“For heaven’s sake, Sophy, not in the Park!” said Charles sharply.
She threw him one of her saucy smiles, and set Salamanca caracoling.
“Oh, pray be careful!” exclaimed Miss Wraxton. “It is very dangerous! Charles, stop her! We shall have everyone staring at us!”
“You won’t mind if I shake the fidgets out of his legs!” Sophy called. “He is itching for a gallop!”
With that, she wheeled Salamanca about, and let him have his head down the stretch of tan that lay beside the carriage road.
“Yoicks!” uttered Mr. Wraxton, and set off in pursuit.
“My dear Charles, what is to be done with her?” said Miss Wraxton. “Galloping in the Park, and in that habit, which I should blush to wear! I was never more shocked!”
“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes on the diminishing figure in the distance. “But, by God, she can ride!”
“Of course, if you mean to encourage her in such pranks there is no more to be said.”
“I don’t,” he replied briefly.