‘Oh, no, Sherry, truly not! Isabella was not in the least amused, I assure you!’
He looked very hard at her. ‘Did Gil and Ferdy set you on to do it?’
‘No, no!’ she said hastily. ‘It was quite my own idea!’
‘You deserve I should box your ears!’
‘No, pray do not!’ she said earnestly. ‘Isabella will not speak of the matter: she said she should not! But, Sherry, I fear she believes that he has been flirting with me! Would you be so very obliging as to tell her that it was no such thing?’
‘No, by Jove, I will not!’ he declared. ‘Upon my word, what next will you ask me to do?’
‘But if she knew that you do not mind George’s having kissed me –’
‘But I do mind!’ said Sherry, incensed.
‘Do you, Sherry?’ she asked wistfully.
‘Well, of course I do! A pretty sort of a fellow I should be if I did not!’
‘I won’t do it again,’ she promised.
‘You had better not, by Jupiter! And while I think of it, brat, you are not to visit men’s lodgings again either!’
‘I do knowthat, Sherry, but it was so very awkward, on account of George’s not liking to come to this house, that I did not see what else I could do.’
‘That’s all very well,’ responded Sherry severely, ‘but you shouldn’t have gone there in your own carriage. Don’t you know enough to take a hackney upon such an occasion?’
‘I never thought of that!’ she said innocently. ‘How stupid of me it was! I shall know better another time. I am so glad I have you to tell me these things, Sherry, for Cousin Jane never told me anything to the point.’
It occurred to his lordship that the piece of worldly wisdom he had imparted to his bride was not in the least what he had meant to say, but after all the excitements of the morning he did not feel capable of entering more fully into the ethical and moral aspects of what he knew to have been a perfectly harmless visit to George’s lodging. He said that she was on no account to do it again, and abandoned the whole topic.
The relief he had felt when George had deloped on the ground had been considerable, and not even a visit from his man of business availed to subdue a mood of somewhat riotous optimism. His lordship was strongly of the opinion that he would shortly come about, since it was absurd to suppose that a run of ill-luck could last for ever. Mr Stoke, unable to share his employer’s sanguine belief, was obliging enough to cite adepressing number of cases in refutation of it; but the Viscount, having listened with a good deal of impatience to the horrid tale of the gentleman of fortune who, having lost even the coat upon his back at play, hanged himself from a street lamp, while his late opponent waited to collect his coat when he should have done with it, triumphantly produced in defence of his theory the evidence of his having only three days since backed the winner in a race between a turkey and a goose. He was, indeed, slightly taken aback when he read the sum of his obligations, and agreed that to be continually selling out his holding in the Funds would be a dashed bad thing.
‘And the next step, as, I am persuaded, I need hardly point out to your lordship,’ said Mr Stoke gently, ‘will be the sale of your lands.’
The Viscount had upon more than one occasion stated his dislike of Sheringham Place, and he had not, so far, betrayed the smallest sign of taking more than a perfunctory interest in the management of his considerable estates, but at these words a sudden flash came into his blue eyes, and he exclaimed involuntarily: ‘Sell my land? You must be mad to think of it! I will never do so!’
Mr Stoke looked thoughtfully at him, his expression of close interest at odd variance with the meekness of his tone as he said: ‘After all, your lordship does not care for Sheringham Place.’
The Viscount stared at him. ‘Dash it, what’s that to say to anything?’ he demanded. ‘It’s my home, ain’t it? Good God, there’s been a Verelst at Sheringham Place since I don’t know when, and not even my grandfather sold a foot of land, and if ever there was a loose-screw it was he! Because I don’t happen to like the place –’ He stopped suddenly, remembering his boyhood, before the descent of his Uncle Paulett upon his home, recalling companionable rides about the estate with his father, stolen days with an old fowling-piece, a hundredpleasant memories. He flushed. ‘Besides, I do care for the place!’ he said shortly.
Mr Stoke cast down eyes that all at once held a good deal of satisfaction. ‘Your lordship finds life in the country a trifle slow,’ he said.
‘Yes, well – well, that ain’t to say that I don’t mean to settle down presently! In any event, I won’t sell my land, so let me hear no more of that!’
‘It is my duty to warn your lordship that if your present rate of expenditure is maintained, your lordship will have no choice in the matter,’ said Mr Stoke.
‘Nonsense! I don’t deny I am a trifle scorched this year, but I shall come about!’ Sherry said, in a tone that forbade further discussion.
But the shocking thought put into his mind by his man of business refused to be quite banished, and actually cost his lordship an hour’s sleep. A heavy plunge on an outsider, backed on the advice of the ubiquitous Jason, did much to raise his spirits, and he told that very safe man at the corner, Jerry Cloves, as he collected his winnings at Tattersall’s, that he had best look out for himself now, as the luck had turned. Jerry grinned, and wished his noble patron the best of good fortune, but fortune still appeared to be a little fickle, for his lordship lost a large sum at Watier’s that very evening, and was so much exasperated that he threatened to forswear macao altogether.
He had barely recovered from the gloomy reflections provoked by this unsuccessful evening when he received a visit from the Honourable Prosper Verelst, who caught him on the steps of his house, just as he was preparing to saunter down to White’s, and bore him inexorably back into the house.
‘For you need not suppose, my boy, that I’ve put myself to the trouble of coming to see you only to have you slip off like that!’ said Prosper.
‘What the deuce brings you to see me?’ asked his undutiful nephew, ushering him into the library behind the drawing-room.
‘Fond of you, Sherry: always was!’ replied Prosper, lowering himself into a deep arm-chair. ‘If you have some of that madeira left which I gave you, I’ll take a glass.’
