“Is that you, Ferdy?” demanded Sherry wrathfully. “What the deuce are you doing down there, waking me up at this hour of night?”
“What, you ain’t asleep, Sherry, surely?” said Ferdy incredulously. “Night’s young! Come to have a chat with you. Very important.”
“Oh, the devil! Dead-beat again! What a curst nuisance you are, Ferdy!” said Sherry, exasperated.
He withdrew his head from the window, and in a few minutes had opened the front door to admit his cousin. Ferdy walked in, smiling affably, but declined an offer of the spare bedchamber. “Going back to White’s when I’ve had a word with you, Sherry,” he said. “Engaged with some friends. What made you go to bed?”
“Dash it, it’s past one o’clock!” replied Sherry. “Besides, I’m going to Bath tomorrow.”
“Nothing in that,” said Ferdy. “I’m going to Bath too, but I don’t go to bed at one o’clock. Why should I?”
“You’re foxed. You ain’t going to Bath.”
“Yes, I am. Came to tell you. Taken a fancy to go with you.”
Sherry stared at him narrowly, holding up the candle he was carrying. “Why?” he asked.
“Fond of you, Sherry. Don’t know why, but there it is. Always was. If you go to Bath, I’ll go to Bath.”