“In general,” said Sophy, “I think you are very right. It is amazing how swiftly a clumsy pair of hands will spoil the most tender mouth!”
Mr. Rivenhall almost audibly ground his teeth.
Sophy laughed suddenly. “Oh, don’t be so out-of-reason cross, Cousin!” she begged. “You know very well your horses have taken no sort of hurt! Will you put me in the way of choosing a pair for my own use?”
“I will have nothing whatsoever to do with such a mad project!” he said harshly.
Sophy took this with equanimity. “Very well,” she said. “Perhaps it would suit you better to find an eligible husband for me. I am very willing, and I understand that you have some talent in that.”
“Have you no delicacy of mind?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall.
“Yes, indeed! I daresay it would astonish you to know how much!”
“It would!”
“But with you, my dear Cousin,” pursued Sophy, “I know I need have no reserve. Do, pray, find me an eligible husband! I am not at all nice in my notions, and shall be satisfied with the barest modicum of virtues in my partner.”
“Nothing,” stated Mr. Rivenhall, showing his cousin, as he swirled round the corner into the Haymarket, how to drive to an inch, “would afford me greater satisfaction than to see you married to some man who would know how to control your extraordinary quirks!”