Friday’s Child

Chapter Seventeen

WHEN IT WAS GRADUALLY BORNE IN UPON THE Viscount’s two best friends that his annoyance with Sir Montagu, instead of blowing over, as they had gloomily supposed it would, had developed into what bore all the appearance of implacable hostility, they were so overjoyed that it was some time before they troubled to inquire into the cause of so complete a break in a most undesirable friendship. It presently occurred to Mr Ringwood, however, that the Viscount was not in quite such volatile spirits as of yore; and at a convenient moment, as he sat in his friend’s library, sampling some burgundy which Sherry had just acquired, he asked simply: “Anything amiss, dear old boy?”

Sherry looked up, surprised. “No, what should be?”

“That’s what I wondered. No wish to pry into your affairs. Just thought you wasn’t in your usual spirits. Very tolerable wine, this.”

“What do you mean, not in my usual spirits? Never better in my life, Gil!”

“Well, I don’t know, now I come to think of it, what I mean. Took a notion into my head. I do sometimes. Dare say it was because you left Watier’s early last night. Not like you. You ain’t at a standstill, Sherry?”

“Oh, lord, no! Fact of the matter is, I don’t mean to be. I’ve been talking to my man of business, and the long and the short of it is I’ve been having some over-deep doings, and it don’t answer. No harm done, but I don’t mean to go Tallerton’s way, I can tell you.”

“I’m deuced glad of it, Sherry!” Mr Ringwood said. “Never liked to see you going off with Revesby to those hells of his. Sharps and flats, my boy! sharps and flats!”

“Well, you won’t see me going off with him again to a hell, or anywhere else, for that matter!” Sherry said, an edge to his voice.

Mr Ringwood met those smouldering blue eyes with a gaze of steady inquiry. “Quarrelled with the fellow, Sherry?”

Sherry gave a short laugh. “I tried to call him out. Called him all the names I could lay my tongue to! Jupiter! I even hit him in the face! He’s cow-hearted. Told him so — and he took that along with all the rest!”

“He would,” said Mr Ringwood. “But what made you try to call him out, old boy? Not the baby?”

“The baby? Oh, that! Lord, no!”

Mr Ringwood maintained a tactful but not unhopeful silence. Sherry refilled the glasses, and wandered over to the fire, and stirred the log on it with his booted foot. He glanced down at his friend. “This ain’t to go any farther, Gil.”

“Can rely on me, dear boy.”

“Yes, I know. I wouldn’t tell you if I couldn’t. Concerns my wife.”

Mr Ringwood sat up, a look of horror on his countenance. “You ain’t going to tell me that ugly customer — ”

“No, no, it ain’t as bad as that!” Sherry said quickly. He sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, and told his friend, in a few well-chosen words just what had occurred while he was at Newmarket.

Mr Ringwood listened attentively, uttering sounds, at intervals, indicative of his amazement. He had no hesitation in endorsing the construction the Viscount had put upon the episode. He said that it was as plain as the nose on his face; and when he heard of Sir Montagu’s denial he made a derisive noise. By this time the glasses needed to be refilled once more, and when the Viscount had attended to this, both gentlemen spent an agreeable half hour in recalling various incidents in Sir Montagu’s career which did him no credit; and in freely exchanging views on his character and morals which grew steadily more slanderous as the wine sank in the bottle. Their spirits derived much benefit from this exercise, and Mr Ringwood went so far as to state that he had not felt in such a capital way since first Revesby appeared on his horizon. “All for the best, Sherry, you mark my words! As long as he don’t try to play off any more of his tricks on your wife, and he’s such a chickenhearted fellow I don’t suppose he would dare to, now that he knows you’ve smoked him. All the same, you’d best keep your eye on him, dear old boy.”

“I mean to,” Sherry replied. “Yes, and on Kitten too, my God! You know, Gil it’s the devil of a business! Beginning to keep me awake, I can tell you! It ain’t that she means to get into these curst scrapes. But — oh well!”

Mr Ringwood studied the wine in his glass.

“Wouldn’t do anything she thought you might not like, Sherry,” he said tentatively.

