A gasp of dismay sounded round the schoolroom, for the listeners knew that Nan was perfectly capable of putting her threat into words, and, moreover, that in her present state of indignation it was certain that she intended to do so. Lilias broke into angry protests, but Nan’s icy, “Don’t be alarmed! I shall not mention your name,” showed that the true reason of her discomfiture had been gauged, and she could only hope that no opportunity would occur for the putting of such a question before Gervase left the Grange. In this hope, however, she was doomed to be disappointed; for Mr Vanburgh invited Nan to tea on the following day, and she departed, primed with determination. It seemed at first that she would have no opportunity of broaching the all-important subject; but when tea was over, Gervase proposed a walk round the grounds, and Nan was no sooner clear of the house than she gave a preliminary little cough, and said, in sententious accents—
“Mr Vanburgh, we have agreed to be friends, but I should like to hear, as a preliminary measure, exactly your definition of the term. What is a friend?”
Gervase’s eyes twinkled and his lips twitched beneath his moustache, but he made a gallant attempt at seriousness, and replied—
“A friend is a comrade who is faithful not only in words, but in deeds. My friend is one who will make personal sacrifices to ensure my welfare; who will not hear me maligned behind my back, but will reprove me to my face when I have done wrong. My friend is one who cares for me for myself, apart from my circumstances, and will be most loyal and loving in the time of trouble!”
“Bravo! Bravo!” cried Nan enthusiastically. “That’s good! I like that! Those are exactly my own sentiments, only I could not have put them into words. I had no idea you were so eloquent. Now, another definition, please. What is a flirt?”
“A flirt!” An expression of the most complete amazement passed over Gervase Vanburgh’s face as he echoed the word, for this was, indeed, the last question which he had expected to hear from Nan Rendell’s lips.
“You want me to define a flirt? That is a little more difficult, but I will try what I can do. ‘One who practises the art of flirting,’ the dictionary would tell us, with its usual admirable candour, but that doesn’t seem to give much enlightenment. A flirt, I should say, is the antithesis of a friend, for he affects more than he feels; he flatters and makes pretty speeches, while in effect he may be critical and disparaging. He thinks of himself and his own amusement, and is so much concerned for the gratification of his own vanity that he often inflicts serious wounds on the hearts of others.”
“So bad as that? Horrid things, how I despise them! I can’t imagine how people can make themselves so contemptible. Well, whatever may be my faults, I can honestly say I am not a flirt; but some people are so suspicious that they are always imagining mischief. Some one said to me—I mean, I’ve heard it said—that when a man and a girl like you and me agree to be friends, it is just another way of beginning a flirtation. It made me very angry when I heard that; but now that I have asked you, I am quite satisfied, for it seems impossible to mix the two things together. You can’t flatter a person when you have agreed to tell him his faults; you can’t feign a sentiment which is real. I knew I was right, though I could not argue it out; but for the future I sha’n’t mind a bit when you say nasty things to me, for I shall feel they are a proof of friendship; and I shall find fault with you on every possible occasion, just to show that I am not flirting, and have only your own good at heart.”
Nan stopped short, quite out of breath with eagerness, and Gervase looked at her with a scrutinising smile.
“So!” he was saying to himself, “Somebody said, did she? I wish Somebody would mind her own business, and not put foolish ideas into your innocent little head. Somebody has her own hands pretty full, I imagine, and might be better employed looking after her own affairs;” but aloud he said simply—