Judith curled her lip at him. “Well, you like to think so, my dear.”

“You couldn’t dine in the coffee-room,” he assured her. “It may do very well for me, but for you it won’t answer.”

“Go and find your curricle,” said Judith, between amusement and exasperation.

He needed no further encouragement; he was gone in a trice, nor did he return until after five o’clock. He came in then, highly elated, full of his good fortune. There was no coming by a curricle—no gentleman’s carriage to be had at all, but he had heard of a gig owned by some farmer, a shabby affair, scarce an inch of paint on it, but it would serve—and been off immediately to drive the bargain. The long and short of it was he had driven the gig back, and was ready now to do all that a brother should for his sister’s entertainment in taking her out to see ruins, or whatever else she chose. Dinner? Oh, he had eaten a tight little beefsteak in the coffee-room, and was entirely at her disposal.

Miss Taverner could not but feel that with the town seething with sporting company, it was hardly the moment for an expedition, but she was heartily sick of her own room, and agreed to the scheme.

The gig was found upon inspection to be not quite so bad as Peregrine described, but still, a shabby affair. Miss Taverner grimaced at it. “My dear Perry, I had rather walk!”

“Walk? Oh, lord, I have had enough of that, I can tell you! I must have tramped a good mile already. Don’t be so nice, Jul. It ain’t what I’d choose, but no one knows us here.”

“You had better let me drive,” she remarked.

But that, of course, would not do. If she thought she could drive better than he, she much mistook the matter. The brute was hard-mouthed, not a sweet-goer by any means, no case for a lady.