“I know that, but the devil of it is she thinks I shall like the most shocking things!” Sherry said. “What with her taking every word I say to be Gospel-truth, and fancying that whatever I do must be the correct thing — well, it’s enough to turn a fellow’s hair white, it is really, Gil! She would never have thought to go to those bloodsuckers, for instance, if I had not been fool enough to say I’d had dealings with them. And I’m dashed if she didn’t plunge deeper the more she lost at that damned house, all because that’s the gudgeon’s trick I’ve been playing myself! Fairly made my blood run cold when I found that out!”

Mr Ringwood agreed that this was certainly enough to shake any man’s nerve; but said after a short pause: “You know what I think, Sherry?”

“Yes: that she don’t mean any harm,” replied Sherry. “You’ve said it before — in fact, you’re always saying it! — and I know it without your telling me.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” said Mr Ringwood. “Going to say, she don’t make the same mistake twice. Noticed it.”

“Well, I don’t see anything in that,” replied his lordship impatiently.

“No. There’s a deal you don’t see, Sherry. Thought so several times,” said Mr Ringwood, and relapsed into meditative silence.

The Viscount was not one to waste his time speculating on the significance of cryptic utterances, and he therefore paid no heed to his friend’s words. He had by this time wound up the Gillingham affair, as he called it; and although this process had entailed one or two disagreeable economies, such as the sale of several of his horses, he was inclined to think that he had come out of it better than might have been expected. The truth was that he had been taken aback by the figures laid before him by his man of business. He had not thought that he could have spent so much money. It had been clearly demonstrated to him that his losses over the gaming-table had been excessive, and since he was not so much addicted to gaming as the past year’s exploits would have appeared to indicate he was able to resolve, with tolerable equanimity, drastically to regulate this pastime. At any other time of the year boredom might have driven him back to the tables, but the Viscount was a bruising rider to hounds, and the hunting season was in full swing. He spent a considerable part of his time in Leicestershire, and the only thing that could have been said to have in any way clouded his enjoyment was the growing tendency in himself to wonder what Hero might be doing during his absence.

But Hero was making great efforts to keep out of scrapes, and except for driving down St James’s Street in her phaeton, she committed no very serious social solecisms. She accompanied Sherry to Melton for one week, entertaining Ferdy and Mr Ringwood at the hunting-box, but as she insisted on riding to hounds and followed Sherry’s line with touching if misplaced confidence in his wisdom, he refused point-blank to repeat the experiment. In this he was supported by his two friends, both of whom had had their day’s sport ruined by the bride’s intrepid behaviour. Since she followed Sherry, she had not committed the crime of riding over hounds, but even Mr Ringwood admitted that no one could place the slightest dependence on her conducting herself with propriety or discretion on the field.

Lord Wrotham was spending much of his time in Leicestershire too, his last quarrel with Miss Milborne having led to an estrangement between them which was rather skillfully fostered by the Beauty’s hard-headed parent. This lady’s hopes were running very high, Severn’s attentions having become marked enough to have reached his mother’s ears. The Duchess arrived unexpectedly in London, bringing with her a formidable entourage which included her chaplain, housekeeper, steward, and a depressed female of uncertain years and crushed demeanour who appeared to fulfil the functions of a lady-in-waiting. The odds being offered at the clubs against his grace’s coming up to scratch immediately lengthened; but when it was known that the Duchess had called in state in Green Street, those with handsome sums at stake fairly held their breaths. No one, of course, knew what passed during this morning call, but those who were best acquainted with the Duchess described her demeanour towards the Milbornes at the next Assembly night as extremely gracious. George, who was not well-acquainted with her, could detect no trace of affability in her Roman countenance, and considered her bearing to denote nothing beyond pride and self-consequence. His spirits soared, accordingly, but were soon cast down by the incredible news that her grace had invited Mrs Milborne and her daughter to spend Christmas at Severn Towers.

It was too true. The Duchess, finding her usually tractable son displaying an obstinacy which reminded her forcibly of the deceased gentleman to whom she was in the habit of referring as ‘your poor father’, was preparing to make the best of matters. She had indeed been agreeably surprised in Isabella. The most searching of inquiries having failed to bring to light any discreditable circumstance in the Milborne lineage, she permitted herself to describe Isabella as a pretty-behaved young female, an encomium which caused her son to become wreathed in smiles, and to exclaim gratefully: “I was certain you would be vastly taken with her, ma’am!”

