“I am going to be all the crack. I have quite made up my mind about that. Sherry said I might cut a dash, and I think I should like to very much.”
“Spoken like a right one!” grinned Sherry. “Of course she can’t have a landaulet! Dash it, that’s what my mother uses! A barouche, with a pair of match-bays: slap up to the echo!”
“Best look in at Tatt’s tomorrow,” nodded Ferdy. “Nothing in your stables fit for a lady, dear old boy.”
Mr Ringwood, who had produced a visiting card from his pocket, made a note on it. “Tatt’s,” he said. “Coachman and footman. Page boy. Abigail.”
“Chilham is attending to that,” said the Viscount. “Says he knows just such a one as will suit.”
“Riding horse,” said Ferdy.
“She don’t ride.”
“Yes, I do!” Hero interrupted. “At least, I have often ridden the old pony, and you know you put me up on your hunter when I was only twelve, Sherry!”
“Well, you aren’t going to sit there saying you rode him, are you?” demanded Sherry. “Never saw a horse get rid of anyone faster in my life!”
“You shouldn’t have put her up on one of your wild horses, Sherry,” said Mr Ringwood disapprovingly. He made another note on his card. “She’d best have a nice little mare. Mare. Lady’s saddle.”
"Yes, and a riding-habit,” said Hero. “And also I should like to have a carriage like that one we saw this morning, Gil, and drive it myself.”
“Phaeton,” said Mr Ringwood, writing it down.
“And Sherry will teach me how to drive it,” said Hero happily.
Sherry’s friends spoke as one man. “No!”
“Why not?”
“Because he can’t drive,” replied Mr Ringwood, not mincing matters.
“Sherry can drive! He drives better than anyone !”
Ferdy shook his head. “You’re thinking of someone else. Not Sherry. Wouldn’t have him in the FHC. Wouldn’t look at him. No precision. Gil’s your man. Drives to an inch: regular nonpareil!”
Mr Ringwood blushed at this tribute, and was understood to murmur that he would be happy to teach Lady Sherry anything that lay within his power. Hero thanked him, but it was evident that her faith in Sherry’s skill was unshaken. Sherry, who had merely grinned at his friends’ strictures, said with unwonted modesty that she had best let Gil take her in hand. His style of driving, although he would back himself to take the shine out of most of the men on the road, was not, he owned, quite suited to a lady. He engaged himself, however, to find her a really sweet-going horse, unless—with a challenging look at Mr Ringwood—he was not thought to be judge of horseflesh?
Mr Ringwood hastened to assure him that he had perfect confidence in his ability to choose proper highbred ’uns; and since every provision for Hero’s future well-being seemed now to have been made, put away his visiting card and began to address himself to his supper.
Chapter 6
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The Viscount's first action on the following morning was to sally forth to pay a call on his uncle, the Honourable Prosper Verelst. This gentleman occupied a set of chambers in Albany, and since it was one of his idiosyncrasies never to stir forth from his abode until after noon, his nephew was sure of finding him at home. He found him, in fact, partaking of a late breakfast, his valet being under orders to let no one in. The Viscount overcame this hindrance by putting the valet bodily out of his way, and walked in on his uncle without ceremony.
The Honourable Prosper was by far too corpulent a man to be anything but easy-going, and beyond fetching a groan at sight of his nephew, he evinced no sign of the annoyance he felt at being disturbed at such an hour. Merely he waved Sherry to a chair and went on with his breakfast.
“I wish you will tell that fool of a man of yours not to try to keep me out, sir,” complained the Viscount, laying his hat and cane down.
“But I want
“Spoken like a right one!” grinned Sherry. “Of course she can’t have a landaulet! Dash it, that’s what my mother uses! A barouche, with a pair of match-bays: slap up to the echo!”
“Best look in at Tatt’s tomorrow,” nodded Ferdy. “Nothing in your stables fit for a lady, dear old boy.”
Mr Ringwood, who had produced a visiting card from his pocket, made a note on it. “Tatt’s,” he said. “Coachman and footman. Page boy. Abigail.”
“Chilham is attending to that,” said the Viscount. “Says he knows just such a one as will suit.”
“Riding horse,” said Ferdy.
“She don’t ride.”
“Yes, I do!” Hero interrupted. “At least, I have often ridden the old pony, and you know you put me up on your hunter when I was only twelve, Sherry!”
“Well, you aren’t going to sit there saying you rode him, are you?” demanded Sherry. “Never saw a horse get rid of anyone faster in my life!”
“You shouldn’t have put her up on one of your wild horses, Sherry,” said Mr Ringwood disapprovingly. He made another note on his card. “She’d best have a nice little mare. Mare. Lady’s saddle.”
"Yes, and a riding-habit,” said Hero. “And also I should like to have a carriage like that one we saw this morning, Gil, and drive it myself.”
“Phaeton,” said Mr Ringwood, writing it down.
“And Sherry will teach me how to drive it,” said Hero happily.
Sherry’s friends spoke as one man. “No!”
“Why not?”
“Because he can’t drive,” replied Mr Ringwood, not mincing matters.
“Sherry can drive! He drives better than anyone !”
Ferdy shook his head. “You’re thinking of someone else. Not Sherry. Wouldn’t have him in the FHC. Wouldn’t look at him. No precision. Gil’s your man. Drives to an inch: regular nonpareil!”
Mr Ringwood blushed at this tribute, and was understood to murmur that he would be happy to teach Lady Sherry anything that lay within his power. Hero thanked him, but it was evident that her faith in Sherry’s skill was unshaken. Sherry, who had merely grinned at his friends’ strictures, said with unwonted modesty that she had best let Gil take her in hand. His style of driving, although he would back himself to take the shine out of most of the men on the road, was not, he owned, quite suited to a lady. He engaged himself, however, to find her a really sweet-going horse, unless—with a challenging look at Mr Ringwood—he was not thought to be judge of horseflesh?
Mr Ringwood hastened to assure him that he had perfect confidence in his ability to choose proper highbred ’uns; and since every provision for Hero’s future well-being seemed now to have been made, put away his visiting card and began to address himself to his supper.
Chapter 6
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The Viscount's first action on the following morning was to sally forth to pay a call on his uncle, the Honourable Prosper Verelst. This gentleman occupied a set of chambers in Albany, and since it was one of his idiosyncrasies never to stir forth from his abode until after noon, his nephew was sure of finding him at home. He found him, in fact, partaking of a late breakfast, his valet being under orders to let no one in. The Viscount overcame this hindrance by putting the valet bodily out of his way, and walked in on his uncle without ceremony.
The Honourable Prosper was by far too corpulent a man to be anything but easy-going, and beyond fetching a groan at sight of his nephew, he evinced no sign of the annoyance he felt at being disturbed at such an hour. Merely he waved Sherry to a chair and went on with his breakfast.
“I wish you will tell that fool of a man of yours not to try to keep me out, sir,” complained the Viscount, laying his hat and cane down.
“But I want
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