“Well, that should be harmless enough,” he said.
He would have been less satisfied on this point had he known that having taken up Mr. Fawnhope, whom they encountered in Bond Street, the occupants of the barouche were at that moment in Longacre, critically inspecting sporting vehicles. There were a great many of these, together with almost every variety of carriage, on view at the warehouse to which Hubert had conducted his cousin, and although Sophy remained firm in her preference for a phaeton, Cecilia was much taken with a caned whiskey, and Hubert having fallen in love with a curricle, forcibly urged his cousin to buy it. Mr. Fawnhope, appealed to for his opinion, was found to be missing, and was presently discovered seated in rapt contemplation of a state berlin, which looked rather like a very large breakfast cup, poised upon elongated springs. It was covered with a domed roof, bore a great deal of gilding, and had a coachman’s seat, perched over the front wheels, which was covered in blue velvet with a gold fringe. “Cinderella!” said Mr. Fawnhope simply.
The manager of the warehouse said that he did not think the berlin, which he kept for show purposes, was quite what the lady was looking for.
“A coach for a princess,” said Mr. Fawnhope, unheeding. “This, Cecilia, is what you must drive in. You shall have six white horses to draw it, with plumes on their heads, and blue harness.”
Cecilia had no fault to find with this program, but reminded him that they had come to help Sophy to choose a sporting carriage. He allowed himself to be dragged away from the berlin, but when asked to cast his vote between the curricle and the phaeton, would only murmur, “ What can little T.O. do? Why drive a phaeton and two! Can little T.O. do no more? Yes, drive a phaeton and four! ”
“That’s all very well,” said Hubert impatiently, “but my cousin ain’t Tommy Onslow, and for my part I think she will do better with this curricle!”
“You cannot scan the lines, yet they have a great deal of merit,” said Mr. Fawnhope. “How beautiful is the curricle! How swift! How splendid! Yet Apollo chose a phaeton. These carriages bewilder me. Let us go away!”
“Who is Tommy Onslow? Does he indeed drive a phaeton and four?” asked Sophy, her eyes kindling. “Now that would be something indeed! What a bore that I have just bought a pair! I could never match them, I fear.”
“You could borrow Charles’s grays,” suggested Hubert, grinning wickedly. “By Jupiter, what a kickup there would be!”
Sophy laughed, but shook her head. “No, it would be an infamous thing to do! I shall purchase that phaeton. I have quite made up my mind.”