I explained how we had met him at Brooks's, and had gone to his house.
“You went to his house?” she repeated, raising her eyebrows a trifle; “and Comyn and Mr. Fox? And pray, how did this pretty subject come up?”
I related, very badly, I fear, Fox's story of young Wrottlesey and the tea-merchant's daughter. And what does my lady do but get up and turn her back, arranging some pinks in the window. I could have sworn she was laughing, had I not known better.
“Well?”
“Well, that was a reference to a little pleasantry Mr. Fox had put up on him some time before. His Grace flared, but tried not to show it. He said he had heard I could do something with a horse (I believe he made it up), and Comyn gave oath that I could; and then he offered to bet Comyn that I could not ride this Pollux, who had killed his groom. That made me angry, and I told the duke I was no jockey to be put up to decide wagers, and that he must make his offers to me.”
“La!” said Dolly, “you fell in head over heels.”
“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.
“Nothing,” said she, biting her lip. “Come, you are as ponderous as Dr. Johnson.”
“Then Mr. Fox proposed that his Grace should ride after me.”
Here Dolly laughed in her handkerchief.