George regarded him frowningly. “Are you going to tell Sherry you don’t know where his wife is?”
“Not going to tell him anything,” said Mr Ringwood. “He won’t think I had anything to do with it. Thought it all out. You’re going to tell Sherry I’ve gone off to Hertfordshire, because that uncle of mine looks like dying at last.”
“I’ll tell him, if George don’t like to,” offered Ferdy.
“No, you won’t,” answered Mr Ringwood. “You’re coming to Bath with me.”
“No, dash it, Gil!” feebly protested Ferdy.
George, whose brow had cleared, said: “By God, I believe you’ve hit it, Gil! Damme, I’ve thought for a long time Sherry needed a lesson! I will tell him you’ve gone to Hertfordshire! Yes, by Jove, and I’ll take precious good care he don’t ask me if I know what’s become of his Kitten!”
“Yes, but I don’t want to go to Bath!” said Ferdy.
“Nonsense! Of course you’ll go!” George said briskly. “You can’t leave poor old Gil to bear the brunt of it! Besides, it’ll look better if you both escort Kitten. You know what Sherry is! Why, he even called me out, only for kissing her! If he got to hear of Gil’s jauntering about the country with her he’d very likely cut his liver out and fry it. Can’t take exception to the pair of you going with her.”
When the matter was put to him like that, all Ferdy’s chivalrous instincts rose to the surface, and he at once begged pardon, and said that he would stand by Gil to the death. Upon reflection, he admitted that he would as lief not meet his cousin Sherry on the following day. George then wished to be assured that Mr Ringwood’s man, Chilham, was to be trusted to keep his mouth shut, and upon being told that he was the most discreet fellow alive, said that there seemed to be nothing more to do in the matter until the following day. All three gentlemen thereupon left the house, Ferdy going off to Cavendish Square and Mr Ringwood, his cold forgotten, accompanying George to his lodgings in Ryder Street.