When George heard of the projected visit to Severn Towers he lost no time in presenting himself in Green Street. He was fortunate enough to choose a moment when Mrs Milborne was out, and thus gained access to the Beauty. Without preamble, he demanded to be told if the news were true, and, upon Miss Milborne’s admitting that her grace had indeed issued the invitation, conducted himself with so little restraint that Isabella, who had been wavering between a natural desire to make one of a ducal house party and a maidenly disinclination to give Severn the encouragement which an acceptance of the invitation must imply, quite lost her temper, and not only declared her intention of doing precisely as she pleased, but added the rider that her actions were no concern of Lord Wrotham. His lordship then so far forgot himself as to seize her in his arms, enfolding her in a crushing embrace and covering her face with kisses. How Miss Milborne might have reacted to this treatment had her Mama’s butler not chanced at that moment to open the door and to announce the Misses Bagshot no one, least of all herself, could have guessed. In the event, she was furious, and had she not been a very well-brought-up girl she would have slapped George’s face. The violence of his ardour had disarranged her hair, she knew herself to be blushing hotly, realized from the butler’s expression that he had been a witness of George’s passion, and saw that Cassy and Eudora, though they might not have been in time to surprise her in George’s arms, had a tolerably exact notion of what had been going forward. She could have screamed with vexation; and when Mrs Milborne came home she was pleasantly surprised to find that the daughter whom she had left recalcitrant had suddenly become as malleable as the most exacting parent could wish. In fact, Miss Milborne was ready to oblige her Mama by spending Christmas at Severn Towers after all.

Lord Wrotham, dissuaded by his friends from putting a pistol to his head, sought a modicum of relief by quarrelling with the utmost violence with any gentleman obliging or foolhardy enough to join issue with him. He found three. One was Sherry, who succeeded in drawing the distracted lover’s cork during the course of several spirited rounds; another was the Honourable Marmaduke Fakenham, who capped every insult flung at him with zest and aplomb, and then very meanly refused to give poor George the satisfaction he craved; and the third was a total stranger who had the ill fortune to jostle George in a doorway, and who showed himself so ready to take umbrage at George’s subsequent behaviour that it was manifest he had no notion with whom he had to deal. However, Ferdy and the inarticulate Mr Gumley, who happened to be present, hastily drew him aside, and divulged George’s identity before he had had time actually to commit himself.

Baulked of his prey, George retired to his ancestral acres, the general decay of which was exactly suited to his mood. Here he divided his time between being very disagreeable to his Mama and his young sisters, and riding to hounds in a reckless fashion, which led his friends to prophesy that he would end by breaking his neck.

The Sheringhams spent Christmas in Buckinghamshire, at the country seat of the Fakenhams, where they made two of a large and cheerful party of young persons, chaperoned not too strictly by Lady Fakenham, who was of an easygoing disposition that made her immensely popular with the younger set. The visit, which lasted for over a week, was only slightly marred by the ravages committed by Jason upon the moveable properties of his master’s fellow-guests. These depredations took place immediately upon receipt of the timepiece bestowed on the Tiger by Hero, and were tearfully explained by him to be due to the strain placed on him by the past few months of abstinence. His wrathful master refused to accept this explanation, and a painful session in the stableyard seemed inevitable when Ferdy, whose watch no longer held any lure for Jason, intervened on his behalf, pointing out (to the indignation of several gentlemen whose fobs, seals, and purses had been stolen from them) that the circumstance of his being still in possession of his watch showed that the Tiger was morally much improved. An earnest entreaty from Hero settled the matter. The Viscount consented to pardon his shivering henchman, on condition that all the stolen property was restored. This was done, and upon his lordship’s having the happy idea of threatening to send the Tiger back to London if he again allowed his instincts to get the better of him, Jason hurriedly and voluntarily restored to the Honourable Marmaduke a snuffbox which its owner had until that moment believed himself to have mislaid in town.

