Chapter 14
THE NOTION of writing a tragedy having taken possession of Mr. Fawnhope’s mind, he appeared to remove from it any immediate plan for seeking remunerative employment. On several occasions he arrived in Berkeley Square quite impervious to Mr. Rivenhall’s brutal snubs, carrying his pocket the latest installment of his play, which he read to Cecilia and to Sophy, and once even to Lady Ombersley who complained afterward that she had not understood a word of it. He seemed to spend a good many afternoons at Merton as well, but when Sophy questioned him about Sancia’s other guests he could never remember with any clarity who had been present. But Sir Vincent, when he came to call in Berkeley Square, made no secret of the fact that he was very often at Merton. Sophy, a blunt creature, told him roundly that she mistrusted him and would thank him to remember that Sancia was betrothed to Sir Horace.
Sir Vincent laughed gently, and pinched her chin, holding it an instant too long and tilting up her face. “Will you, Sophy?” he said, quizzing her. “But when I offered to run in your harness you would have none of me! Be reasonable, Juno! If you reject me, you cannot expect me to respond docilely to your hand on my rein!”
She put up her hand to grasp his wrist. “Sir Vincent, you shall not serve Sir Horace a backhanded turn!” she said.
“Why not?” he asked coolly. “Do you think he would not do the same to me? You are such a splendid innocent, adorable Juno!”
Since Mr. Rivenhall chose this inauspicious moment to come into the drawing room, Sophy was unable to say more. Without embarrassment, Sir Vincent released her and moved forward to greet his host. His reception was frosty; he was given no encouragement to prolong his visit; and no sooner had he taken leave and departed than Mr. Rivenhall gave his cousin, without reserve, the benefit of his opinion of her behavior in encouraging a notorious rake to practice familiarities with her.
Sophy listened to him with an air of great interest, but if he had hoped to abash her he was disappointed, for all she said in reply was, “I think your scolds are capital, Charles, for you are never at a loss for a word! But would you call me an incorrigible flirt?”
“Yes, I would! You encourage every scarlet coat you have ever met to haunt the house! You set the town talking with your shameless conduct in keeping Charlbury dangling after you, and not content with that, you allow a fellow like Talgarth to behave to you as though you had been an inn servant!”
She opened her eyes at him. “Charles! Is that what you do? Pinch their chins? Well, I was never more astonished! I don’t think you should!”
“Don’t try my temper too far, Sophy!” he said dangerously. “If you knew how my hands itch to box your ears, you would take care!”