“If you weren’t so cork-brained you’d know that was my other grandmother!” said Mr Ringwood, quite exasperated. “I’m talking of my maternal grandmother, Lady Saltash.”
Ferdy regarded him fixedly. “Forgot she was your grandmother too. You know what I think, Gil?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
“No need to get into a miff, dear old boy! Only going to say, couldn’t have had a better notion myself. Very sporting old lady, your grandmother. Dare say she and Kitten may deal extremely.”
“Oh, do you think she would be so obliging as to teach me how to behave like a lady of fashion?” Hero asked anxiously.
“Shouldn’t be at all surprised,” responded Mr Ringwood. “Never met any old lady so much up to snuff as my grandmother.”
A qualm smote Hero; she said: “But perhaps she may not like to have me to stay with her, Gil?”
“Yes, she will. Like it above all things. Dare say you may be very useful to her. Got a pug-dog. Nasty, smelly little brute. Took a piece out of my leg once. You could take it for walks. Wants exercising. At least, it did when I last saw it. Of course, it may be dead by now. Good thing if it is.”
Ferdy, who had been listening attentively, interposed at this point to object: “Don’t see that, Gil, old boy; don’t see that at all! Stands to reason Kitten can’t take the pug for walks if it’s dead. No point in her going to Bath.”
“Bath! Does she live in Bath?” cried Hero, before the incensed Mr Ringwood could wither Ferdy. “Oh, nothing could be better: for it was to Bath I was to have gone to be a governess, and Sherry does not like the place, and he will never look for me there! Oh, Gil, how kind and clever you are!”