“Miss Stanton-Lacy, I do not know what you mean, and again I must beg of you to pull up! I am not at all diverted by this prank, and I wish to, alight from your phaeton instantly!”
“What, and walk along Piccadilly unattended? You cannot mean it!”
“Stop!” commanded Miss Wraxton, in almost shrill accents. “On no account. Dear me, what a lot of traffic! Perhaps you had better not talk to me until I have weaved my way through all these carts and carriages.”
“For heaven’s sake, at least slacken your pace!” Miss Wraxton besought her, in the liveliest alarm.
“I will, when we come to the turning,” promised Sophy, passing between a waggon and a mail coach, with a matter of inches to spare. A moan from her companion caused her to add kindly, “There is no need to be in a fright. Sir Horace made me drive through a gateway until I could be trusted not even to scrape the varnish.”
They were now ascending the rise in Piccadilly. With a strong effort at self-control, Miss Wraxton demanded, “Tell me at once where you are taking me!”
“Down St. James’s Street,” replied Sophy coolly.
“What?” gasped Miss Wraxton, turning quite pale. “You will not do such a thing! No lady would be seen driving there! Amongst all the clubs, the object of every town saunterer! You cannot know what would be said of you! Stop this instant!”
“No, I want to see this Bow Window I hear so much of and all the dandies who sit there. How wretched that Mr. Brummel has been obliged to go abroad! Do you know, I never saw him in my life? Are you able to point out the various clubs to me? Shall we recognize White’s, or are there other houses with bow windows?”
“This is your notion of raillery, Miss Stanton-Lacy! You are not serious?”