“I know it ain’t usual,” said Mr Ringwood, “but Kitten is mighty friendly with Miss Milborne, and if there’s anyone alive can stop George when he has the bit between his teeth it’s she!”
Mr Fakenham was moved to seize his friend by the hand, and to shake it fervently. “Gil, dear old boy, you’re right!” he said. “Always knew you had a head on your shoulders! Not but what it’s dashed irregular, you know! Ought never to mention such things to females!”
“Never mind that!” said Mr Ringwood impatiently. “Go round to Half Moon Street now, while Sherry’s safely out of the way!”
The two gentlemen accordingly set forth together, and were fortunate enough to find Hero at home, and alone. They were ushered upstairs into the drawing-room, and here Mr Ringwood bluntly informed his hostess of the nature of his errand.
Having already a very fair idea of what was toward, Hero did not, as Mr Fakenham had a horrid fear she might, faint, or go into strong hysterics. Her husband’s strictures on her conduct, delivered on their way home on the previous evening, had been so forceful that she had quailed under them, and barely found enough voice to enable her to explain to him that she had been attempting merely to comfort poor George, who was in such despair over Isabella’s cruelty. His wrath had cooled by that time, and he had no difficulty in believing her account of the affair; but the stern lecture of which he delivered himself on the impropriety of offering that particular kind of comfort to young bachelors would have done credit to the strictest duenna, and made his wife weep with penitence. The Viscount then unbent, dried her tears, told her that it was not her fault — at least, not entirely her fault — and that he should have known better than to have introduced such a hardened reprobate as George Wrotham to her. This she could by no means allow, and she explained, sniffing dolefully between sentences, that it was indeed her fault, and that George had kissed her in the most brotherly fashion, and without really considering what he was doing. The Viscount replied with some asperity that since she had no brothers she knew nothing of the matter; but being a gentleman of varied experience he was perfectly well able to appreciate the situation, and even — though this he kept to himself — to wish that he had not allowed his temper to get the better of him. But when Hero timidly expressed the hope that he had not quarrelled with George, the only answer she could get from him was an unconvincing assurance that there was no need for her to worry her head over him.
She was therefore in no way surprised by Mr Ringwood’s disclosure. She nodded her head, turning a little pale; and, fixing anxious eyes on his face, said: “But George will not hurt Sherry! He could not!”
“Yes, he could,” said Ferdy. “Devil of a fellow with the pistols, George! Never misses!”
Her eyes widened. “He would not! Not Sherry!”
“Wouldn’t put it beyond him at all,” said Ferdy, shaking his head. “Tried to call him out a dozen times. Sherry always said he wasn’t fool enough to stand up for George to put a bullet through him. Pity he changed his mind.”
“But he must not!” Hero cried, starting up. “He shall not! Oh, but you are wronging him! I know he would not do so!”