“Seemed very set on it,” said Mr Fakenham doubtfully.
“Tell him to take a damper! That’s not what I came about. Gil, where does a fellow get hold of a special licence?”
The effect of this question was to cast his lordship’s two cronies into stunned silence. Mr Fakenham’s rather prominent eyes goggled alarmingly at his cousin; Mr Ringwood’s jaw visibly dropped.
“ Now what’s the matter?” demanded Sherry. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a special licence! Of course you have!”
Mr Ringwood swallowed once or twice. “You don’t mean a marriage licence, do you, Sherry?”
“Yes, I do. What else should I mean? Thing you have to have if you want to get married in a hurry.”
“Sherry, she’s never accepted you?” gasped Mr Ringwood, his brain tottering.
“She?” said the Viscount, frowning at him. “Oh, the Incomparable! Oh, lord, no! Wouldn’t look at me! It’s not she.”
“Good God!” said Mr Ringwood, relaxing. “I wish you will not burst in on a fellow with a shock like that, Sherry, dear old boy! Gave me such a turn — ! Who wants this special licence?”
“I do. Don’t I keep on telling you so? Seems to me you must have shot the cat about as badly as Ferdy last night!”