“Now I know you’re foxed!” said Sherry, quite disgusted.
“No, I ain’t. Fond of Gil too. Not the kind of fellow to leave my friends in the lurch. You driving down?”
“Yes, but — ”
“Take me up in Cavendish Square. Ready for you any time.”
“I don’t mind taking you up if you really mean it,” said Sherry. “In fact, I’d as soon have company on the way as not, but it’s my belief you’ll take the best part of tomorrow to sleep this off! If you won’t go to bed, I wish you’d go home!”
“Not going home: going back to White’s,” said Ferdy. “Care to join us, dear old fellow?”
“No, I would not!” replied Sherry, opening the door for him.
“Quite right! Not dressed for it!” Ferdy agreed. “See you tomorrow!”
Contrary to Sherry’s expectations, when he drew up in Cavendish Square at noon that day he found his cousin not only perfectly wide awake, but prepared for a journey. Ferdy had had time to think of several reasons to account for his desiring to go to Bath, and although his cousin believed none of them, he was far from guessing what the true reason was. He had a suspicion that Ferdy’s activities in London might have made it expedient for him to withdraw from the metropolis for a time, but as he took only the most cursory interest in Ferdy’s affairs, he forbore to question him very strictly.
The winter being unusually mild, no particular discomfort was suffered during the journey, which, as Sherry had prophesied, took them two days to accomplish. The cavalcade, consisting as it did of one large travelling coach, two chaises, bearing servants and baggage, and one sporting curricle, was imposing enough to procure for the dowager the most flattering degree of attention at every halt made on the road. Landlords bowed till their noses almost touched their knees; waiters ran out with offers of cordials; chambermaids dropped curtsies; and ostlers fell over one another in their anxiety to be the first to serve a cortege the style of which promised unusually handsome gratuities.