“One would not wish to be backward in any attention,” she said, “so I shall make the effort, and we must hope it will not rain, for that would make it very disagreeable. I wish you will go with us, Charles. Your uncle’s affianced wife, you know! I own, I do not care to drive out of town without a gentleman to go with me, though I am sure Radnor is perfectly to be trusted, and I should of course take my footmen.”
“My dear Mama, three able-bodied men should be enough to protect you on this hazardous journey!” he returned, in some amusement.
“Don’t tease Charles to go, Aunt Lizzie!” said Sophy, snipping off her thread. “Sir Vincent vows he will ride there with us, for he has not met Sancia since Madrid days, when her husband was still alive, and they gave splendid parties for all the English officers.”
There was a slight pause before Charles said, “If you wish it, Mama, I will certainly go with you. I can take my cousin in the curricle, and then you will not be crowded in your carriage.”
“Oh, I mean to go in my phaeton!” Sophy said unconcernedly.
“I thought it was your ambition to drive my grays?”
“Why, would you let me?”
“Perhaps.”
She laughed. “Oh, no, no! I have no belief in perhaps. Take Cecilia!”
“Cecilia would by far rather go in my mother’s landaulet. You may take the reins for part of the way.”
She said in a rallying tone, “This is something indeed! I am overcome, Charles, and fear you cannot be feeling quite the thing!”
“It will be a delightful expedition,” said Miss Wraxton brightly. “I am almost tempted, dear Lady Ombersley, to beg a place in your carriage!”
Lady Ombersley was too well bred to betray consternation, but she said a little doubtfully, “Well, my dear, of course — if Sophy does not think that there might be rather too many of us for the Marquesa! I should not wish to put her out in any way.”
“Not at all!” Sophy replied instantly. “It is not in your power to put Sancia out, dearest Aunt Lizzie! She will not bestir herself in the least, but will leave everything to her major-domo. Her is a Frenchman, and will be delighted to make arrangements for even so small a party as ours. I have only to write Sancia a letter, beg a frank from my uncle, and the thing is done — if only she will rouse herself sufficiently to convey my message to Gaston.
“How interesting it will be to meet a real Spanish lady!” remarked Miss Wraxton.
“For all the world as if Sancia had been a giraffe!” as Sophy afterward said to Cecilia.
“I wish I had known you meant to accompany my mother!” Mr. Rivenhall said, when he presently escorted Miss Wraxton to her carriage. “I should have offered you a place in my curricle. I cannot cry off now, but it is a bore. I should not have said I would go had I not heard that Talgarth was to be of the party. God knows I don’t care a jot whom my cousin marries, but I suppose, in the circumstances, we owe it to my uncle not to encourage that connection!”
“I am afraid her visit has brought extra cares upon you, my dear Charles. Much must be forgiven to a girl who has never known a mother’s care, but I confess I had hoped that under your mama’s guidance she would have tried to conform to English standards of propriety.”
“Not she!” he said. “It’s my belief she delights in keeping us all upon tenterhooks! There is no guessing what she will be at next, while the terms she stands on with every rattle who ever wore a scarlet coat — not that I care for that! But to be encouraging Talgarth to dangle after her is the outside of enough. All very well to say she can look after herself. I daresay she can, but if she is seen too much in his company, she will be talked about by every scandalmongering busybody in town!”
Miss Wraxton, treasuring up these hasty words, was unwise enough to repeat the gist of them to Sophy not forty-eight hours later. During the hour of the fashionable Promenade, when walking in the Park with her maid, she came upon Sophy’s phaeton, drawn up to allow Sophy to exchange a few words with the reprehensible Sir Vincent. He had one hand negligently on the step of the phaeton, and she was leaning a little down to say something that seemed to afford them both amusement. She saw Miss Wraxton, and nodded smilingly to her, but looked rather surprised when Eugenia came toward the phaeton, and addressed her.
“How do you do? So this is the carriage I hear so much of! At all events, you have a fine pair of horses, I see. You drive them tandem! You are to be congratulated. I do not think I would trust myself to do so.”
“You are acquainted with Sir Vincent Talgarth, I believe,” Sophy said.
Sir Vincent received the coldest of bows and the merest hint of a smile.
“Do you know,” said Miss Wraxton, looking up at Sophy, “I really think I must ask you to take me up beside you for one turn! I am quite jealous of your prowess, I assure you!”
Sophy signed to John to alight, saying politely, “Pray come with me, Miss Wraxton. I shall naturally be put on my mettle. Sir Vincent, we meet on Friday, then. You will call for us in Berkeley Square!”
Miss Wraxton, assisted by John Potton, mounted with credible grace into the awkwardly high carriage and sat down beside Sophy, disposing her skirt neatly, and acknowledging Tina’s presence by uttering, “Dear little doggie!” a form of address which made the little greyhound shiver and press closer to her mistress. “I am so happy to have this opportunity of speaking with you, Miss Stanton-Lacy. I had come to think it impossible to find you when you should be alone! You are acquainted with so many people.”
“Yes, am I not fortunate?”
“Indeed, yes!” agreed Miss Wraxton, honey sweet. “Though sometimes, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, when one has a multitude of friends, one is inclined not to be as careful as one should be, perhaps. I wonder if I might venture to put you a little on your guard? In Paris and Vienna I am sure you would be able to tell me how I should go on, but in London I must be more at home than you.”
“Oh, I should never be so impertinent as to tell you how to go on anywhere!” Sophy declared.
“Well, perhaps it would not be necessary,” acknowledged Miss Wraxton graciously. “My mama has always been a most careful parent, and very strict in her choice of governesses for her daughters. I have felt so much compassion for you, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, situated as you are. You must so often have felt the want of a mother!”
“Not at all. Don’t waste your compassion on me, I beg! I never wanted a mother while I had Sir Horace.”
“Gentlemen,” said Miss Wraxton, “are not the same.”
“An unarguable statement. How do you like my bays?”
Miss Wraxton laid a hand on her knee. “Allow me to speak without reserve!” she begged.
“Short of overturning you I can hardly prevent you,” Sophy replied. “But you had much better not, you know! I am very unbiddable, and if I were to lose my temper I might do what I should afterward be sorry for.”
“But I must speak!” Miss Wraxton said earnestly. “I owe it to your cousin!”
“Indeed! How is this?”
“You will understand that he does not like to mention the matter to you himself. He feels a certain delicacy — ”
“I thought you were talking of Charles!” interrupted Sophy. “Which cousin do you mean?”
“I am talking of Charles.”
“Nonsense! He has no delicate scruples.”
“Miss Stanton-Lacy, believe me, this air of levity is not becoming!” said Miss Wraxton, losing some of her sweetness. “I do not think you can be aware of what is expected of a woman of quality! Or — forgive me — how fatal it is to set up the backs of people and to give rise to such gossip as must be as painful to the Rivenhalls as I am persuaded it would be to you!”
“Now, what in heaven’s name comes next?” said Sophy, quite astonished. “You cannot be so Gothic as to suppose that because I drive a high-perch phaeton I give rise to gossip!”