“No, why should I? You say nothing to the point, and, besides, here we are already, and there is no time to enter upon a discussion! You must continue to trust me, if you please!”
The curricle was already bowling up the sweep to the Marquesa’s door. “The lord knows I don’t, and never have!” he retorted.
They found the Marquesa alone, and surprisingly wide awake. She welcomed Sophy affectionately, yet with a little constraint, and soon disclosed that she had only returned two days since from Brighton, where she had been sojourning for a fortnight.
“Brighton!” exclaimed Sophy. “You told me nothing of this, Sancia! Pray, what took you there so suddenly?”
“But, Sophie, how should I tell you anything when you shut yourself up in a sickroom and do not visit me anymore?” complained the Marquesa. “To remain always in one place — majadero!”
“Very true, but you had the intention of living retired until Sir Horace’s return. I daresay you may have had tidings of him — ”
“No, I assure you! Not one word!”
“Oh!” said Sophy, slightly disconcerted. “Well, he had a prosperous voyage, and I daresay will be with us again at any time now. For it is not likely that at this time of year they will encounter any very unfavorable weather, you know. Has the Duke of York been staying with his brother?”
The Marquesa opened her sleepy eyes wide. “But, Sophie, how should I know? They are alike, the royal princes — gross and — what is it? Embotado! I do not know one from the other.”
Sophy was obliged to be satisfied. Her escort, when they drove away, asked curiously, “Why were you put out, Sophy? Must not the Marquesa follow the rest of the world to Brighton?”