In considerable agitation, Mr. Scunthorpe said: “No, dash it! Can’t take a lady to Willow Walk! You don’t quite understand, ma’am! Poor Bertram—couldn’t pay his shot—not a meg on him—duns in his pocket—tipstaffs after him—had to give ’em all the bag! Can’t quite make out exactly how it was, but think he must have gone back to the Red Lion when he left the Nonesuch, because he has his portmanteau with him. Seems to have bolted for it to Tothill Fields. Very low back-slum, ma’am. Silly fellow ought to have come and knocked me up—happy to have given him my sofa!”
“Good God, why did he not?”
He coughed in an embarrassed way. “Might have been a little bit on the go,” he said diffidently. “Scared of being pounded by the tipstaffs, too. Come to think of it, might easily be if he stayed with me. Dashed tradesmen know he’s a friend of mine! At all events, he ain’t with me—didn’t send me word where he was till this morning—feeling too blue-devilled, I daresay. Don’t blame him: would myself!”
“Oh, poor Bertram, poor Bertram!” she cried, wringing her hands. “I do not care where he is, see him I must, if I have to go to this Willow Walk alone!”
“Good God, ma’am, mustn’t do that!” he exclaimed, appalled. “Very rough set of coves in Willow Walk! Besides—” He paused, looking acutely uncomfortable. “Not quite himself!”
“Oh, he must be ill with worry, and despair! Nothing would keep me from him at such a time! I will fetch my bonnet, and we may be off directly!”
“Ma’am, he won’t like it!” Mr. Scunthorpe said desperately. “Very likely be ready to murder me only for telling you! You can’t see him!”
“Why can I not?”
“He’s been in the sun a trifle! You see—very understandable thing to do!—shot the cat!”
“ Shot the cat? ”