“Tell your master that it is too chilly to keep the horses standing!” Sophy called after him. “I will tool the curricle round the streets for a few minutes, and come back to take him up when he is ready!”
The groom, who was stooping tot pick up the glove, nearly fell over, so swiftly did he spin round. He had an excellent view of Miss Stanton-Lacy driving at a smart pace up the street. He made a gallant but belated attempt to catch the curricle, but it swept round a corner just as the wind blew his hat off, and sent it bowling down the street.
It was nearly half an hour later when the curricle again came into sight. Mr. Rivenhall, awaiting it with folded arms, had ample opportunity to observe with what precision his cousin rounded the comer and how well she handled the reins and whip, but he did not appear to be much gratified, for he watched the approach of the vehicle with a scowl on his brow and his lips tightly gripped together. Of his groom there was no sign.
Miss Stanton-Lacy, pulling up exactly abreast of Mr. Rivenhall, said cheerfully, “I beg your pardon, I have kept you waiting! The thing is that I do not know my way about London, and became quite lost, and was obliged to inquire the direction no less than three times. But where is your groom?”
“I have sent him home!” replied Mr. Rivenhall.
She looked down at him, her expressive eyes brimful of amusement. “How very right of you!” she approved. “I like a man to think of everything. You could never have quarreled with me really well with that man standing up behind us and overhearing every word you uttered.”
“How dared you drive my horses?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall thunderously. He mounted into his seat, and snapped, “Give me the reins at once!”
She relinquished them and also the whip, but said disarmingly, “To be sure, that was not very well done of me, but you will own that there was no bearing your conduct in talking to me as though I were a silly chit scarcely able to drive a donkey.”
Mr. Rivenhall’s impatient mouth was once more set so rigidly that there seemed to be no likelihood of his owning anything at all.
“At least admit that I am able to handle your pair!” said Sophy.
“Well for you that I had taken the edge off them!” he retorted.
“How ungenerous of you!” said Sophy.
It was indeed ungenerous, and he knew it. He said furiously, “Driving about the City, with not even a groom beside you! Very pretty behavior, upon my word! It is a pity you have not a little more conduct, Cousin! Or are these Portuguese manners?”
“Oh, no!” she replied. “In Lisbon, where I am known, I could not indulge in such pranks, of course. Dreadful, was it not? I assure you, all the Cits were staring at me! But do not put yourself into a pucker on that head! No one knows me in London!”
“No doubt,” he said sardonically, “Sir Horace would have applauded such behavior!”
“No,” said Sophy. “I think that Sir Horace would have rather expected you to have offered to let me drive your horses. Just so that you could have judged for yourself whether I was capable of handling a spirited pair,” she explained kindly.
“I let no one — no one — drive my horses but myself!”
“In general,” said Sophy, “I think you are very right. It is amazing how swiftly a clumsy pair of hands will spoil the most tender mouth!”
Mr. Rivenhall almost audibly ground his teeth.
Sophy laughed suddenly. “Oh, don’t be so out-of-reason cross, Cousin!” she begged. “You know very well your horses have taken no sort of hurt! Will you put me in the way of choosing a pair for my own use?”
“I will have nothing whatsoever to do with such a mad project!” he said harshly.
Sophy took this with equanimity. “Very well,” she said. “Perhaps it would suit you better to find an eligible husband for me. I am very willing, and I understand that you have some talent in that.”
“Have you no delicacy of mind?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall.
“Yes, indeed! I daresay it would astonish you to know how much!”
“It would!”
“But with you, my dear Cousin,” pursued Sophy, “I know I need have no reserve. Do, pray, find me an eligible husband! I am not at all nice in my notions, and shall be satisfied with the barest modicum of virtues in my partner.”
“Nothing,” stated Mr. Rivenhall, showing his cousin, as he swirled round the corner into the Haymarket, how to drive to an inch, “would afford me greater satisfaction than to see you married to some man who would know how to control your extraordinary quirks!”
“Very creditably performed!” approved Sophy. “But how would it have been if some dog had strayed into the road, or a poor soul have crossed the street at that moment?”
Mr. Rivenhall’s sense of humor betrayed him. He was obliged to bite back a laugh before replying, “I find it a marvelous circumstance, Cousin, that no one has yet strangled you!”
He found that he had lost his cousin’s attention. Her head was turned away from him, and before he could discover what object of interest had caught her eye she had said quickly, “Oh, if you please, would you stop? I have seen an old acquaintance!”
He complied with this request, and then saw, too late, who was walking down the street toward them. There could be no mistaking that graceful figure, or those guinea-gold locks, revealed by the doffing of a curly-brimmed beaver. Mr. Augustus Fawnhope, perceiving that the lady in the curricle was waving a hand in his direction, halted, took off his hat, and stood with it in his hand, gazing inquiringly up at Sophy.
He was indeed a beautiful young man. His hair waved naturally from a brow of alabaster; his eyes were of a deep blue, a little dreamy, but so exquisitely set under arched brows, of such size and brilliance as to defy criticism; his mouth was moulded in curves to set a sculptor groping for the tools of his art. He was of moderate height, and exact proportions, and had no need to live upon a diet of potatoes steeped in vinegar to preserve his slender figure. Not that it would ever have entered his head to have done so. It was not the least of Mr. Fawnhope’s charms that he was utterly unconcerned with his appearance. It might have been supposed that he could not be unaware of the admiration this excited, but as he was preoccupied with his ambition to become a major poet, paying very little attention to what was said to him and none at all to what was said about him, even his ill wishers (such as Mr. Rivenhall and Sir Charles Stuart) were forced to admit that it was very likely that this admiration had not as yet pierced the cloud of abstraction in which he wrapped himself.
But there was more than abstraction in the gaze turned upward to Miss Stanton-Lacy’s face, and this circumstance was not lost on Mr. Rivenhall, interpreting correctly the blankness and the doubtful smile hovering on Mr. Fawnhope’s lips. Mr. Fawnhope had not the faintest idea of the identity of the lady stretching down her hand to him in so friendly a fashion. However he took it in his, and said, “How-do-you-do,” in his soft, vague voice.
“Brussels,” said Sophy helpfully. “We danced the quadrille at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, do you remember? Oh, are you acquainted with my cousin, Mr. Rivenhall? You must know that I am staying with my aunt, in Berkeley Square, for the season. You must come to call upon us. I know she will be delighted!”
“Of course I remember!” said Mr. Fawnhope, with less truth than good manners. “Enchanting to meet again, ma’am, and so unexpectedly! I shall certainly do myself the pleasure of calling in Berkeley Square.”
He bowed and stepped back. The grays, to whom Mr. Rivenhall’s impatience had communicated itself, bounded forward. Mr. Rivenhall said, “How charming for you to have met an old friend so soon after your arrival!”
“Yes, was it not?” agreed Sophy.
“I hope he will have contrived to recall you name before he avails himself of your invitation to visit you.”
Her lips twitched, but she replied with perfect composure, “Depend upon it, if he does not he will find someone to tell him what it is.”