This affair having been settled to the satisfaction of everyone, nothing else of a like nature occurred to disturb the harmony of the visit. The Festive Season was whiled away in the pursuit of various sports and pastimes, including some pheasant shooting, a ball, and a grand phaeton race between Hero and Ferdy’s sister, Lady Fairford, who was accounted a notable whip, and who gaily challenged the bride to a trial of skill. The gentlemen threw themselves into this with great zest, arguing over the conditions of the race, deciding upon a suitable course, and freely exchanging bets. Lady Fairford was naturally the favourite, but Mr Ringwood, feeling his honour to be at stake, backed his own pupil heavily, and gave her some very sage advice. Lady Fakenham said they were a party of sad romps, but raised no real objection to the encounter. It took place within the extensive grounds of Fakenham Manor, and Hero, obeying Mr Ringwood’s instructions to the letter, won it by several lengths. The Viscount was delighted. He said his Kitten was a regular nonpareil, and could drive to an inch; and when she was toasted in extravagant terms at dinner that evening he looked so proud of her that her heart swelled in her bosom, and she could only blush, and shake her head, and look entreatingly at him. So he laughed, and rose to his feet to reply for her. Lady Fairford, who affected a very mannish diction, said that the shine had been taken out of her indeed; Lord Fakenham gave it as his opinion that Letty Lade in her heyday could not have beaten his young friend’s performance; and Mr Ringwood said simply that his pupil had shown herself at home to a peg.

But the race, so innocent and pleasurable in itself, was to lead to disastrous results. It was naturally talked of, and the news that a new and dangerous female whip had arrived in town reached the ears of Lady Royston, the wife of a sporting baronet, and herself no mean handler of the ribbons. She had not until then paid much heed to Sherry’s bride, for she was some years her senior, and had, in any event, little time to waste on her own sex. But, meeting Hero at die house of a mutual acquaintance, she did her the honour of singling her out, making much of her, teasing her a little, and wondering what would be the outcome if Hero were to race against her. The notion took extremely amongst the gallants gathered about the two ladies. Lady Royston’s admirers swore that no one could beat her ladyship, but a gentleman who had been present at Fakenham Manor at Christmas loyally stated his willingness to sport his blunt on Lady Sherry. In a very short space of time what had begun as the merest pleasantry became sober earnest. Lady Royston challenged Hero to race her over a given course, Hero accepted the challenge, judges and timekeepers were elected, rules agreed upon, a date fixed, and bets recorded.

Epsom was to be the rendezvous; and the projected encounter soon became the most talked-of event in society. Hero, dreaming of a victory that would bring that warm look of pride into Sherry’s eyes, and place her amongst the most dashing of the Upper Ten Thousand, was blind to the signs that should have warned her that this exploit was a great deal too dashing to recommend her to the more austere leaders of society. Lady Sefton was out of town; Sherry was hunting in Leicestershire with Mr Ringwood and Lord Wrotham; even Miss Milborne was still at Severn Towers. The only person of experience to draw on the curb-rein was Mrs Bagshot, and since Sherry had freely stigmatized this lady and all her daughters as a parcel of dowds it was not surprising that Hero should not have attended to the severe lecture Cousin Jane read her. Mr Ringwood, returning to London a day later, with a heavy cold in his head, took to his bed, and therefore heard nothing of the Ladies’ Race; but Lord Wrotham, who had accompanied him to town, did hear of it, and although he was not one to set much store by convention, he felt uneasily that it was perhaps not quite the thing for Sherry’s wife to compete publicly in a chariot race. He consulted the Honourable Ferdy on the propriety of it, and Ferdy, who had backed Hero to win without the least misgiving, was immediately struck by the obvious impropriety of the whole affair, and said By Jove, he wondered he should not have thought of it before, and what the deuce was to be done, now that bets had been laid, a date fixed, and every arrangement made? Lord Wrotham agreed that it was very hard to know what ought to be done, but after he had slept on the problem he conceived the notion of consulting Mr Ringwood, in whose solid judgment he had great faith. Mr Ringwood, discovered with his feet in hot mustard and water and a bowl of steaming rum punch at his elbow, had no doubt at all of what ought to be done. Lady Sherry must, he said, be instantly warned that such a start would never do.

“Yes, but who’s to tell her?” demanded George suspiciously.

“You,” replied Mr Ringwood with great firmness.

“No, damme, I won’t! Dash it, Gil, I can’t tell Sherry’s wife how she should conduct herself!”

“Must tell her,” said Mr Ringwood. “I’d tell her myself if I hadn’t this damned cold. Mustn’t let this come to Sherry’s ears. Wouldn’t like it at all.”

Lord Wrotham, eyeing him grimly, favoured him with a pithy and unsolicited opinion of his cold, his morals, and his entire lack of bottom. Mr Ringwood recruited his strength with a liberal allowance of punch, and said briefly: “Tell you what, George: Ferdy must do it.”

“Yes, by God!” exclaimed George. “He’s Sherry’s cousin, and he shall do it!”

