing in it: the young men had barely set eyes on any of the girls! And if her cousin did not wish for—for a pleasant outing, why on earth had he invited her to drive out with him?

    After a moment she gave a forced smile and said: “Where are we going, Cousin?”

    “It is such a pleasant day, I thought we might drive in the Park.”

    Regrettably, Nan collapsed in helpless giggles.

    Robert’s face was very red. He felt he had made a fool of himself. But then, it was what he had truly felt: poor damned young fellows, the butt of a pack of heartless girls! And now, what in God’s name was so funny about driving in the Park?

    “What is the joke?” he said, trying to smile.

    “Oh!” gasped Nan. “I am so sorry! But—but you suh-suggested eet as eef you were the only man on earth to have thought of the Park as a pleasant place to drive.”

    “It is customary here to drive in the Park, Cousin,” he said stiffly. “I collect other gentlemen have driven you out?”

    “Well, yes,” gulped Nan.

    After a moment he said: “I am glad to hear you are keeping amused in London.”

    “Yes,” said Nan weakly.

    They drove on in silence...

    “What on earth is it, me love?” panted Mrs Urqhart, coming cautiously into Nan’s room, after hearing her steps run upstairs after her return from the drive.

    “I—I do not know whether to laugh or cry!” said Nan, casting her bonnet on the bed.

    Mrs Urqhart sat down heavily beside the bonnet. She perceived there were, indeed, tears in Nan’s eyes. “Lawks, what happened?”

    “We went to the Park.”

    “For a change.”

    “Yes, exactly! I—I laughed. Oh, dear, eet was dreadful, dear Mrs Urqhart! He—he presented the suggestion as eef he was the only man een the wuh-world to have thought of the Park and I—I—”

    “You laughed. Aye. Well, they is all like that, me love.”

    Nan bit her lip. “I theenk he does not approve of me. I—I merely made a seelly story out of the girls’ posies, and he—he— I have never been so put-down een my life!” she cried, bursting into loud tears.

    “Oops,” said Mrs Urqhart, hugging her comfortingly.

    “I—I theenk,” said Nan unsteadily at last, “that because he—he ees so vairy, vairy attractive, I had built heem up een my mind as—as sometheeng more than, um—”

    “Something more than all these donors of little trifles, hey?”

    She nodded.

    “My pet, he may still be so. Give him a second chance.”

    Nan smiled wanly. “Yes. Well, he ees to come to Johnny’s party: perhaps we shall see a different side to hees character, then.”

    Two more little trifles were to arrive before Johnny’s party took place. The next morning Mrs Urqhart chased the younger girls out for a walk with Mrs Stewart to blow the cobwebs away. She, Nan and Cherry were sitting peacefully in the downstairs salon with Pug Chalfont panting slightly beside Cherry’s chair when the knocker was heard.

    “Hoy, ALBERT!” shouted the old lady unceremoniously.

    Albert hurried in. “Yes, Mrs Urqhart?”

    “You heard the knocker then?”

    “Certainly, madam, and the door h’is being h’opened at this moment—”

    “Not that, y’fool: Lord knows it ain’t your job to open the door in me son’s house! No: if that be a posy for any of them girls, we don’t want to know about it, see?”

    “Uh—yes, madam,” he said weakly.

    “You may just give eet quietly to the young lady when they return from their walk,” said Nan kindly, smiling at him.

    “Out of course, my Lady! Thank you, my Lady!” Albert retreated, bowing.

    He was back again ten seconds later. A package on a salver. With blue ribbons. “For Miss Chalfont.”

    “Cain’t be a posy. Unless they be dried flowers, a-squished up,” noted Mrs Urqhart, lapsing into a rollicking mood.

    “Don’t,” said Nan unsteadily.

    “Lay you a monkey it be from old Hugh T.,” she noted lazily. “Here: I tell you what, she is oustin’ you in ’is affections, Nan!”

    “Do not be seelly,” said Nan severely, frowning at her. “Cherry reminds heem of her grandmother.”

