I accepted his offer, though I had considerable misgivings as to whether it would not make me sick. I looked round to see how my cousin approved of all these goings on, and particularly this last cigar movement. He was sitting with his back to us, reading the morning newspaper, apparently totally indifferent to my proceedings. That decided me. I would have smoked now if there had been a barrel of gunpowder under my nose. I didn't care how sick it made me! I lit my cigar from Sir Guy's, I suffered him to put his horrid red face close to mine. I flirted, and laughed, and drove, and puffed away as if I had been used to these accomplishments all my life. I rattled through the turnpike without stopping to pay, as if it were a good joke. I double-thonged a sleeping carter over the face and eyes as I passed him. My near leader shied at a wheelbarrow, and I _almost_ swore as I rated him and flanked him, and exclaimed,-- "Confound you, _I'll_ teach you to keep straight!" As we drove into the Park at Scamperley--for I fearlessly rounded the avenue turn, and vowed I would not abandon the reins till I had delivered my load at the front door--even Frank was completely disgusted. My cousin took not the slightest notice, but kept his seat with his back turned to the horses, and was still deep in his newspaper. Sir Guy was delighted; he shouted, and grinned, and swore more than ever. I was a "trump"--I was a "girl of the right sort"--I was a "well-bred one"--I had no end of "devil" in me--I was fit to be a "queen!" Whilst the object of all these polished encomiums could willingly have burst out crying at a moment's notice; indeed, she would have found it an unspeakable relief; and felt as she had never felt before, and as she trusts in heaven she may never feel again.