“He won’t tear me limb from limb!” replied George, his lip curling.
Ferdy failed to derive any consolation from this, and said, in an indignant voice: “What’s that to the purpose? Very likely to tear me limb from limb! Never was up to his weight, besides I’m not handy with my fives. Beginning to wish I hadn’t come to Bath. What’s more, Sherry knows I’m putting up at the York, and I’ll lay a monkey he’s there now, ready to pounce on me the instant I step inside the place!”
“Nonsense! If I know Sherry, he’s a deal more likely to try to run me to earth!” said George bracingly. “In fact, I think I’ll go back to the White Hart now, for the sooner I clear this fence the better it will be for us all.”
“George, you won’t forget that you have faithfully promised me not to call Sherry out, will you?” Hero asked anxiously. “Do you not think Ferdy should go with you, just to keep you in mind of it?”
“No, dash it, Kitten!” expostulated Ferdy, looking more like a hunted deer than ever. “Bad enough as it is! Besides it would take a couple of us to hold that pair off from one another’s throats. Not a bit of use in my going! Only get hurt!”
At this point, Lady Saltash gave it as her opinion that Lord Wrotham would do much better without Ferdy’s assistance. She earned Ferdy’s undying gratitude by telling him that he might stay to dine in Camden Place; and told George that if Sherry showed any desire to come in search of his wife he was to inform him that she had gone to a private party, and would certainly not return home before midnight.
Chapter Twenty-Three
IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK, AND THE ABBEY BELLS were just chiming the hour, when Sherry stalked into Lord Wrotham’s private parlour at the White Hart. George had dined, and the covers had been removed, and a bottle of Old Red Port, and two glasses, set upon the table.
Sherry waited only until the waiter who had shown him up to the parlour had withdrawn before greeting his friend in a manner that in some slight degree expressed his feelings. “You black-hearted scoundrel, George!” he said fiercely.
Lord Wrotham, suppressing a strong inclination to retort in kind, tried what a soft answer would achieve. “Hallo, Sherry! Thought you would be coming to see me. Glass of port with you!”