“Oh!” said Sophy, digesting this information. Disagreeable Charles might be, but she was shrewd enough to suspect that if he condemned any of Hubert’s friends there might be much to be said in his defense. “Does he dislike your friends?”
Hubert gave a short laugh. “Lord, yes! Just because they are knowing ’uns, and kick up a lark every now and then, he proses like a Methodist, and — Here, Sophy, you won’t start talking to Charles, will you?”
“Of course I shall do no such thing!” she said indignantly. “Why, what a creature you must think me!”
“No, I don’t, only — Oh, well, it don’t signify! I shall be as merry as a grig in a week’s time, and I don’t mean to get into a fix again, I can tell you!”
She was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance, for he would say no more. After taking another turn round the shrubbery, she left him, and went back to the house. She found Mr. Rivenhall seated under the elm tree on the south lawn with Tina, who was sleeping off a large repast, at his feet. “If you want to see a rare picture, Sophy,” he said, “peep in at the drawing-room window! My mother is sound asleep on one sofa and the Marquesa on another.”
“Well, if that is their notion of enjoyment I don’t think we should disturb them,” she replied. “It would not be mine, I do try to remember that some people like to spend half their days doing nothing at all.”
He made room for her to sit down beside him. “No, I fancy idleness is not your besetting sin,” he agreed. “Sometimes I wonder whether it would not be better for the rest of us if it were, but we have agreed not to quarrel today, so I shall not pursue that thought. But, Sophy, what is my uncle about, to be marrying that absurd woman?”
She wrinkled her brow. “She is very good natured, you know, and Sir Horace says he likes reposeful females.”
“I am astonished that you have sanctioned so unsuitable a match.”
“Nonsense! I have nothing to say to it.”