“Oh!” said Ferdy, thinking this over painstakingly. “Well, that settles it: much better not go, Sherry! If the Incomparable goes, Revesby will, and you won’t like that.”
“I suppose Bath is big enough to hold us both. In fact, if he means to hang about Bella’s apron strings, it’s as well I should go!”
Ferdy gave it up. He withdrew a few minutes later to join his friends, and Sherry went home. But Ferdy’s friends found him preoccupied that evening. He sat in a brown study over dinner, followed the party in a trancelike fashion to the card-room, and there paid so little attention to the game that his brother accused him of being castaway. Their host, considering the question dispassionately, shook his head. “Not castaway, Duke. Very affectionate as soon as he’s a trifle disguised. Not affectionate tonight. You quite well, Ferdy, old fellow?”
“Had a shock,” Ferdy said. “Saw Sherry tonight.”
“Sherry?” said the Honourable Marmaduke.
“My cousin Sherry,” explained Ferdy.
“Dash it, he’s my cousin too, ain’t he?” said Marmaduke. “You’re as dead as a house, Ferdy!”
“He may be your cousin too,” said Ferdy, not prepared to dispute this, “but it wouldn’t have given you a shock. No reason why it should. Sherry’s going to Bath.”
Marmaduke stared at him. “Why?” he asked.
“Just what I’ve been wondering all the evening, Duke. You know what I think? Fate! That’s what it is: fate! There’s a thing that comes after a fellow: got a name, but I forget what it is. Creeps up behind him, and puts him in the basket when he ain’t expecting it.”