    “Yes: I have no conversation, he clearly prefers Nan’s company,” said Cherry, very pink. “He is just being kind to me.”

    “Go on, show us what he’s being kind with today,” said Mrs Urqhart tolerantly.

    Cherry had the parcel half unwrapped. She looked at its contents in confusion. A tangle of blue straps... “Oh! she cried. “It is for Pug!”

    It was a little harness and leading-rein for Pug Chalfont. With a tiny silver bell attached. Cherry put it on him immediately

    “Well, he looks a trick,” admitted Mrs Urqhart.

    “Shall we take him for a w— W,A,L,K, dear Nan?” said Cherry hopefully.

    Nan laughed. “Of course! We must celebrate hees new leading-streengs!”

    Before they could move, however, the doorknocker was heard again.

    Mrs Urqhart lay back on her sofa, moaning gently.

    “She ees going eento a mad mood,” warned Nan.

    “Yes!” said Cherry with a loud giggle.

    After a pause, Albert entered. “Lady Benedict,” he said, bowing very low.

    “Thank you, Albert,” said Nan weakly, ignoring her hostess’s mutter of: “That be a largish trifle, be it not?”

    “There is no card, my Lady,” said the footman. “I presume it must be in the box.”

    “Yes. Thank you, Albert.”

    Albert cast a regretful look at the box, bowed and withdrew.

    “Personal, I would frame that box,” noted Mrs Urqhart.

    The box was wrapped in a piece of pink brocaded silk, and tied up with a silver gauze riband and a single pink rose.

    “Poetic,” added Mrs Urqhart with relish.

    Nan bit her lip. She untied the parcel carefully. Inside it was a pale blue case of fine leather, embossed in gold with the letter “N.”

    “Vairy Napoleonic, no?” she said weakly.

    “Open it!” urged  Mrs Urqhart, craning her neck.

    Uncertainly Nan opened the case...

    They gasped.

    For a moment no-one spoke.

    “That,” said Mrs Urqhart, drawing a grim breath, “is the sort of little trifle what is sent by gents as has less sense of the fitness of things than what they ought!”

    “Is that a—a coat of arms?” croaked Cherry.

    “Aye,” said the old lady.

    There was a short pause.

    “Eet ees not the Baldaya coat of arms,” said Nan limply. “Nor dear Hugo’s.”

    “I have to say, it is glorious: but at the same time the most vulgar thing I have ever laid eyes on,” said Cherry limply.

    “Ain’t it, though?” agreed Mrs Urqhart on a grim note. “Well, I don’t say as I ain’t seen worse in me time, but I’ve lived a lot longer than either of you.”

    Nan picked it up gingerly. “Eet ees a peen.”

    “Or mantel ornament—yes,” noted Mrs Urqhart.

    Nan gulped, and nodded. The pin—or mantel ornament—consisted of two sections, the bottom or support section being the coat of arms. Presumably those of the gentleman who had sent it.

    “Émail noir, et or,” said Mrs Urqhart casually, pointing to it. “Aux rubis et diamants.”

    The two young women nodded mutely.

    Surmounting the coat of arms was a great curlicue of pale blue sapphires in white gold. When looked at closely this structure resolved itself into sprays of flowers in a basket, in the midst of the sprays the word “Nan” being inscribed in flowing script in white diamonds. The whole piece being some five inches high.

    “It is undoubtedly worth a king’s ransom,” said Cherry numbly.

    Nan had just read the card that was enclosed. She exploded in giggles.

    “Who?” gasped Cherry. “Surely not le petit Monsieur?”

    Mrs Urqhart grabbed the card from the helplessly shaking Nan. “That there Uncle Pom-Pom of Princess Adélaïde’s, that’s who!” she said crossly. “The basket, in case you don’t ask, bein’ a delicate reminder of the whopper he sent her. Well, the creature has obviously thunk it out with both hands for a month in advance, cain’t be a coincidence.” She snapped the case shut.

    “Oh...” said Cherry sadly.

