He set his pair in motion, nodding gloomily, “Came smash up to her in Bond Street on my way here. Felt obliged to stop. She has put off her black ribands!”
“And means to marry Charles next month!” said Sophy, who, having reached habits of easy intercourse with Mr. Wychbold, never stood upon ceremony with him.
“Told you so,” he pointed out, with a certain melancholy satisfaction.
“So you did, and I replied that I might need your good offices. Do you make a prolonged stay in town, or are you off again immediately?”
“Next week. But, y’know, ma’am, there ain’t anything to be done! Pity, but there it is!”
“We shall see. What do you think would happen if you were to tell Charles one day that you had seen me driving off in a post chaise and four with Charlbury?”
“He would plant me a facer,” responded Mr. Wychbold, without hesitation. “What’s more, shouldn’t blame him!”
“Oh!” said Sophy, disconcerted. “Well, I am sure I don’t wish him to do that. But if it were true?”
“Wouldn’t believe me. No need for you to ,go off with Charlbury. Not the kind of fellow to engage in such freaks, either.”
“I know that, but it might be contrived. He would not plant you a facer if you only asked him why I was leaving town with Charlbury for my escort, would he?”