April Lady

‘Yes, I know it is, but we haven’t any time to stand talking to him!’ said Mr Hethersett.

‘No, of course not, but he is trying to hire our hackney, and he must not!’ said Nell, trying to push him out of the way.

‘For the lord’s sake, cousin, go back into the house!’ begged Mr Hethersett. ‘He ain’t alone!’

‘No, but the other is only Mr Fancot, and I think,’ said Nell knowledgeably, ‘that they are both of them a trifle foxed. Dysart!’

The Viscount, upon hearing himself addressed, turned. The light from the near-by street-lamp enabled him quite plainly to recognize his sister, but he knew better than to trust his eyes when he was (in his own estimation) a little above par. He called upon his companion for assistance. ‘Corny, that ain’t my sister Cardross, is it?’

‘No,’ said Mr Fancot obligingly.

‘What a horrid creature you are, Dy!’ remarked Nell, descending the steps. ‘You cannot drive off in that coach, because it was brought for me, and I must have it. I am in the greatest haste, so do, pray, stop disputing with that poor man, and go away!’

‘By God, it is my sister Cardross!’ exclaimed the Viscount, thunderstruck.

‘Yes,’ agreed Mr Fancot, smiling vaguely but with immense affability at Nell.

‘Well, there’s no need to shout it all down the street!’ said Mr Hethersett tartly.

The Viscount looked intently at him, while he wrestled silently with a problem. ‘It’s you, is it?’ he said, a certain kindling in his eyes, and a brooding note in his voice. ‘You, and my sister!’

Mr Hethersett, who had foreseen from the start that something like this would happen, said soothingly: ‘Escorting her ladyship home!’

‘Oh, you were, were you?’ said the Viscount, showing signs of rising choler. ‘We’ll see that! Because it seems to me – Corny! Where are we?’

‘Watier’s,’ said Mr Fancot, after a moment’s thought.

‘No, we ain’t!’ said his lordship, irritated.

‘Going to Watier’s,’ amended Mr Fancot.

‘I’ll tell you where we are!’ announced the Viscount, in menacing accents. ‘We’re in Ryder Street!’

‘That’s right, sir: Ryder Street it is,’ said the jarvey encouragingly. ‘You don’t want no ’ack to take you to Watier’s!’

‘Ryder Street,’ said the Viscount. ‘Now I know whose house you were coming out of! Now I know what made you take such an uncommon interest in my sister’s affairs! By God, if I don’t cut your liver out for this! As for you, my girl –’

‘That’ll do!’ interrupted Mr Hethersett. ‘You can cut my liver out in the morning, but for the lord’s sake stop making such a damned kick-up in the street!’

‘Not liver,’ said Mr Fancot positively, his wandering attention recalled by this word. ‘Duck. That’s what we said, Dy. Got a way of cooking it at Watier’s I like.’

‘Well, you take Dysart there!’ recommended Mr Hethersett.

‘’E can take him, but ’e won’t never get ’im past the porter, guv’nor, not as lushy as what they both are!’ observed the jarvey sapiently.

‘Yes, I will,’ said Mr Fancot. ‘It’s my birthday.’

‘Get into the hack!’ Mr Hethersett said to Nell. ‘No, not you!’

Mr Fancot, hauled off the step of the coach by the jarvey, called upon the Viscount to come and give this individual one in the bread-basket, but the Viscount had more important matters to attend to. Addressing himself to Mr Hethersett, he commanded that harassed exquisite to name his friends.

Alarmed by his evident intention to force a quarrel on to Mr Hethersett, Nell laid a hand on his arm, and said: ‘Dy, pray don’t be so gooseish! You quite mistake the matter, you know! Indeed, it is abominable of you to think such horrid things, besides being excessively embarrassing!’

‘Don’t you try to bamboozle me!’ replied her brother, shaking off her hand. ‘Are you going to name your friends, sir, or are you not?’

‘You wouldn’t remember ’em if I did. What you need is a damper: you’re as drunk as a brewer’s horse!’

‘Oh, no, I’m not! I’ll tell you what you are! A damned loose fish! A regular hedge-bird! A man-milliner, by God! Cowhearted!’