“No! no! no!”
“Well, I am!” said his lordship, a mulish look about his mouth. “No, say no more, Hero! My mind is made up. You’ll go to Sheringham Place tomorrow, and I shall take you there.”
“Sherry, no! Sherry, listen to me! Only listen to me!” she cried frantically.
“I tell you it is of no use to put yourself in this passion! Good God, can you not understand how impossible it is that we should continue in this manner? I can’t put you in the right way of doing things! But my mother can, and she shall!”
He put her resolutely out of his way as he spoke and strode to the door.
“Sherry!” she cried despairingly.
“ No!” said his lordship, with awful finality, and shut the door upon her.
Chapter Eighteen
THAT EVENING, HIS COLD HAVING YIELDED IN some measure to judicious treatment, Mr Ringwood felt so much better that the prospect of spending a solitary evening by his own fireside filled him with repugnance. His man having reported that there was a nasty wind blowing, with a suggestion of sleet in the air, he thought it might be foolhardy to sally forth to one of his clubs, and sent round a note instead to Cavendish Square, begging the honour of Mr Fakenham’s company to dinner and a rubber or two of piquet. Ferdy, moved by his friend’s plight, good-naturedly cancelled an engagement he had made to meet some other of his cronies at Long’s Hotel, and repaired in due course to Stratton Street, where he was received by a slightly pink-nosed host, clad in the purple brocade dressing-gown he had himself once worn, and with a Belcher handkerchief knotted incongruously round his throat. This ill-assorted attire naturally struck one who was a tulip of fashion to the heart, and Ferdy frankly informed Mr Ringwood that he looked devilish.
“I feel devilish,” said Mr Ringwood morosely. He added with a flicker of spirit: “At all events I have let my man shave me!”