“I told you that it threw left,” Sophy reminded him, critically surveying his handiwork. “Shall we reload it so that I may show you what I can do?”
They looked at one another. The enormity of his conduct suddenly dawned on Mr. Rivenhall, and he began to laugh. “Sophy, you — you devil!”
That made Sophy laugh too, so when a startled crowd of persons burst into the room a minute or two later, they found only a scene of unbridled mirth. Lady Ombersley, Cecilia, Miss Wraxton, Lord Bromford, Hubert, one of the footmen, and two housemaids all clustered in the doorway, evidently in the expectation of beholding the results of a shocking accident.
“I could murder you, Sophy!” said Mr. Rivenhall.
“Unjust! Did I tell you to do it?” she countered. “Dear Aunt Lizzie, do not look so alarmed! Charles was — was merely satisfying himself that my pistol was in order!”
By this time the eyes of most of the company had discovered the rent in the wall. Lady Ombersley, clutching Hubert’s arm for support, faintly enunciated, “Are you mad, Charles?”
He looked a little guiltily at the havoc he had wrought. “I must be, I suppose. The damage can soon be made good, however. It does throw left, Sophy. I would give much to see you fire it! What a pity I cannot take you to Manton’s!”
“Is that Sophy’s pistol?” asked Hubert, much interested. “By Jupiter, you are an out-and-outer, Sophy! But what possessed you to fire it here, Charles? You must be mad!”
“It was, naturally, an accident,” pronounced Lord Bromford. “A man in his senses, which we cannot doubt Rivenhall to be, does not, of intent, fire a pistol in the presence of ladies. My dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, you have sustained a severe shock to the nerves! It could not be otherwise. Let me beg you to repose yourself for a while!”
“I am not such a poor creature!” Sophy replied, her eyes still brimming with laughter. “Charles will bear me out, if there is any truth in him, that I neither squeaked nor jumped! Sir Horace nipped such bad habits in the bud by soundly boxing my ears!”