Having settled this to his moderate satisfaction, he soon took his leave of Hero, and went off in tolerably good spirits. He met Sherry on the doorstep, but he was too intent on pursuing his quest for violets to do more than exchange a brief greeting with him. Sherry regarded his retreating figure with dark suspicion, and went straight upstairs to the drawing-room to demand of his wife if George lived in Half Moon Street?
She said innocently: “I thought he lived in Ryder Street? Has he removed from there, Sherry? He said nothing of it to me, and he was with me not five minutes ago.”
“I’m well aware of that!” said his lordship tartly. “And I should like to know what he was doing here! I suppose you will say he called to see me!”
“Oh no, I don’t think he wanted to see you, Sherry! He came to ask my advice about something. You won’t mention it, will you? He is going to send a bouquet of violets to Isabella for the Fakenhams’ ball. He says they are her favourite flowers.”
“Oh!” said his lordship. “Well, I don’t see what he wants with your advice!”
“He did want my advice, but I think I ought not to tell you what it was about, because I dare say he would not like it known,” confided Hero.
“It seems to me,” said Sherry severely, “that Bella Milborne ain’t the only female George has an eye to!”
“Oh no, Sherry!” Hero said earnestly. “Indeed, you are quite wrong! Why, you cannot mean that you suspect George of having an eye to me? Oh, Sherry, how nonsensical! I assure you, he does nothing but talk of Isabella!”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Sherry, looking her over critically. “The fact of the matter is you seem to have grown so devilish pretty since I married you that there’s no knowing what will happen next.”
She blushed rosily. “Have I, Sherry? Have I really? I expect it is just the new way I have of dressing my hair, and all my grand gowns.”