“Couldn’t face a wedding,” Ferdy said, shaking his head. “Comes too near the bone. Shook him badly, poor old boy, the mere sight of the licence! Gone off in the dumps again.”
Mr Ringwood fetched a sigh, but the Viscount was disinclined to dwell upon Lord Wrotham’s troubles, and proposed that they should stop dawdling about for all the fools of London to gape at, step into the Church, and settle the business. They all went in, therefore, and the business was, in fact, soon settled, without any other hitch than the discovery by the bridegroom, midway through the ceremony, that he had forgotten to purchase a ring. He rolled a frantically inquiring eye upon his cousin Ferdy, who merely gazed at him with dropped jaw, and the eyes of a startled fawn; and then, rendered resourceful through alarm, tugged off the signet ring on his own finger, and handed it over to the waiting cleric. It was much too large for Hero’s finger, but the glowing look she cast up at him seemed to indicate that she did not in the least resent his lack of foresight. It fell to Mr Ringwood’s lot to give the bride away, which he did with a somewhat self-conscious blush. Everyone signed the register; the Honourable Ferdy saluted the bride’s cheek with rare grace; Mr Ringwood kissed her hand; and the bridegroom confided in a relieved aside to his supporters that he thought they had brushed through it pretty well.
Once outside the Church again, the Viscount handed his wife into the hackney, and turned to consult his friends on the best way in which to spend the evening. Mr Ringwood stared at him very hard, and even Ferdy, who was not much given to the processes of reasoned thought, goggled a little at a suggestion that they should all foregather at Fenton’s for an early dinner, pay a visit to the theatre, and wind up an eventful day by partaking of a snug little supper at the Piazza.
“But, Sherry, dear boy! Lady Sheringham — wedding night — won’t want a party!” stammered Ferdy.
“Fudge! What the devil should we do, pray? Can’t spend the whole evening looking at one another!” said the Viscount. “Kitten, you’d like to go to the play with us, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, do let us!” cried Hero at once. “I would like it of all things!”
“I knew you would. And you would like Gil and Ferdy to go along with us too, I dare say?”
“Yes,” agreed Hero, smiling warmly upon these gentlemen.
“Then that’s settled,” said the Viscount, getting into the hackney. “Fenton’s Hotel, coachman! Don’t be late, Gil!”
The vehicle drove off, leaving the Honourable Ferdy and Mr Ringwood to look fixedly at each other.