“Who is?” demanded his lordship.
“You are,” said Mr Ringwood simply.
“I am no such thing!” Sherry retorted, stung. “How the devil was I to know she wanted to go when she said she didn’t?”
“My dear Sherry, poor Ringwood is a trifle disguised! Why put yourself in a pucker?” Revesby said.
“No, I ain’t!” Mr Ringwood contradicted, eyeing the elegant Sir Montagu with dislike. “Sherry’s a fool. Always was. George knew she wanted to go. George ain’t a fool.” He thought this over. “At least, not as big a fool as Sherry,” he amended.
“You’re as full as you can hold!” said Sherry furiously. “And George had no right to walk off like that! What’s more, he shan’t take my wife to Almack’s, because I’ll take her myself!”
Revesby caught his sleeve as he sprang up. “No, no, my dear fellow, you’re too late now! Consider! George has been gone these twenty minutes, and more!”
“I shall go straight to Almack’s and give him a set-down!” promised Sherry, a martial light in his eye.
Mr Ringwood sat up. “You’re not going to call George out, Sherry! Mind, now!”
“Who said anything about calling him out? Merely, if my wife goes to Almack’s, I’m going to Almack’s too!”