“Saddle Thunderer and the brown hack!” he commanded suddenly. “Quick!”

Both grooms flew to carry out this order, exchanging glances that spoke volumes. No ostlers, trained to change coach horses in fifty seconds, could have worked faster, and while a couple of stable hands still stood gaping at such unaccustomed doings, Mr. Rivenhall, followed at a discreet distance by his groom, was riding swiftly in the direction of Hyde Park.

He had judged correctly, but it was perhaps unfortunate that he should have come up with his cousin just as the young chestnut, first trying to rear up between the shafts at the sight of a small boy flying a kite, made a spirited attempt to kick the floor board out of the carriage. Mr. Rivenhall, who had almost believed that he could forgive all if only he should find his cousin unharmed, found that he had been mistaken. Pale with fury, he dismounted, dragged the bridle over Thunderer’s head, thrust it into the groom’s hand, with a brief order to him to lead the horse home, swung himself into the tilbury, and possessed himself of the reins. For several moments he was fully occupied with his horse, and Sophy had leisure to admire his skill. She did not think she had managed so very badly herself, for, with the best will in the world to do so, the chestnut had not bolted with her; but she did not pretend to Mr. Rivenhall’s mastery over a high-couraged, half-broken animal. Assuaging Mr. Rivenhall’s wrath formed no part of her schemes, but in spite of herself she exclaimed, “Ah, you are a capital whip! I never knew how good until today!”

“I don’t need you to tell me so!” he flashed, face and voice at curious variance with his steady hands. “How dared you do this? How dared you? If you had broken your neck you would have come by your desserts! That you have not broken my horses’s knees I must think a miracle!”

“Pooh!” said Sophy, atoning for her previous error by laying this promising faggot upon the smoldering fire.

The result was all that she had hoped it might be. The drive back to Berkeley Square did not occupy very many minutes, but Mr. Rivenhall crammed into them every pent-up exasperation of the past fortnight. He tore his cousin’s character to shreds, condemned her manners, her morals, and her upbringing, expressed his strong desire to have the schooling of her, and, in the same breath, pitied the man who should be fool enough to marry her, and fervently looked forward to the day when he should be relieved of her unwelcome presence in his home.

It was doubtful whether Sophy could have stemmed the tide of this eloquence. In the event, she made no attempt to do so, but sat with folded hands and downcast eyes beside her accuser. That his rage had been fanned, quite irrationally, to white heat by finding her unhurt she had no doubt at all. There had been moments during her escapade when she had doubted her ability to bring either herself or the horse off safely. She had never been more glad to see her cousin; and one glance at his face had been enough to assure her that he had suffered a degree of anxiety out of all proportion to the concern even the keenest whip might be expected to feel for his horse. He might say what he pleased; she was not deceived.

He set her down in Berkeley Square, telling her roughly that she might alight without his assistance. She obeyed him, and without so much as waiting to see her admitted into the house, he drove off toward the mews.

That was shortly after noon. Mr. Rivenhall did not return to the house, and, as soon as she was satisfied that there was no fear of his walking in on her, his wholly unchastened cousin first summoned the underfootman to her, and sent him on an errand to the nearest livery stables; and then sat down to write several careful notes. By two o’clock, John Potton, puzzled but unsuspicious, was trotting down to Merton with one of these in his pocket. Had he been privileged to know its contents he might not have ridden so cheerfully out of London.

“Dearest Sancia,” Sophy wrote. “I find myself in the most dreadful predicament, and must earnestly beg of you to join me at Lacy Manor immediately. Do not fail me, or I shall be utterly ruined. Ashtead lies only ten miles from Merton, so you need not fear to be fatigued. I leave London within the hour, and wholly depend upon you. Ever your devoted Sophy.”

Upon the footman’s return from his errand, he was gratified to receive half a guinea for his pains and set forth again with alacrity to deliver two sealed letters. One of these he left at Mr. Wychbold’s lodging; the other he carried from Lord Charlbury’s house to Manton’s Shooting Gallery, and thence to Brooks’s Club, where he finally ran his quarry to earth. Lord Charlbury, summoned to the hall to receive the billet in person, read it in considerable astonishment, but handsomely rewarded the bearer, and charged him to inform Miss Stanton-Lacy that he was entirely at her disposal.

Meanwhile, Miss Stanton-Lacy, who had thoughtfully given her too zealous maid a holiday, instructed a startled housemaid to pack her night gear in a portmanteau and sat down to write two more letters. She was still engaged on this task when Lord Charlbury was shown into the salon. She looked up, smiling, and said, “I knew I might depend on you! Thank you! Only let me finished this note!”

He waited until the door had closed behind Dassett before demanding, “What in heaven’s name is amiss, Sophy? Why must you go to Ashtead?”

“It is my home, Sir Horace’s house!”

“Indeed! I was not aware — But so suddenly! Your aunt — your cousin — ?”

“Don’t tease me!” she begged. “I will explain it to you on the way, if you will be so good as to give me your escort! It is not far — may be accomplished in one stage, you know!”

“Of course I will escort you!” he replied at once. “Is Rivenhall away from home?”

“It is impossible for me to ask him to go with me. Pray let me finish this note for Cecilia!”

He begged pardon and moved away to a chair by  the window. Good manners forbade him to press her for an explanation she was plainly reluctant to offer, but he was very much puzzled. The mischievous look had quite vanished from her eyes; — she seemed to be in an unusually grave mood — a circumstance that threw him off his guard and made him only anxious to be of service to her.

