“You have Salamanca still! Lord, do you remember riding, him, when you were almost snapped up by old Soult?”
“Sophy, what’s your direction? Are you living in London now? Where’s Sir Horace?”
She was laughing, trying to answer them all, while her horse sidled, and fidgeted, and tossed his head. “ Ah! Never mind about me! What are you all doing in England. I thought you in France still! Don’t tell me you have sold!”
“Debenham has, lucky dog! I’m on furlough. We’re stationed in England — what a thing it is to belong to the Gentlemen’s Sons — and Talgarth has become a great man, almost a Tiger! Yes, I assure you! A.D.C. to the Duke York. You notice the air of consequence. But he is condescension, not the least height in his manner — yet!”
“Silence, rattle!” said his victim. He was rather older than his companions, a handsome, dark man, with a decided of fashion and a languid manner. “Dear Sophy, I am tolerably certain that you cannot have been in London above many days. Not the smallest rumor of any volcanic disturbance I come to my ears, and you know how quick I am to get all of the news!”
She laughed. “Oh, that is too bad of you, Sir Vincent, but I don’t create disturbances. You know I don’t!”
“I know nothing of the kind, my child. When last I saw you, you were engaged in arranging in the most ruthless fashion the affairs of the most bewildered family of Belgians I have yet encountered. They had all my sympathy, there was nothing I could do to help them. I know my limitations.”
“Those poor Le Bruns! Well, but someone had to help them out of such a tangle! I assure you, everything was settled most satisfactorily! But come! I forget my manners in all this excitement! Miss Wraxton, do pray forgive me, and allow me to present to you Colonel Sir Vincent Talgarth, and beside him, Colonel Debenham. And this is Major Titus Quinton, and — oh, dear, ought I to have said your name first, Francis? It is one of the things I never know, but no matter! Captain Lord Francis Wolvey! And this is my cousin Mr. Rivenhall. Oh, and Mr. Wraxton also!”
Miss Wraxton inclined her head politely; Mr. Rivenhall, bowing slightly to the rest of the party, addressed himself to Lord Francis, saying, “I don’t think I ever met you, but your brother and I were up at Oxford together.”
Lord Francis leaned forward in his saddle to shake him by the hand. “Now I know who you are!” he announced. “You are Charles Rivenhall! Thought I couldn’t be mistaken! How do you do? Do you still box? Freddy was used to say he never knew an amateur with a more punishing right!”