THE LAST SHREDS OF ANIMOSITY VANISHED over the substantial breakfast provided by the landlord of an adjacent inn; and so mellowing was the effect of the ale with which the four young gentlemen washed down vast quantities of beef, ham, and pigeon pie, that Sherry had no hesitation in allowing his friends to share the jest of his having actually gone to the lengths of drawing up his Will on the previous day. George shouted with laughter when he heard about this, and said that if he had known that Sherry could hit a tree when he aimed at it he would very likely have drawn up his own Will. This naturally put Sherry on his mettle, and he at once challenged George to a shooting contest, to be held at Manton’s Gallery. Mr Ringwood and Mr Fakenham, always ready for a side bet, objected that unless George were to be suitably handicapped no one in his senses would bet against him, and the rest of the meal passed in arguing over all the more impossible forms of handicap which suggested themselves to four gentlemen in the sort of high spirits into which sudden relief from twenty-four hours of anxiety had plunged them. When they finally left the inn, Ferdy and Mr Ringwood went off together in Ferdy’s tilbury, and George took up Sherry in his phaeton, promising to set him down in Half Moon Street.
“Kitten will be wanting to be assured of your safety,” he grinned.
“Oh, she don’t know anything about it!” replied Sherry.
George made no remark upon this for a moment or two, but when he had thought the matter over he decided to be open with Sherry. He said frankly: “Yes, she does. Wasn’t going to tell you, but now I come to think of it your coachman knows, and ten to one if you heard of it through him you’d be wanting to cut my liver out again. It was Gil’s fault. Ferdy’s too. The silly gudgeons thought I meant to kill you. They must think I’m a rum ’un! What must they do but go off to tell Kitten the whole! The lord knows what they thought she could do, for even Ferdy can’t have supposed you’d rat, and they can’t either of them have meant that she should come to see me — which is what she did do.”
“What?” gasped Sherry.
George nodded. “Yesterday morning. You know, Sherry, you ought to keep an eye on your Kitten. Not my business, but she’s such a baby there’s no knowing what she’ll do next. Came to beg me not to meet you.”
“If that isn’t like Kitten!” exclaimed Sherry. “You know, George, there’s no keeping pace with her at all! How was I to guess I ought to have warned her to take a hackney, if she meant to call at a man’s lodgings?”
George looked a trifle startled, and said: “The point is she ought not to call at a fellow’s lodgings, old boy.”
“No, by Jove, she ought not!” agreed Sherry. “Devil of a business being married, George! You’ve no notion! Never thought I should be kept so busy, but what with the Royal Saloon, the Peerless Pool — yes, I was only in the very nick of time to stop her going off there! — Bartholomew Fair, and now this, not to mention a few other starts — dash it, I don’t have a quiet moment!”
“She don’t mean a bit of harm, Sherry,” said George awkwardly.
“Oh, lord, no! The thing is, she ain’t up to snuff yet, and that cousin of hers never put her in the way of things.”
George feather-edged a corner before saying: “I dare say she wouldn’t do anything she thought you might not like. Devilish fond of you, Sherry.”
“Yes, I’ve known her since she was eight years old, you see,” responded Sherry, with an unconcern that effectually silenced his friend.
While these events had been taking place, Hero had received an early morning visit from Miss Milborne, who was ushered into the dining-room before the breakfast dishes had been removed from the table. She was looking rather pale, and she bore herself with something less than her usual poise. Without pausing to apologize for calling at so unseasonable an hour, she said impetuously: “You were right! I have not been able to sleep for thinking of it! Indeed I did not mean to be so disobliging! I will do what I may to dissuade Wrotham from engaging in this affair!”
There was not a particle of malice in Hero’s nature, and she responded at once with the sunniest of smiles, and a warm handclasp. “Oh, I knew I could not be mistaken in you, Isabella! I am very much obliged to you, only it is too late, for they went off some hours ago to Westbourn Green. I cannot imagine what can be detaining them so long!”
Miss Milborne stared at her in horror. “They have gone? And you can sit here, eating your breakfast, as though — And you called me heartless!”
Hero gave a little chuckle. “Oh, but there is nothing to be worried about! George promised me he would not hurt a hair of Sherry’s head. He said he would fire in the air, so I can be quite comfortable, you see!”
“And what,” asked Miss Milborne, in a strangled voice, “if it is Sherry who kills George?”