    The old lady sighed, but opened it again. “Go on then, me lovey. You shall both try it on, why not?”

    “Yes. But eet must be sent back,” said Nan.

    “Sent back! I’ll send it back with— Aye. Don’t you worry, me love, I shall write the note meself. The impertinence! Never heard of such a thing!”

    With that the young ladies fell eagerly on Prince Pom-Pom’s love-token and tried it on. On their shoulders, in their hair... On Pug Chalfont’s harness. In Mrs Urqhart’s hair. Cherry proposed trying it on Albert and Nan collapsed in hysterics. Mrs Urqhart proposed trying it on Bapsee and they all collapsed in hysterics...

    Vulgar and improper though the pin was, it was, as Cherry had said, quite glorious in its way. Nan crept quietly into the salon later the same day. The house was quiet: Mrs Urqhart was having her nap, Dom had condescended to take Daphne, Tarry and Susan driving in the barouche with Mr Charleson and Mr Sotheby riding alongside and Cousin Catriona to play propriety, and Cherry, full of blushes, had been allowed to take a little walk on old Mr Throgmorton’s arm, of course accompanied by Pug Chalfont in all his glory.

    The door opened just as Nan was primping before the mirror over the mantel with the piece in her hair.

    “Colonel Vane,” announced Albert primly.

    “Horrors!” gasped Nan, retreating precipitately from the mirror.

    The dark-featured Colonel Vane came in and bowed, unsmiling. “I have caught you at a disadvantage, Lady Benedict. My apologies.”

    “My Lady, I thought as Madam were downstairs!” gulped Albert in dismay.

    “No, she ees steell resting,” said Nan, smiling weakly at him. “Eet ees quite all right, Albert: please bring tea and see eef Mrs Urqhart be awake.”

    “Yes, my Lady.” Albert bowed and hurried out.

    Colonel Vane came over to Nan and looked hard at the ornament. He was a tall man: he had a very good view of it. “Von Maltzahn-Dressen,” he said unemotionally. “The younger house, I think.”

    “Oh, dear, what you must theenk!” gulped Nan. “I—I could not reseest trying eet on once more, before eet goes back. –Eet ees to go back!” she gasped.

    “Of course,” he said, bowing.

    Nan looked in horror into his saturnine face. He was one of those men with a heavy beard who never appear truly clean-shaven. What with that and the hard expression, and the cold grey eyes... They were very dark eyes, she saw with a strange little shock: quite extraordinarily beautiful: not a blue-grey at all, but the colour of gathering storm-clouds in winter.

    “Colonel Vane, eet ees truly going back! Eet only arrived thees morning, and we have not yet had time to send eet!” The dark face was unmoving. “And I have not even met Oncle Pom-Pom!” she said in despair.

    “There is then the less reason for returning it,” he said coolly.

    Nan’s mouth opened in shock.

    Colonel Vane looked at her calmly.

    “What deed you say?” she gasped.

    “I said, if you have not met Pom-Pom, there is the less reason for returning it. –Allow me,” he said gravely. He removed the pin from her hair, bowed and handed it to her. “The diamonds are quite fine.”

    “Colonel Vane, are you—are you mockeeng me?” said Nan in a trembling voice.

    “Only the least bit, Lady Benedict. But I am certainly mocking the egregious Pom-Pom.”

    “Do you know heem?” she gasped.

    “I might say,” he said on a dispassionate note, “that all the world knows him, but that would be a silly piece of hyperbole, the sort that passes for acceptable currency in the microcosm we both inhabit. But I do know him, yes. I had the unfortunate experience of being posted as a very young aide-de-camp to our Embassy in Prussia at the time that His Highness—er—was adorning the Prussian Court.”

    “Oh, good gracious, you are an intelligent man!” cried Nan.

    “I am certainly not a stupid one, ma’am. What gave you the impression I might be?”

    “No— I— Oh, what a seelly theeng to say!” she gasped, her hands flying to her crimson cheeks.

    Colonel Vane’s hard grey eyes twinkled. “I hope you don’t mean that. May I assist you to a chair?”

