Sophy watched him walk into a 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.
‘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 to pick up the glove, nearly fell over, so swiftly did he spin round. He had an excellent view ofMiss 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 corner, 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 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 enquire the directions 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 quarrelled with me reallywellwith that man standing up behind us, and overhearing every word you uttered.’
‘Howdaredyou 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 behaviour, 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 Horacewould have applauded such behaviour!’
‘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 withyou, 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?’
