“The only use I have for a glass of port is to throw it in your damned face!” replied Sherry, not in the least mollified.
Lord Wrotham laid a firm hand on the bottle. “No, you don’t,” he said. “And it’s no use your trying to call me out, because I’m not going to meet you, and even if I did you couldn’t kill me! Probably wouldn’t hit me at all. I don’t blame you for wanting to try, mind you!”
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” Sherry exclaimed. “Very obliging of you, by God! What were you doing with my wife?”
“Escorting her home,” answered George calmly.
“The devil you were! Met her by chance, I take it?” said Sherry, with awful sarcasm.
“I did, but if you mean wasn’t I aware that she was in Bath, yes, I was.”
“You dare to stand there coolly telling me you knew where she was — ”
“Yes, but I own it was a curst trick to play on a fellow,” admitted George. “I never have liked it above half, but I gave my word to Lady Sherry I’d not betray her, so there was nothing for it but to hold my peace.”
Sherry was looking as black as thunder. “She told you where she could be found? She took you into her confidence? Wrotham, answer me this, or I’ll choke the truth out of you! — Did she run away from me to you?”
“No, ran to Gil,” replied George. “Ferdy and I had been dining with him. To be frank with you, Sherry, she told us the whole, and begged us to help her to hide from you. She was in a sad taking. In fact, I was within an ace of setting off to find you there and then, to call you to account!”