"It would be madness to leave the metrop. at this juncture," I said.
"You know what girls are. They forget the absent face. And I'm not at
all easy in my mind about a certain cove by the name of Lucius Pim.
Apart from the fact that he's an artist, too, which forms a bond, his
hair waves.
"One must never discount wavy hair, Aunt Dahlia. Moreover, this bloke
is one of those strong, masterful men. He treats Gwladys as if she were
less than the dust beneath his taxi wheels. He criticizes her hats and
says nasty things about her _chiaroscuro_.
"For some reason, I've often noticed, this always seems to fascinate
girls, and it has sometimes occurred to me that, being myself more the
_parfait_ gentle knight, if you know what I mean, I am in grave danger
of getting the short end. Taking all these things into consideration,
then, I cannot possibly breeze off to the Mediterranean, leaving this
Pim a clear field. You must see that?"
Aunt Dahlia laughed. Rather a nasty laugh. Scorn in its timbre, or so
it seemed to me.
"I shouldn't worry," she said. "You don't suppose for a moment that
Jeeves will sanction the match?"