“Neither,” he replied, steadying his horses round a bend in the street.
“Oh?” said Sophy, rather surprised. “What, then?”
He glanced down at her. “You are not serious, are you?”
“Not serious? Of course I am serious!”
“If you wish to drive, I will take you in the Park one day,” he said. “I expect I can find a horse, or even a pair, in the stables quiet enough for a lady to drive.”
“Oh, I fear that would never do!” said Sophy, shaking her head.
“Indeed? Why not?”
“I might excite the horse,” said Sophy dulcetly.
He was momentarily taken aback. Then he laughed, and said, “I beg your pardon. I had no intention of offending you. But you cannot need a carriage in London. You will no doubt drive out with my mother, and if you should wish to go on some particular errand you may always order one of the carriages to be sent round to the house for your use.”
“That,” said Sophy, “is very obliging of you, but will not suit me quite so well. Where does one buy carriages in London?”
“You will scarcely drive yourself about the town in a curricle!” he said. “Nor do I consider a high-perch phaeton at all a suitable vehicle for a lady. They are not easy to drive. I should not care to see any of my sisters making the attempt.”
“You must remember to tell them so,” said Sophy affably. “Do they mind what you say to them? I never had a brother myself, so I can’t know.”
There was a slight pause, while Mr. Rivenhall, unaccustomed to sudden attacks, recovered his presence of mind. It did not take him very long. “It might have been better for you if you had, Cousin!” he said grimly.
“I don’t think so,” said Sophy, quite unruffled. “The little I have seen of brothers makes me glad that Sir Horace never burdened me with any.”
“Thank you! I know how I may take that, I suppose!”
“Well, I imagine you might, for although you have a great many antiquated notions I don’t think you stupid, precisely.”
“Much obliged! Have you any other criticisms you would care to make?”
“Yes, never fly into a miff when you are driving a high-couraged pair! You took that last corner much too fast.”
As Mr. Rivenhall was accounted something of a nonpareil, this thrust failed to pierce his armor. “What an abominable girl you are!” he said, much more amiably. “Come! We cannot quarrel all the way to Temple Bar! Let us cry a truce!”
“By all means,” she agreed cordially. “Let us rather talk about my carriage. Do I go to Tattersall’s for my horses?”
“Certainly not!”
“Dear Cousin Charles, do you wish me to understand that I have the name wrong, or that there is a superior dealer?”
“Neither. What I wish you to understand is that females do not frequent Tattersall’s!”
“Now, is this one of the things you would not like your sisters to do, or would it really be improper in me to go there?”
“Most improper!”
“If you escorted me?”
“I shall do no such thing.”
“Then how shall I manage?” she demanded. “John Potton is an excellent groom, but I would not trust him to buy my horses for me. Indeed, I would not trust anyone, except, perhaps, Sir Horace, who knows exactly what I like.”
He perceived that she was in earnest, and not, as he had suspected, merely bent on roasting him. “Cousin, if nothing will do for you but to drive yourself, I will put my tilbury at your disposal and choose a suitable horse to go between the shafts.”
“One of your own?” enquired Sophy.
“None of my horses is at all suitable for you to drive,” he replied.
“Well, never mind!” said Sophy. “I shall prefer to have my own phaeton and pair.”
“Have you the smallest notion what you would have to pay for a well-matched pair?” he demanded.
“No, tell me! I thought not above three or four hundred pounds?”
“A mere trifle! Your father, of course, would have not the least objection to your squandering three or four hundred pounds on a pair of horses!”
“Not the least, unless I allowed myself to be taken in like a goose, and bought some showy-looking animal for ever throwing out a splint, or a high-stepper found to be touched in the wind at the end of a mile.”
“I advise you to wait until he returns to England, then. He will no doubt choose you the very thing!” was all Mr. Rivenhall would say.
Rather to his surprise, Sophy appeared to take this in perfectly good part, for she made no comment, and almost immediately desired him to tell her the name of the street they were driving down. She did not refer again to the phaeton and pair, and Mr. Rivenhall, realizing that she was merely a little spoiled and in need of a set down, palliated the severe snub he had dealt her by pointing out one or two places of interest which they passed and asking her a few civil questions about the scenery of Portugal. Arrived at Temple Bar, he drew up before the narrow entrance to Hoare’s Bank and would have accompanied her inside had she not declined his escort, saying that he would do better to walk his horses, for she did not know how long she might be detained, and there was a sharp wind blowing. So he waited for her outside; reflecting that however unusual it might be for a young and unattached lady to do business in a bank she could not really come to any harm there. When she reappeared, in about twenty minutes’ time, some senior official of the bank came with her and solicitously handed her up into the curricle. She seemed to be on terms of considerable friendship with this personage, but disclosed, in answer to a somewhat sardonic inquiry made by her cousin as they drove off, that this had been her first meeting with him.
“You surprise me!” said Mr. Rivenhall. “I had supposed he must have dandled you on his knee when you were a baby!”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “He didn’t mention it, at all events. Where do we go now?”
He told her that he had some business to transact near St. Paul’s adding that he should not keep her waiting above five minutes. If this was a shaft aimed at the length of time she had spent in the bank he missed his aim, for Sophy said in the most amiable way that she did not mind waiting. This was a much more successful shaft. Mr. Rivenhall began to think that in Miss Stanton-Lacy he had met an opponent to be reckoned with.
When he presently drew up in a street beside St. Paul’s, Sophy held out her hand, saying, “I will take them.” He therefore put the reins into her hand, for although he did not trust her to control his spirited horses his groom was already at their heads, so that there was no likelihood of any mishap. Sophy watched him walk into the tall building, and pulled off one of her lavender kid gloves. The east wind was blowing quite strongly, certainly strongly enough to whirl a lady’s glove, tossed to it, into the gutter on the farther side of the road. “Oh, my glove!” exclaimed Sophy. “Please run quickly, or it will blow quite away! Don’t fear for the horses. I can handle them!”
The groom found himself in a quandary. His master would certainly not expect him to leave the grays unattended; on the other hand, someone must rescue Miss Stanton-Lacy’s glove, and the street was momentarily deserted. Judging by what he had been able to hear of the lady’s conversation, she at least knew enough about driving to be able to hold the grays for a minute. They were standing quite quietly. The groom touched his hat and strode across the road.