Ten minutes later, the bays were harnessed to the curricle, and Sir Richard had stepped out into the yard, pulling on his gloves. “Famous!” he said. “I hoped you were driving your bays.”
“If you lame ’em—”
“Ceddie, are you—is it possible that you are going to tell me how to drive?” asked Sir Richard.
Cedric, who was still clad in his exotic dressing-gown, leaned against the door-post, and grinned. “You’ll spring ’em. I know you!”
“If I lame them, I will make you a present of my own greys!” said Sir Richard, gathering up the reins.
“Part with your greys?” exclaimed Cedric. “No, no, you’d never bring yourself to do that, Ricky!”
“Don’t disturb yourself: I shan’t have to.”
Cedric made a derisive sound, and lingered to watch him mount on to the box-seat. A commotion behind him distracted his attention, and he turned in time to see Mrs Hopkins enter the inn through the front-door, closely followed by a thick-set man in a frieze coat, and a broad-brimmed hat. Mrs Hopkins was labouring under great agitation, and sank immediately into a chair, volubly explaining to the bewildered landlord that she had never had such a turn in her life, and did not expect to recover from her palpitations for a twelvemonth. Took up by a Bow Street Runner, Tom!” she panted. “And him so innocent-seeming as never was!”
“Who?” demanded her spouse.
“That poor young gentleman which is Sir Richard’s cousin! Under my very eyes, Tom, and me not dreaming of such a thing! And then if he didn’t break away, the which I can’t but be glad of, whatever any one may say, Mr Gudgeon not excepted, for a nicer-spoken young gentleman I never did see, and I’m a mother myself, and I have a heart, though others may not, naming no names, and meaning no offence!”