“Dreadful woman!” said Charles. “She never stops talking! She is known as Silence, in London.”
“Is she? Well, I am sure, if she knows it, she does not care a bit, for she dearly loves a joke.”
“You are fortunate knowing so many of the Patronesses of Almack’s,” observed Miss Wraxton.
Sophy gave her irrepressible chuckle. “To be honest, I think my good fortune lies in having such an accomplished flirt for a father!”
Mr. Wraxton giggled at this, and his sister, dropping a little behind, brought her mare up on Mr. Rivenhall’s other side, and said in a low tone, under cover of some quizzing remark made to Sophy by Mr. Wraxton: “It is a pity that men will laugh when her liveliness betrays her into saying what cannot be thought becoming. It brings her too much into notice, and that, I fancy, is the root of the evil.”
He raised his brows. “You are severe! Do you dislike her?”
“Oh, no, no!” she said quickly. “It is merely that I have no great taste for just that kind of sportive playfulness.”
He looked as though he would have liked to have said something more, but at this moment a very military-looking cavalcade came into sight, cantering easily toward them. It consisted of four gentlemen, whose dashing side whiskers and soldierly bearing proclaimed their profession. They glanced idly at Mr. Rivenhall’s party. The next instant there was a shout, and a hurried reining in, and one of the quartet exclaimed in accents, “By all that’s wonderful, it’s the Grand Sophy!”
Confusion and babel followed this, all four gentlemen pressing up to grasp Sophy’s hand and pelting her with questions. Where had she sprung from? How long had she been in England? Why had they not been told of her arrival? How was Sir Horace?
“Oh, but, Sophy, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” declared Major Quinton, who had first hailed her.
“You have Salamanca still! Lord, do you remember riding, him, when you old Soult?”
“Sophy, what’s your direction? Are you living in London now? Where’s Sir Horace?”
She was laughing, trying to answer them all, horse sidled, and fidgeted, and tossed his head. “! Never mind about me! What are you all doing in England. I thought you in France still! Don’t tell me you have sold!”
“Debenham has, lucky dog! I’m on furlough. We’re stationed in England — what a thing it is to belong to the Gentlemen’s Sons — and Talgarth has become a great man, almost a Tiger! Yes, I assure you! A.D.C. to the Duke York. You notice the air of consequence. But he is , not the least height in his manner — yet!”
“Silence, rattle!” said his victim. He was rather older than his companions, a handsome, dark man, with a decided of fashion and a languid manner. “Dear Sophy, I am tolerably certain that you cannot have been in London above days. Not the smallest rumor of any volcanic disturbance I come to my ears, and you know how quick I am to get all of the news!”
She laughed. “Oh, that is too bad of you, Sir Vincent, but I don’t create disturbances. You know I don’t!”
“I know nothing of the kind, my child. When last you, you were engaged in arranging in the most ruthless fashion the affairs of the most bewildered family of Belgians I have yet encountered. They had all my sympathy, there was nothing I could do to help them. I know limitations.”
“Those poor Le Bruns! Well, but someone had to help them out of such a tangle! I assure you, everything was settled most satisfactorily! But come! I forget my manners in all this excitement! Miss Wraxton, do pray forgive me, and allow me to present to you Colonel Sir Vincent Talgarth, and beside him, Colonel Debenham. And this is Major Titus Quinton, and — oh, dear, ought I to have said your name first, Francis? It is one of the things I never know, but no matter! Captain Lord Francis Wolvey! And this is my cousin Mr. Rivenhall. Oh, and Mr. Wraxton also!”
Miss Wraxton inclined her head politely; Mr. Rivenhall, bowing slightly to the rest of the party, addressed himself to Lord Francis, saying, “I don’t think I ever met you, but your brother and I were up at Oxford together.”
Lord Francis leaned forward in his saddle to shake him by the hand. “Now I know who you are!” he announced. “You are Charles Rivenhall! Thought I couldn’t be mistaken! How do you do? Do you still box? Freddy was used to say he never knew an amateur with a more punishing right!”
Mr. Rivenhall laughed. “Did he? He felt it often enough, but I take no credit for that. He was always glaringly abroad!”
Major Quinton, who had been regarding him intently, said, “Then that is very likely where I have see you. Jackson’s Saloon! You are the fellow Jackson says he might have made into a champion if only you had not been a gentleman!”
This remark naturally beguiled all three gentlemen into a sporting conversation. Mr. Wraxton hung on the outskirts of it, occasionally interpolating a few words which no one paid any heed to; Sophy smiled benignly to see her friends and her cousin so happily absorbed; and Colonel Debenham, who had excellent manners, and a kind heart, began to make painstaking conversation to Miss Wraxton. By tacit consent, the military gentlemen turned to accompany Mr. Rivenhall’s party up the track, and the entire cavalcade moved forward at a walking pace.
Sophy found that Sir Vincent had brought his horse up to walk beside hers, and said suddenly, “Sir Vincent, you are the very man I need! Let us draw a little ahead!”
“Nothing in this life, enchanting Juno, could afford me more pleasure!” he instantly responded. “I have no fancy for the Fancy. On no account tell anyone that I said that! It is quite unworthy of me! Are you about to transport me by accepting a heart laid often at your feet and as often spurned? Something informs me that I indulge my optimism too far and that you are going to demand of me some service that will plunge me into a morass of trouble and end in my being cashiered.”
“Nothing of the sort!” declared Sophy. “But I never knew anyone, other than Sir Horace, whose judgment I would rather trust when it comes to buying a horse. Sir Vincent, I want to purchase a pair for my phaeton!”
They had by this time considerably outdistanced the rest of the party. Sir Vincent made his roan drop to a walk, and said brokenly, “Allow me a moment in which to recover my manhood! So that is all the use you have for me!”
“Don’t be so absurd!” said Sophy. “What better could I have for anyone?”
“Dear Juno, I have told you a great many times, and shall tell you no more!”
“Sir Vincent,” said Sophy severely, “you have dangled after every heiress who has come in your way from the day I first met you.”
“Shall I ever forget it? You had lost a front tooth and tore your dress.”
“Very likely. Though I have not the least doubt that you don’t recall the occasion at all and have this instant made that up. You are a more hardened flirt even than Sir Horace, and you only offer for me because you know I shall not accept your suit. My fortune cannot be large enough to tempt you.”
“That,” acknowledged Sir Vincent, “is true. But better men than I, my dear Sophy, have been known to cut their coats to suit their cloth.”
“Yes, but I am not your cloth, and you know very well that indulgent though he may be, Sir Horace would never permit me to marry you, even if I wished to, which I do not.”
“Oh, very well!” sighed Sir Vincent. “Let us talk of horseflesh then!”
“The thing is,” confided Sophy, “that I was obliged to sell my carriage horses when we left Lisbon, and Sir Horace had no time to attend to the matter before he sailed for Brazil. He said my cousin would advise me, but he was quite out! He will not.”
“Charles Rivenhall,” said Sir Vincent, looking at her from under drooping eyelids, “is held to be no bad judge of a horse. What mischief are you brewing, Sophy?”