    “You weell have to, I feel quite strange,” she admitted feebly.

    “Good,” he said unemotionally. He assisted her to a chair and pulled up another close to it.

    There was a short silence. Colonel Vane looked at her impassively. Nan did not know where to look, and was afraid that if she met those hard grey eyes she might—well, she knew not! Burst out giggling, like a stupid schoolgirl? Throw herself onto his chest and sob out her troubles— No, what a stupid notion, she did not even like him, he was so unhandsome as to be practically ugly, and known to be the coldest man in London!

    Eventually she managed to say: “I theenk I owe you a sincere apology.” She took a deep breath. “I have read some of the reports of your speeches in the Commons, but I—” She bit her lip.

    “One tempers one’s mode to suit one’s audience, of course,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Oh, please stop!” cried Nan, her hands going to her cheeks again.

    He smiled, just a little. He did not have perfect teeth, or anything like it: the lower ones were very uneven. Nor did he look handsome when he smiled. And most certainly not charming. Nan looked up at him weakly and wondered why on earth she felt as if everything in her was trembling.

    “I’m sorry; I suppose I have been teasing you, a little,” he said politely.

    She nodded mutely.

    “Do let me have one more look at Pom-Pom’s offering on the altar of your—er—”

    “Do not dare to say beauty!” she said fiercely.

    “Fortune,” said Colonel Vane simply.

    Smiling limply, Nan handed him the pin.

    “My God, he must be even madder than he was back then,” he said simply. “Or more conceited. Though it’s hard to imagine. –Is there a case?”

    She nodded: it was on the mantelshelf. The Colonel rose and put the pin in the case. He sat down again, holding the case, looking at it dubiously. “One had hitherto thought,” he said to himself: “that Pom-Pom’s sympathies were entirely royalist.”

    “Eendeed!” said Nan with a laugh. “I found the Napoleonic touch anomalous also!”

    He looked at her and smiled slowly.

    Nan went very pink and bent forward eagerly. “Colonel, would you—would you tell me all about heem?”

    “I would certainly not tell a respectable young woman all about him. But I suppose I can tell you something. His appearance?”

    Nan nodded eagerly. “Ees he—ees he fat?”

    Colonel Vane appeared to think it over. “When last seen—this was a year after Waterloo, Lady Benedict—he was as fat as a balloon.”

    Nan gave a crow of laughter. “And ees eet true about hees embroidered waistcoats?”

    “Silver in the morning, colours in the afternoon, and gold brocade in the evening unless it be a formal occasion, when he wears white, embroidered with crystal beads and seed pearls.”

    Nan’s eyes were on stalks. “Eet ees not apocryphal, then?”

    “Certainly not. Nor is the wig.”

    “Blond curls?”

    Colonel Vane inclined his head gravely.

    “I cannot wait!”

    He laughed suddenly. “Pom-Pom would be overjoyed to hear it!”

    Nan smiled at him. She could not have said why, but she suddenly felt immensely happy. “I theenk not! And Mrs Urqhart has een mind to write heem the coldest note he ever received een hees life!”

    “And he has received a-many,” he murmured. “Good, I am glad that she is looking after you properly.”

    “Yes. She ees—well, I cannot truly remember my mother. But eef one had to imagine the most understanding mother a young woman could have, Mrs Urqhart would be she.”

    “Good. And it is just as well you don’t remember Nancy: you would not have found her either understanding or motherly. –Or possibly,” he murmured, “you might have found her too understanding: it would depend on what you wished to be understood.”

    Nan looked at him numbly, scarcely knowing which of the many points he was making to examine first. Let alone which to answer.

    “My home is in Sussex. Your mother and I would be nearly the same age, had she lived.”

    “I see,” she said faintly.

    “There is no need to look at me like that: I am not about to visit the blame of the sins of the mother on the daughter’s head,” he said calmly.

    “No,” she said, licking her lips.

