“Well, I expect it is. It must be, of course, for everyone is in raptures over it.”
“Have you heard me express myself rapturously over it?”
“No, but—”
“Then there is no reason for you to be sure of its beauty.”
She smiled. “Pray do not snub me, Mr. Brummell! If you are to do that I shall be left without any support in this horrid censorious world. You must know that I am a little in disgrace.”
“I have heard rumours. If you think my advice of value I have some for you.”
“Yes?” she said eagerly.
He flicked open his snuff-box in his inimitable way and took a pinch. “Drive your phaeton,” he said. “You are really very stupid not to have thought of it for yourself.”
“Drive my phaeton?” she repeated.
“Of course. Upon every occasion, and where you would be least expected to do so. Did I not tell you once, Miss Taverner, never to admit a fault?”