Mr Ringwood blushed and disclaimed. Ferdy agreed that Gil had always been a knowing one, and only George remained unconvinced. But he reserved his criticisms until Hero and her abigail had presently been escorted upstairs by Mr Ringwood’s impassive valet. He then spoke his mind in no uncertain fashion, the gist of his argument being that whatever the state of affairs might be between Sherry and his wife, they were legally married, and it was the height of impropriety for Gil or anyone else to aid and abet Hero in deserting her husband.
“I don’t care a fig for that,” responded Mr Ringwood. He had by this time changed his dressing-gown for a blue coat and a waistcoat, and was engaged in stuffing into a cloak-bag such items as he might be supposed to need for a night’s sojourn away from home.
“I dare say you don’t,” retorted Lord Wrotham, “but you’re not the only one of us who can think, let me tell you! I don’t mean Ferdy: I know he can’t; but I can, and what’s more, I have thought! I’m devilish fond of Kitten, but dash it, Sherry’s a friend of mine!”
“Friend of mine too,” said Mr Ringwood, finding a snug resting-place for his hairbrushes inside a pair of bedroom slippers.
“Well, if he’s a friend of yours, you’ve no business to hide his wife from him!”
“Yes, I have. Been thinking of it for a long time.”
“Thinking of hiding Kitten for a long time?” demanded Lord Wrotham incredulously.
“You’re a fool, George. Big a fool as Ferdy. Been thinking about Sherry and Kitten. Fond of ’em both.”
“I’m fond of them both too,” said Ferdy. “What’s more, Sherry’s my cousin. But he’s got no right to behave like a curst brute to Kitten. Cousin or no cousin. Dear little soul! Dash it, Gil, almost an angel!”
“No,” said Mr Ringwood, after thinking this over. “ Not an angel, Ferdy. Dear little soul, yes. Angel, no!”