The note to Cecilia was soon finished and closed with a wafer. Sophy rose from the writing table, and Charlbury ventured to ask her whether she desired him to drive her to Ashtead in his curricle.

“No, no, I have hired a post chaise! I daresay it will be here directly. You did not come in your curricle?”

“No, I walked from Brooks’s. You are making a stay in the country?”

“I hardly know. Will you wait while I put on my hat and cloak?”

He assented, and she went away, returning presently with Tina frisking about her in the expectation of being taken for a walk. The hack chaise was already at the door, and Dassett, quite as mystified as Lord Charlbury, had directed a footman to strap Miss Stanton-Lacy’s portmanteau onto the back. Sophy gave her two last notes into his hand, directing him to be sure that Mr. and Miss Rivenhall received them immediately upon their return to the house. Five minutes later she was seated in the chaise beside Charlbury and expressing the hope that the threatened rainstorm would hold off until they had reached Lacy Manor. Tina jumped up into her lap, and she then told his lordship that she had encountered in the Green Park just such another Italian greyhound, who had made no secret of his admiration of Tina. Tina’s coquetry had to be described; this led an amusing account of the jealousy of Mr. Rivenhall’s spaniel, brought up by him from the country for a couple of nights; and in this way, by easy gradations, Lord Charlbury found himself discussing pheasant shooting, fox hunting, and various other sporting pursuits.

These topics lasted until the Kennington turnpike had been passed, by which time his lordship’s faculties, at first bewildered, were very much on the alert. He fancied that the mischief was back in Sophy’s eye. At Lower Tooting, he politely allowed his gaze to be directed to the curious church tower, with its circular form surmounted by a square wooden frame, with a low spire of shingles above it; but when Sophy leaned back again in her corner of the chaise, he said, watching her face, “Sophy, are we by any chance eloping together?”

Her rich chuckle broke from her. “No, no, it is not as bad I as that! Must I tell you?”

“I know very well you have some abominable scheme afoot! Tell me at once!”

She threw him a sidelong look, and he had now no doubt f that the mischief was back in her eye. “Well, the truth is, Charlbury, that I have kidnapped you.”

After a stunned moment, he began to laugh. In this she readily joined him, but when he had recovered from the first absurdity of the notion, he said, “I might have known there was devilry afoot when I saw that your faithful Potton was absent! But what is this, Sophy? Why am I kidnapped? To what end?”

“So that I may be so compromised that you will be obliged to marry me, of course,” replied Sophy matter of factly.

This cheerful explanation had the effect of making him start bolt upright, exclaiming, “Sophy!”

She smiled. “Oh, don’t be alarmed! I have sent John Potton with a letter to Sancia, begging her to come to Lacy Manor at once.”

“Good God, do you place any dependence upon her doing so?”

“Oh, yes, certainly! She has a very kind heart, you know, and would never fail me when I particularly desired her help.”

He relaxed against the squabs again, but said, “I don’t know what you deserve! I am still quite in a puzzle. Why have you done it?”

“Why, don’t you see? I have left behind me a letter for Cecilia, telling her that I am about to sacrifice myself — ”

“Thank you!” interjected his lordship.

“ — and you,” continued Sophy serenely, “so that my uncle may be silenced at last. You know, for I told you so, that I persuaded him to announce to poor Cecy his unalterable decision that she was to wed you! If I know Cecy, the shock will bring her posthaste to Ashtead, to rescue the pair of us. If, my dear Charlbury, you cannot help yourself in that eventuality, I wash my hands of you!”

“I can find it in me to wish you had done so long since!” was his ungrateful response. “Outrageous, Sophy, outrageous! And what if neither she nor the Marquesa comes to Lacy Manor? Let me tell you that nothing will serve to induce me to compromise you!”

“No, indeed! I should dislike it excessively! If that happened, I fear you will be obliged to spend the night at Leatherhead. It is not very far from Lacy Manor, and I believe you may be tolerably comfortable at the Swan. Or you might hire a chaise to carry you back to London. But Sancia at least will not fail.”

“Have you told Cecilia that you have kidnapped me?” he demanded. She nodded, and he exclaimed, “I could murder you! What a trick to play! And what a figure I must cut!”

“She won’t think of that. Do you recall that I told you only the other day that she must be made to pity you instead of Augustus? Besides that, I am persuaded she will suffer perfect torments of jealousy! Only fancy! I was quite at a stand until I remembered what I had once heard pronounced by a most distinguished soldier! ‘Surprise is the essence of attack!’ The most fortunate circumstance!”

“Was it not?” he said sarcastically. “I have a very good mind to get down at the next pike!”

“You will ruin all if you do.”

“It is abominable, Sophy!”

“Yes, if the motive were not pure!”

He said nothing, and she too remained silent for several minutes. At last, having turned it over in his mind, he said, “You had better tell me the whole. That I have only heard half I have no doubt at all! Where does Charles Rivenhall stand in all this?”

She folded her hands on Tina’s back. “Alas! I have quarreled so dreadfully with Charles that I am obliged to seek refuge at Lacy Manor!” she said mournfully.

“And have doubtless left a note behind you to inform him of this!”

“Of course!”

“I foresee a happy meeting!” he commented bitterly.

“That,” she acknowledged, “was the difficulty! But I think I can overcome it. I promise you, Charlbury, you shall come out of this with a whole skin — well, no, perhaps not quite that, but very nearly!”

“You do not know how much you relieve my mind! I daresay I may not be a match for Rivenhall, either with pistols or with my fists, but give me the credit for not being quite so great a poltroon as to fear a meeting with him!”