But Ferdy, hectored into calling on Hero the very next day, did not prove to be a successful envoy. He employed so much tact that he quite failed to impress Hero with a sense of her wrong-headedness. She laughed at him, assured him that he was as stuffy as Cousin Jane, and went off to change her library book at Richardson’s before he had said a quarter of the things he had rehearsed on his way to Half Moon Street.

Mr Ringwood, learning what had befallen, animadverted bitterly on the folly of one friend and the moral cowardice of the other, and announced his intention of calling on Lady Sherry himself upon the following morning.

It was too late. Mrs Bagshot, coming away from her interview with Hero in high dudgeon, had lost no time in sending off an express to Sherry at Melton, informing him in good round terms of his wife’s latest escapade, drawing a horrid picture of its inevitable result, graphically describing the evils of a lady’s name being bandied about the clubs in connection with Horseracing and Betting, and comprehensively washing her hands of the whole business.

This missive reached Sherry in the eve of what promised to be one of the best runs of the season, and it drew from him such an explosion of wrath that Mrs Goring, who happened to be passing through the hall with a pile of clean linen, dropped six shirts and eight handkerchiefs on to a floor made muddy by his lordship’s boots, and promptly succumbed to a fit of hysterics.

Sherry arrived in London at dusk on the day of Ferdy’s ill starred visit to Half Moon Street, having driven himself in his curricle all the way. He was tired, chilled, and he had missed a capital day’s sport. Informed by his startled butler that my lady was dressing for a party, he mounted the stairs two at a time, entered his wife’s room without ceremony, and, ignoring the presence of her abigail, demanded furiously: “What the devil is this I’m hearing about you?”

The abigail shrank back in alarm; Hero, seated before her mirror, gazed at him in blank dismay, and faltered: “Sherry! Sherry! I didn’t expect — I don’t — ”

“No, by God, I’ll wager you didn’t expect me!” he said. He pulled Mrs Bagshot’s letter from his pocket and thrust it into Hero’s hand. “Read that!” He became aware of the abigail, and rounded on her promptly. “What the deuce are you doing here? Outside!”

The abigail then momentarily surprised her young mistress by asserting in a very noble way her fixed resolve to support and protect her ladyship, even though she should be assailed by wild horses. Hero was much affected by this wholly unexpected championship, but begged her to leave the room. Maria cast the Viscount a look of loathing which embraced the entire race of men, and retired to regale Mrs Bradgate and the kitchenmaid with a recital of all the circumstances in her own career which had led her to look upon the male sex as being in all essentials lower than Beasts in the Field.

Hero, meanwhile, was perusing in a dazed manner her cousin Jane’s letter. She gave a little exclamation and looked up, stammering: “But, Sherry, why? Why? I made sure you would not have the least objection!”

“No objection?” he thundered. “No objection to your making such a show of yourself? Bets laid on you in all the clubs! Every goggling fool in town sniggering at you, and believing you to be as bad as Letty Lade!”

“But Lady Royston — ”

“Sally Royston!” he interrupted. “Sally Royston! It needed only that, by God! The vulgarest hoyden — the most shameless baggage — ”

“Sherry, no! Oh no, no, how can this be so? I have met her at the most exclusive houses, indeed, I have!”

“So you have met Lady Maria Berwick at the most exclusive houses, and a score of others! Do you desire to model your conduct upon theirs? Good God, will nothing teach you?”

She was trembling. “Sherry, if I have done wrong I am very sorry, but how could I guess? Lady Fakenham saw no harm — ”

“What? She knows of this, and did nothing to put a stop to it?”

“No, oh no! She is in the country still. But at Fakenham Manor, when I beat Lady Fairford — Sherry, you were pleased! You said you were proud of me!”

He stared at her. “That! A private sport, amongst friends, under my aunt’s eye! What has that to say to anything? How could you suppose it comparable to a public race at Epsom, of all places, with the whole world free to bet on it, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry to watch it? I think you must be mad indeed!”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t think — I didn’t know — Oh, Sherry, don’t be angry with me!”

“Not angry with you! When you fall from one scrape into another, disgracing yourself, and me, and — You say you did not know! Did not your cousin tell you? Did she not come here expressly to warn you that you must on no account do such a thing?”

