So indeed it proved to be. A bare couple of minutes later, George came striding into the coffee-room, with Mr Ringwood at his heels. He checked on the threshold. “Sherry!” he ejaculated. “Good God, you here? What the — Kitten!”
Mr Ringwood put up his glass. “Well, upon my word!” he said, mildly astonished. “Devilish queer place to run into you people! Your very obedient — Kitten! You and Sherry come here on your honeymoon?”
Hero clapped both his hands tightly. “Dear Gil! I am so glad to see you again! I have been in such a scrape! I was carried off by poor Mr Tarleton there, quite by mistake; and Isabella got into a scrape too, through Sir Montagu Revesby; but then Sherry came, and everything is all right and tight — I mean, everything has ended happily!”
Lord Wrotham, fastening on to the one point in this ingenuous explanation which concerned him, looked round for his quarry, perceived him, and said: “ Ah!”
Sir Montagu, a perfectly ghastly smile writhing on his lips, said: “Lady Sheringham mistakes — I can explain — the most lamentable accident — !”
“Yes?” said George, stripping off his driving-gloves, taking them in his right hand, and advancing upon Sir Montagu. “You got Miss Milborne into a scrape, and you fancy you can explain it, do you? Not to my satisfaction, Revesby!”
“No, you don’t, George!” suddenly said Mr Ringwood, grasping his lordship’s right wrist. “By the looks of it, someone’s been before you! Let be, man, let be!”
“By God, Gil, if you don’t let me go — ! I’ve been wanting an excuse to call that fellow out these two months, and if you think you or anyone can stop me now I’ve got it — ”
“George!” said Miss Milborne compellingly.
Lord Wrotham’s eyes turned swiftly towards her.