“Well, I thought of that, too,” admitted Hero. “But George assured me Sherry could not hit him at twenty-five yards, and I expect he must know. Do let me give you some coffee, Isabella!”
“Thank you, no. I collect that you actually called on Wrotham at his lodging?”
“Yes, for what else could I do, when you would not help me? And, indeed, I am very sorry that I troubled you, Isabella, for there was not the least need: George told me instantly that I need have no fear for Sherry. And Gil said I must particularly request you not to mention the matter to a soul, and I forgot to do so.”
“Make yourself easy on that score: I should not think of prattling upon such a subject!” Miss Milborne said, in a colourless tone. “I must not stay. I am happy to know that my intervention was not needed.”
Hero perceived that she had in some way erred, and said nervously: “No, but — but I do hope you do not think — George said that he had not the least notion of killing Sherry, you see, so perhaps my intervention was not needed either.”
“Very likely,” said Miss Milborne. “It is a case of all’s well that ends well, in fact.”
“Yes, only — Isabella, pray do not be thinking that George cares a button for me, for nothing could be more nonsensical!”
Miss Milborne gave a tinkling little laugh. “My dear, if I trust that he does not it is quite for your own sake, I assure you! It is nothing to me whom he cares for. Now, indeed, I must go, for I have to drive out presently with Mama! We shall meet at Almack’s, I dare say. Do you go to the Cowpers’ party? I need not ask, however! all the world and his wife will be there, I collect!”
Hero was so much quelled by this bright manner that she could summon up no more courage than sufficed to allow her to escort her friend to the front door, and bid her a somewhat faltering farewell. She began to be much afraid that she had done poor George a very ill turn; and until the sound of Sherry’s step in the hall banished any but the most cheerful thoughts she sat wondering how she could best set matters to rights for that ill starred lover.
Sherry came cheerfully in, and, as she jumped up, took her by the shoulders and shook her, not very hard, saying: “Kitten, you little wretch, how dared you ask George not to blow a hole through me?”
“But I did not wish him to blow a hole through you, Sherry!” she replied reasonably. “What else could I do? Only I am afraid I have made Isabella very angry, and I don’t know what to do!”
“What the deuce has Isabella to say to anything?” he demanded.
“Well, you see, I asked her if she would speak to George, but she — she did not seem to understand any more than you did how George came to kiss me, and she would not do it, and now she is — ”
“You asked Isabella to intercede with George for me?” gasped Sherry, the indulgent grin wiped suddenly from his face.
She raised a pair of dismayed eyes. “Oh, dear, perhaps I should not have mentioned that! Please do not mind it, Sherry!”
“Not mind it! Do you know that you have done your best to make me the laughing stock of the town?”
“Oh, no, Sherry, truly not! Isabella was not in the least amused, I assure you!”
He looked very hard at her. “Did Gil and Ferdy set you on to do it?”
“No, no!” she said hastily. “It was quite my own idea!”
“You deserve I should box your ears!”
“No, pray do not!” she said earnestly. “Isabella will not speak of the matter: she said she should not! But, Sherry, I fear she believes that he has been flirting with me! Would you be so very obliging as to tell her that it was no such thing?”
“No, by Jove, I will not!” he declared. “Upon my word, what next will you ask me to do?”
“But if she knew that you do not mind George’s having kissed me — ”
“But I do mind!” said Sherry, incensed.
“Do you, Sherry?” she asked wistfully.
“Well, of course I do! A pretty sort of a fellow I should be if I did not!”
“I won’t do it again,” she promised.
“You had better not, by Jupiter! And while I think of it, brat, you are not to visit men’s lodgings again either!”
“I do know that, Sherry, but it was so very awkward, on account of George’s not liking to come to this house, that I did not see what else I could do.”
“That’s all very well,” responded Sherry severely, “but you shouldn’t have gone there in your own carriage. Don’t you know enough to take a hackney upon such an occasion?”
“I never thought of that!” she said innocently. “How stupid of me it was! I shall know better another time. I am so glad I have you to tell me these things, Sherry, for Cousin Jane never told me anything to the point.”
It occurred to his lordship that the piece of worldly wisdom he had imparted to his bride was not in the least what he had meant to say, but after all the excitements of the morning he did not feel capable of entering more fully into the ethical and moral aspects of what he knew to have been a perfectly harmless visit to George’s lodging. He said that she was on no account to do it again, and abandoned the whole topic.
