Both the groom and Kennet stepped back, and the greys, which were restive, plunged forward on the kidney-stones that paved the square.
“Don’t be alarmed!” Ravenscar told Miss Grantham. “They are only a little fresh.”
“I wonder you can hold them so easily!” she confessed, repressing an instinctive desire to clutch the side of the curricle.
He smiled, but returned no answer. They swept round the corner into King Street, turned westwards, and bowled along in the direction of St James’s Street.
There was sufficient traffic abroad to keep Mr Ravenscar’s attention fixed on his task, for the greys, though perfectly well-mannered, chose to take high-bred exception to a wagon which was rumbling along at the side of the road, to shy playfully at a sedan, to regard with sudden misgiving a lady’s feathered hat, and to decide that the lines of white posts, linked with chains, that separated the footpaths from the kennels and the road, menaced them with a hitherto unsuspected danger. But the gates leading into Hyde Park were reached without mishap, and once within them the greys settled into a fine, forward action, satisfied, apparently, to find themselves in surroundings more suited to their birth and lineage.
There were several other equipages in the Park, including some phaetons, and a number of barouches. Mr Ravenscar touched his hat every now and then to acquaintances, but presently, drawing away from the other vehicles, he was able to turn his attention to his companion.
“Are you comfortable, Miss Grantham?”
“Very. Your carriage is beautifully sprung. Do you drive it in your race?”
“Oh, no! I have an especially built racing-curricle for that.
“Shall you win?” she asked, looking up at him with a slight smile.