Lord Bromford’s hostility was perfectly well known to its object. Charlbury, cantering along the Row with Sophy, said to her once, “If I come out of this masquerade with a whole skin I may think myself fortunate! Are you deter I shall be slain, Sophy, you wretch?”
She laughed. “Bromford?”
“He or Charles. Of the two, I hope it may be he who calls me out. I daresay he cannot hit a haystack at twelve yards, but Rivenhall I know to be a capital shot.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Do you think so indeed? Charles?”
He returned her look, his own eyes quizzing her. “Yes, Madam Innocence! Doubtless because of the slight upon his sister! Tell me — you are always frank — do you make a practice of setting everyone to partners wherever you go?”
“No,” she replied. “Not unless I am persuaded it would be better for them!”
He laughed and laughed, and was still laughing when they encountered Mr. and Miss Rivenhall, riding side by side toward them.
Sophy greeted her cousins with unaffected pleasure, altogether refraining from expressing her surprise at seeing Cecilia indulging in a form of exercise she was not much addicted to. She and Charlbury turned their horses to ride with the Rivenhalls, and she made no objection when, after a little way, Mr. Rivenhall obliged her to fall behind the . other two, and proceed at a sedate pace down the track. She said, “I like that bay of yours, Charles.”
“You may like him,” returned Mr. Rivenhall disagreeably, “but you are not going to ride him!”
She cast him a sidelong look, brimful of mischief. “No, dear Charles?”