The relief he had felt when George had deloped on the ground had been considerable, and not even a visit from his man of business availed to subdue a mood of somewhat riotous optimism. His lordship was strongly of the opinion that he would shortly come about, since it was absurd to suppose that a run of ill luck could last for ever. Mr Stoke, unable to share his employer’s sanguine belief, was obliging enough to cite a depressing number of cases in refutation of it; but the Viscount, having listened with a good deal of impatience to the horrid tale of the gentleman of fortune who, having lost even the coat upon his back at play, hanged himself from a street lamp, while his late opponent waited to collect his coat when he should have done with it, triumphantly produced in defence of his theory the evidence of his having only three days since backed the winner in a race between a turkey and a goose. He was, indeed, slightly taken aback when he read the sum of his obligations, and agreed that to be continually selling out his holding in the Funds would be a dashed bad thing.
“And the next step, as, I am persuaded, I need hardly point out to your lordship,” said Mr Stoke gently, “will be the sale of your lands.”
The Viscount had upon more than one occasion stated his dislike of Sheringham Place, and he had not, so far, betrayed the smallest sign of taking more than a perfunctory interest in the management of his considerable estates, but at these words a sudden flash came into his blue eyes, and he exclaimed involuntarily: “Sell my land? You must be mad to think of it! I will never do so!”
Mr Stoke looked thoughtfully at him, his expression of close interest at odd variance with the meekness of his tone as he said: “After all, your lordship does not care for Sheringham Place.”
The Viscount stared at him. “Dash it, what’s that to say to anything?” he demanded. “It’s my home, ain’t it? Good God, there’s been a Verelst at Sheringham Place since I don’t know when, and not even my grandfather sold a foot of land, and if ever there was a loose screw it was he! Because I don’t happen to like the place — ” He stopped suddenly, remembering his boyhood, before the descent of his Uncle Paulett upon his home, recalling companionable rides about the estate with his father, stolen days with an old fowling-piece, a hundred pleasant memories. He flushed. “Besides, I do care for the place!” he said shortly.
Mr Stoke cast down his eyes that all at once held a good deal of satisfaction. “Your lordship finds life in the country a trifle slow,” he said.
“Yes, well — well, that ain’t to say that I don’t mean to settle down presently! In any event, I won’t sell my land, so let me hear no more of that!”
“It is my duty to warn your lordship that if your present rate of expenditure is maintained, your lordship will have no choice in the matter,” said Mr Stoke.
“Nonsense! I don’t deny I am a trifle scorched this year, but I shall come about!” Sherry said, in a tone that forbade further discussion.
But the shocking thought put into his mind by his man of business refused to be quite banished, and actually cost his lordship an hour’s sleep. A heavy plunge on an outsider, backed on the advice of the ubiquitous Jason, did much to raise his spirits, and he told that very safe man at the corner, Jerry Cloves, as he collected his winnings at Tattersall’s, that he had best look out for himself now, as the luck had turned. Jerry grinned, and wished his noble patron the best of good fortune, but fortune still appeared to be a little fickle, for his lordship lost a large sum at Watier’s that very evening, and was so much exasperated that he threatened to forswear macao altogether.
He had barely recovered from the gloomy reflections provoked by this unsuccessful evening when he received a visit from the Honourable Prosper Verelst, who caught him on the steps of his house, just as he was preparing to saunter down to White’s, and bore him inexorably back into the house.
“For you need not suppose, my boy, that I’ve put myself to the trouble of coming to see you only to have you slip off like that!” said Prosper.
“What the deuce brings you to see me?” asked his undutiful nephew, ushering him into the library behind the dining-room.
“Fond of you, Sherry: always was!” replied Prosper, lowering himself into a deep armchair. “If you have some of that madeira left which I gave you, I’ll take a glass.”
His lordship tugged at the bellpull. “That’s all very well, but you don’t have to come to see me just when I was about to join a party of friends!” he objected.
“Yes, I do, because you’re never at home,” said Prosper. “How badly were you dipped at Watier’s last night, Sherry?”
Sherry swung round to face him. “What the devil has it to do with you if I was, Prosper?” he demanded dangerously.
“Don’t get into a miff now! Damme, I was one of your trustees up till a month or so ago!”
“And a devilish bad one too!” retorted Sherry.
“Well, never mind that! Been hearing tales of your doings, my boy. Too deep! Much too deep!”
