“You will scarcely drive yourself about the town in a curricle!” he said. “Nor do I consider a high-perch phaeton at all a suitable vehicle for a lady. They are not easy to drive. I should not care to see any of my sisters making the attempt.”
“You must remember to tell them so,” said Sophy affably. “Do they mind what you say to them? I never had a brother myself, so I can’t know.”
There was a slight pause, while Mr. Rivenhall, unaccustomed to sudden attacks, recovered his presence of mind. It did not take him very long. “It might have been better for you if you had, Cousin!” he said grimly.
“I don’t think so,” said Sophy, quite unruffled. “The little I have seen of brothers makes me glad that Sir Horace never burdened me with any.”
“Thank you! I know how I may take that, I suppose!”
“Well, I imagine you might, for although you have a great many antiquated notions I don’t think you stupid, precisely.”
“Much obliged! Have you any other criticisms you would care to make?”
“Yes, never fly into a miff when you are driving a high-couraged pair! You took that last corner much too fast.”
As Mr. Rivenhall was accounted something of a nonpareil, this thrust failed to pierce his armor. “What an abominable girl you are!” he said, much more amiably. “Come! We cannot quarrel all the way to Temple Bar! Let us cry a truce!”
“By all means,” she agreed cordially. “Let us rather talk about my carriage. Do I go to Tattersall’s for my horses?”