“You’re right!” said Ferdy, forcibly struck by this presentation of the case. “He’s bamming again. You shouldn’t do it, Sherry. Not at this hour of the morning!”
“Confound you both, I’m in earnest!” Sherry said, setting his tankard down with a crash which made Ferdy jump like a startled deer. “I’m going to marry a girl I’ve known all my life! Damme, I must marry someone! I shan’t have a feather to fly with if I don’t.”
“Who is she?” asked Mr Ringwood. “You’ve never offered for the Stowe girl, Sherry, dear old boy? Not the rabbity-faced one?”
“No, of course I haven’t. You don’t know her: never been to London in her life! I ran off with her yesterday.”
“But, Sherry!” expostulated Mr Ringwood, a good deal shaken. “No, really, dear boy! You can’t do that sort of thing!” —
“Well, I’ve done it,” replied the Viscount, a shade sulkily.
Mr Fakenham made a helpful suggestion. “You want Gretna Green, Sherry. Post-chaise-and-four.”
“Good God, no! It’s bad enough without that!”
“You can get married in the Fleet,” offered Mr Fakenham.
The Viscount arose in his wrath. “I tell you it isn’t that kind of an affair at all! I’m going to be married in a church, all right and tight, and I want a special licence!”