“That comes mighty well from you, sir!”
“Nothing to do with the case. I’m a single man, for one thing, and for another I’m a gamester. Fact is, you ain’t, Sherry.”
“What?” gasped his lordship, touched on the raw.
Prosper shook his head. “Never met a worse one,” he said. “Your heart’s not in it. Queer thing, when you consider the way my father — However, I’m bound to say your own father was no hand at play. Dare say you take after him. You’re a young fool, boy, because it’s my belief you only go to those rubbishing hells of yours out of — ” He broke off as Jason came into the room, and exclaimed in accents of horror: “Don’t tell me you have that fellow in the house! Damme, you might have warned me, Sherry! I’ve left my drab Benjamin in the hall, and there’s my snuffbox in one pocket, and — ”
“Give it to me!” said Sherry briefly, holding out his hand.
Jason sniffed, and reminded his master that he was keeping his fambles clean until Christmas, when the missus had promised him a tattler as good as Mr Fakenham’s.
“Yes, that’s true enough,” said Sherry. “No need to worry your head about Jason until after Christmas, sir. What the deuce are you doing here, Jason?
Where’s Groombridge?”
“In his altitudes,” responded the Tiger promptly. “A-snoring fit to bring the plaster down, he is.”
“Drunk?” ejaculated his lordship. “The devil! I thought he never touched liquor! Where’s Bootle?”
“Gorn out. What do you expect, guv’nor, when you said you was going yourself? They’ll look as queer as Dick’s hatband, they will, the silly chubs, when I tells ’em you was at home all the time. What was you a-ringing for?”
“A pretty state of affairs!” said his lordship wrathfully. “Fetch me the madeira out of the dining-room, and a couple of glasses, Jason! And don’t tell me you don’t know it when you see it, because I’ll lay my life you do!”
“Well, I do, then,” said the henchman, with dignity. “I knows all the rum-bubs, but mind, now, guv’nor! I ain’t no bingo-boy, so don’t you go a-setting it about you ever seen me with the malt above the water, because you ain’t!” With this admonition, he left the room, returning in a few minutes with a decanter in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other. These he planted on the table without ceremony. He then withdrew, turning back in the doorway to inform the Honourable Prosper that his greatcoat pockets contained various other items besides his snuffbox, and that if he did not desire to be bled by a bite he would do well to hide the Ready-and-Rhino more securely.
“If I were you, Sherry, I’d send that rogue packing!” said Prosper.
“He doesn’t worry me,” responded Sherry, handing him a glass of wine.
“No! He don’t steal your property!” retorted Prosper. “When I think of the things of mine that rascal has walked off with — However, that’s not what I came to talk to you about! If you’re not mighty careful, my boy, you’ll find yourself under the hatches! What the devil takes you to 12 Park Place? Young fool! Frittering a fortune away at French hazard, eh?”
“Fudge!” said Sherry, colouring.
“Fudge, is it? They tell me you’re seen about with that fellow Revesby. He take you to Park Place?”
“What if he did?”
“Thought as much,” said Prosper, nodding. He sipped his wine, adding matter-of-factly: “Got a strong notion they load the dice there.”
Sherry stared at him. “It’s a hum! You know nothing of the matter!”
Prosper gave an indulgent chuckle. “If any man in town is to be trusted to know when he’s playing with downhills it’s I!” he said. “Think you’re up to all the tricks, don’t you, Sherry? Well, you ain’t!” He finished what remained in his glass, and heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Said all I want to,” he grunted. “Know why Revesby ain’t a member of Watier’s? They blackballed him.”
This interview annoyed Sherry very much; and as Hero came in not ten minutes after he had seen his uncle off the premises, he naturally told her about it, expatiating at length on the folly of persons who held it possible for a fellow’s luck to continue bad indefinitely, and expressing some startling views on the correct measures to pursue when the dice were falling against one. Hero drank all this in, never doubting that every word he spoke was not only infallible, but represented his considered opinion; but she was a little alarmed by a glancing reference to Mr Stoke’s visit earlier in the week. No sooner had she been favoured with a scathing description of this gentleman’s errand than she conceived the notion of returning to the modiste who had created them, two ball dresses, one opera cloak, and a delicious promenade dress, with gathered sleeves and a high, arched collar, which was designed to be worn with a Spanish lapelled coat of fine orange merino adorned with epaulets and a border of raised white velvet. Sherry, however, when she suggested this sacrifice, was horrified, and forbade her either to do any such thing or to bother her head over such matters. He then passed a few strictures on the household bills, wondered that she should not contrive better, and said that he had no doubt that Groombridge was drinking all the best champagne.
