“Yes. I mean — well, never mind that now!” replied her harassed husband. “Drive home, John!”
The coachman acknowledged this command with great stateliness; the door was shut on the two women; the footman jumped up behind; and the barouche moved forward, just as a party of ladies, with their attendant squires, began to descend the steps of Almack’s.
Ferdy was still staring at the spot where he had last seen Revesby. Mr Ringwood thrust a hand in his arm and drew him to walk with himself and the Viscount towards Half Moon Street.
“Never seen anything to beat it!” Ferdy said. “Fellow just walked off! Not a word to anyone! Ratted, by God! Bad, very bad!”
“You wanted to rat yourself,” Mr Ringwood reminded him.
“Devilish awkward start! Don’t know that I blame him.”
“No right to leave Sherry with the baby,” said Ferdy severely. “Not Sherry’s baby, dash it!”
“The girl’s mad!” Sherry said.
“No, she ain’t,” contradicted Mr Ringwood. “Dare say it is Revesby’s baby: wouldn’t be the first.”
“Well, damn it, man, what of it? Deuced unfortunate she should have run Monty to earth outside Almack’s, but no one ever supposed he was a saint!”