    “She had that same gesture. –If you imagine I was one of the favoured you are out: I was never pretty enough. Your brother is very like your father in looks.”

    “Oh,” said Nan limply.

    “Nor was I in love with her. I thought she was very pretty and very shocking. I was a strait-laced young fool, you understand: but then, intolerance is said to be typical of youth, do you not agree?”

    After a moment Nan said: “Eet ees said to be so, certainly.”

    Colonel Vane raised his eyebrows slightly.

    “I have found,” said Nan slowly, “that intolerance of others’ opinions ees certainly vairy typical of youth: that ees, of the youthful who are capable of theenking een abstractions, who are een the minority, een my experience. But een general, intolerance seems to me to typify humanity at any age—apart from the vairy, vairy young.”

    His hard face relaxed a little. “I entirely agree,” he said, rising.

    Nan got up uncertainly. “Weell you not stay for tea?”

    “No, I hate the damned stuff. Pray convey my compliments to your careful duenna. –I shall return this for you,” he added in a steely voice, tucking the jewel case under his arm.

    “No!” she gasped.

    Colonel Vane looked at her sardonically. “I shall enjoy it, believe me. And rest assured that the incident of which you may have heard, of an absurd duel in the country of your birth,”—Nan nodded mutely, a horrified look on her face—“took place so far back in my life that I have almost forgotten who the stiff-necked fool was, who wilfully ruined his career for the sake of a wench who was doubtless no better than she should be.”

    “For the sake of a principle!” said Nan with tears in her eyes.

    Colonel Vane raised one eyebrow sardonically, sketched a bow, and was gone.

    Nan collapsed onto her chair.

    In the hall Mrs Urqhart had been about to enter the salon at the point when the Colonel had laughed. She had grasped Albert roughly by the arm. “’Ere! Thought you said ’twere Colonel Sour-Puss?”

    “Yes, madam,” he said weakly.

    “But Glory be: he were laughing!”

    “Yes, madam.”

    She hesitated. “We shan’t disturb ‘em for a bit, hey? When the tea comes, will be time enough.”

    “Yes, madam.”

    Colonel Vane emerged so abruptly into the hall that she had no time to pretend she was not lurking there. He glanced at her indifferently. “Good day, ma’am,” he said formally.

    “Hullo, Colonel Vane, so you ain’t a-stayin’ for tea?” said Mrs Urqhart feebly.

    “No: I hate the stuff. –Oh: you may spare yourself the trouble of writing to Pom-Pom von Maltzahn-Dressen.” He bowed, and was gone.

    Mrs Urqhart rushed into the salon.

    “Don’t say a theeng, I have just made the most complete eediot of myself,” said Nan limply.

    “Lovey, I has to say something, acos Colonel Sour-Puss has just been and gorn and told me not to write to old Prince Pom-Pom!”

    “Mm. He—he took eet,” said Nan feebly.

    “Eh?”

    “He said he would return eet.”

    “WHAT?”

    Nan sat up straight suddenly. “I doubt vairy much he weell attempt to keep eet, eef that be your worry!”

    “No, you fool! Lordy, Nan, this will create a scandal, Noël tells me he be a feller what is a known duellist!”

    “He ees NOT!” she shouted.

    Mrs Urqhart blinked.

    “I beg your pardon,” said Nan through trembling lips. “But eet ees the suh-saddest story... Oh, I theenk he ees the saddest man I ever met!” she cried, bursting into loud sobs and rushing from the room.

    Mrs Urqhart sat down limply. She would get the details out of her later. But—Lordy, Colonel Sour-Puss? The saddest man she ever met? Well, he had a face on him like...

    Betsy Urqhart bit her lip, thinking of that long-ago time in Calcutta, and the sad-faced Mr Hunter, who had nigh to been her downfall. But Colonel Sour-Puss and Nan? Nan what fancied pretty lads like Whittikins and pretty men like Noël and Bobby Amory and General Sir Francis Kernohan? And come to think of it, like Lord Keywes into the bargain! No—never.

    ... Colonel Sour-Puss? Rats.