So Hero nerved herself to remonstrate with the ruler of her kitchen. Such was her trepidation that Mrs Groombridge eyed her with overt contempt, and answered her in a very insolent manner. This was a mistake, for her mistress had a temper. The interview then proceeded on wholly unpremeditated lines, and ended with the abrupt departure of the Groombridges from Half Moon Street. As the master of the house was holding a bachelor dinner-party there that evening, it was small wonder that Bootle, Jason, and the fat pageboy should have looked with as much dismay as respect upon their mistress. But however little Cousin Jane might have taught Hero of the ways of the world, she had unquestionably attended to the domestic side of her education. The pageboy was sent off with a note from my Lady Sheringham to my Lady Kilby, excusing herself, on the score of the headache, from attending a soirée that evening; the superior abigail abovestairs was staggered to learn that she was to assist my lady in the kitchen; Bootle bowed politely to a decree that he was to act as butler; and Hero penetrated the fastnesses of the basement regions, thereby frightening the kitchen maid so much that she dropped a dish on the stone floor, and was of very little use for the rest of the evening. However, this was not felt to signify, since Jason, recommending her to stop napping her bib, offered his services to Hero in her stead, stipulating only that his livery should be protected by a belly-cheat. As soon as the assembled company had grasped that this elegant phrase was a euphemism for an apron, the desired article of clothing was produced; and the Tiger proved himself to be extremely expert amongst the cooking pots.
It was not until dinner was nearly over that the Viscount noticed that he was being waited on by his valet. Since the party consisted of Lord Wrotham, the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham, and Mr Ringwood, he had no hesitation in demanding the reason for this departure from the normal, freely hazarding the guess that Groombridge was lying incapable on the pantry floor. Bootle, who disapproved of such unceremonious behaviour, returned a non-committal answer; but Jason, who was waiting to deliver the next course into his hands, put his head into the room and announced that both Groombridges having piked on the bean the Missus was cooking the dinner, and in bang-up style.
Upon receipt of this amazing information the whole party repaired at once to the kitchen, Sherry having the forethought to take the wine decanter along with him, and Ferdy pausing only to secrete his watch and chain in one of the vases on the dining-room mantelpiece. Hero, delightfully unconscious of dishevelled tresses, flushed cheeks, and a smut on her nose, made them welcome. They drank her health, ate up all the apricot tartlets she had prepared, sampled the contents of the jars on the big dresser, and wondered that they should never before have had the happy thought of invading a kitchen. After that they swept Hero off with them upstairs, leaving the servants to wash up the dishes. Bootle and the superior abigail exchanged speaking glances, the kitchen maid retired to indulge a mild fit of hysterics in the scullery, and Jason, seating himself at his east at the table, requested the pageboy to flick him some panam and cash. This intelligent lad, who had for months been enriching an already varied vocabulary from Jason’s store, at once complied with the request by cutting the Tiger a large slice of bread and cheese.
On the following day, Bootle, whose sense of what was due to himself would not allow of a repetition of the previous night’s performance, volunteered to find and install a respectable couple to fill the Groombridges’ places. He magically produced a cousin of his own, who, with his wife, almost immediately took possession of the kitchen. There was no noticeable diminution in the household bills, but since Mrs Bradgate grilled kidneys just as Sherry liked them, and always agreed smilingly with everything Hero said; and as Bradgate’s depredations on the cellar were too discreet to attract attention, the young couple were able to congratulate themselves on having made a change for the better.
Sherry’s more personal affairs seemed to be on the mend too, his friends Revesby and Brockenhurst having counselled him to alter his habits a little. So instead of pursuing his ill fortune at Watier’s, where they played hazard and macao for stakes varying from ten shillings to two hundred pounds, he began to patronize a snug little establishment in Pall Mall, which was presided over by a charming female of considerable address, and where rouge et noir and roulette were extensively played. Sherry passed several successful evenings in this house, and began to nourish the hope that he would soon find himself up in the stirrups again. His uncle, hearing of this new departure, cast up his eyes, and said he washed his hands of the boy.