“Yes,” Hero gasped. “But I did not heed her, for she said such stupid things, and you told me she was nothing but a dowd! I thought she was just — ”

He broke in on this, his expression so alarming that she almost cowered in her chair. “So I told you not to heed her, did I? I might have supposed it would come to that, might I not? I said it! I encouraged you to race! Of course! It was I who told you to throw good money after bad at faro, was it not, my girl? To borrow from usurers, too, and — ”

“Oh, Sherry, don’t — don’t! Oh, if only I had listened to Cousin Jane, and to Ferdy!”

“Ferdy?” he exclaimed. “Did he warn you, then?”

She nodded miserably. “Yes, but I didn’t heed him because he is just as silly as Cousin Jane, and I thought — I thought you would be pleased if I beat Lady Royston!”

An unearthly cry broke from the Viscount, and he clutched his locks with all the appearance of a man driven to the verge of distraction. Hero covered her face with her hands and wept.

The Viscount, regaining control over himself, took a hasty turn about the room, a heavy frown on his brow. He cast a brooding glance at his wife, and said shortly: “It’s of no use to cry. That won’t mend matters. The odds are you have ruined yourself already with the only people who signify.”

Hero could find nothing in this pronouncement to encourage her to stop crying, but she tried hard to do so, blowing her little nose and resolutely swallowing her sobs while his lordship continued to pace about the room. After watching him timidly for a few moments, she got up and ventured to approach him, saying in an imploring tone: “Oh, Sherry, pray forgive me! Iwill not race — indeed, indeed, I would never have engaged myself to do so had I known you would dislike it so excessively! Sherry, I did not mean to do wrong! Oh, if I were not so ignorant!”

He paused, looking at her. “No, you did not mean any harm. I know that well enough. Are you trying to tell me it is my fault? Well, I know that too, but it don’t make matters any easier.”

She caught one of his hands and held it in a warm clasp. “No, no, it is not your fault!” she said. “It is I who am so stupid and so tiresome, and I am so sorry!”

“Well, it is my fault,” he replied. “I should never have married you as I did. If I had not been such a rattle-pated fool I should have known — Well, there’s no sense in going over that now, for the mischief’s done. The thing is you were never fit to be cast upon the town with no one but me to tell you how to go on.”

She dropped his hand, her cheek whitening, her eyes fixed on his face. “Sherry!” she whispered.

He resumed his pacing. He was no longer scowling so heavily, but he looked suddenly much older and a little careworn. Suddenly he stopped and said crisply: “There’s only one thing for it. You have no mother to advise you, so it must be for mine to teach you what you should know. I should have put you in her hands at the outset! However, it is not too late: I shall take you down to Sheringham Place tomorrow. Tell your maid to pack your trunks in good time. I’ll give it out that you’re indisposed, and are gone into the country to recover your strength.”

“Sherry, no!” she panted. “You cannot be so cruel! I will not go! Your mother hates me — ”

“Stuff and nonsense!” he interrupted. “I tell you there’s nothing else to be done! I don’t say my mother ain’t a deuced silly woman, but she knows the way of the world, and she can — ”

She clutched at the lapels of his coat. “No, no, Sherry, don’t send me to her! To go home in disgrace — ”

“No one need know why you go. Why the devil should anyone wonder at your visiting your mother-in-law?”

“Cousin Jane will know, and all my friends there, and Lady Sheringham would tell everyone how wicked I have been!”

“Fudge! Who said you have been wicked, pray?”

“She will say so! She has said from the start that I had ruined your life, and now she will know it is true! Sherry, I had rather you killed me than sent me back like that!”

He removed her hands from his coat lapels, saying sternly: “Stop talking in that nonsensical fashion! I never heard such fustian in my life! Can you not see that I am doing what I ought to have done at the outset?”

“No! no! no!”

“Well, I am!” said his lordship, a mulish look about his mouth. “No, say no more, Hero! My mind is made up. You’ll go to Sheringham Place tomorrow, and I shall take you there.”

“Sherry, no! Sherry, listen to me! Only listen to me!” she cried frantically.

“I tell you it is of no use to put yourself in this passion! Good God, can you not understand how impossible it is that we should continue in this manner? I can’t put you in the right way of doing things! But my mother can, and she shall!”

He put her resolutely out of his way as he spoke and strode to the door.

“Sherry!” she cried despairingly.

“No!” said his lordship, with awful finality, and shut the door upon her.