Others besides Prosper Verelst and Mr Stoke regarded Sherry’s gaming excesses with disfavour. Ferdy Fakenham, dining at Limmer’s Hotel with his brother and Mr Ringwood, actually said that something ought to be done about it, adding hopefully that he thought it might answer tolerably well if Gil spoke to Sherry. Mr Ringwood declined this office with great firmness, saying that he was not Sherry’s cousin.
“George might drop him a hint,” said Ferdy dubiously. “I wouldn’t set any store by what George said myself, but Sherry might.”
“Where is George?” asked the Honourable Marmaduke. “Thought he was dining with us tonight?”
Ferdy sighed. “No. He’s gone off to the Cowpers’ ball. Poor fellow! Don’t like to tell him, but the odds are shortening at the clubs: the time was when you could get tens anywhere against Severn’s coming up to scratch, but no one’s offering better than evens now, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if before long it’s odds on.”
“Ah!” said Marmaduke profoundly. “What are the odds against the Milborne’s accepting him, though?”
Ferdy stared at him. “Wouldn’t find a taker, Duke.”
“Wouldn’t I, my tulip?” retorted his sapient brother. “Let me tell you that that fellow, Revesby, is a good deal fancied by the knowing ones. They say he’s been making the running these last few weeks.”
“You don’t mean it!” said Ferdy, thunderstruck.
“I never liked the Incomparable above half myself,” said Mr Ringwood, “but I never heard there was any harm in the girl, and I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t have him.”
“Just the sort of rum customer females take fancies to,” said Marmaduke.
Mr Ringwood considered this, and was obliged to agree that there was much in what his friend said. “Not that I give a button whom she marries,” he said, refilling his glass. “All I say is, it’s a pity Sherry has a fancy for the fellow. Got my reasons for thinking he’s badly dipped. Bad enough when he’s full of frisk; devilish dangerous when he’s aground. Wonder if that’s why he’s throwing his handkerchief towards the Incomparable?”
“You know Mrs Capel’s place in Pall Mall?” asked Ferdy.
“Heard of it,” replied Mr Ringwood. “Sharps and flats.”
“Well, Sherry’s taken to going there.”
“He has?” Mr Ringwood said, shocked.
Ferdy nodded gloomily. “Plays rouge et noir there.”
“Bad, very bad!” Mr Ringwood said. “What the deuce does he do it for? Don’t mind a fellow’s gaming a trifle: do it myself! but it’s getting to be a curst habit with Sherry! What’s come over him?”
“Revesby,” replied Marmaduke shortly. He pressed his thumb down on the table. “Got Sherry there. Only has to crook his finger: Sherry’s off. Same with Tallerton. Saw it happen.”
“Tallerton!” exclaimed Mr Ringwood, staring.
The elder Mr Fakenham bowed his head portentously. “You know what happened to Tallerton, Gil?”
“He had an accident when he was out shooting,” replied Mr Ringwood slowly.
“Blew his brains out,” said Marmaduke.
“Perfectly true,” corroborated Ferdy. “All to pieces, he was. Hushed it up, of course, but there it is. Plain as a pikestaff. Duke had it from Nat Tallerton. The thing is, can’t have Sherry doing the same. Dash it, cousin of ours! Besides — Sherry, y’know!”
“Sherry wouldn’t!” Mr Ringwood said positively.
“No, because Revesby’s claws ain’t firm enough in him yet,” said Marmaduke.
Mr Ringwood sat up. “What are we going to do?” he demanded.
“Can’t do anything,” replied Marmaduke. “If you don’t know Sherry, I do. Never would listen to reason, and the only time I tried to use my influence on him he went straight off and did the very thing we didn’t want him to do.”
“That’s Sherry all over,” agreed Ferdy. “Obstinate! Like it from a child. No managing him at all.”
“Lady Sheringham might contrive to cheek him,” suggested Marmaduke.
Mr Ringwood shook his head.
“She’s his wife,” insisted Marmaduke. “Dare say he’d listen to her.”
“Well, he wouldn’t,” said Mr Ringwood, frowning at his glass.
“I don’t see that. Taking little thing — still a bride! Stands to reason!”
“No, it don’t!” Mr Ringwood said curtly. “Got to think of something else.”
“That’s it,” agreed Ferdy. “Open his eyes! Might tell him about Tallerton.”
“He wouldn’t believe you. Tell you what, Ferdy: we shall have to think about it.”
They were still — in their leisure moments — considering the problem, when fate took an unexpected hand in the affair.