"It's a pity you didn't think of all that before," I said. And it
wasn't so much the actual words, if you know what I mean, as the way I
said it.
"I thought of it, all right," said Lucius Pim. "But as we were both
agreed that at all costs----"
"Oh, all right," I said. "All right."
"You aren't annoyed?" said Lucius Pim, looking at me in surprise.
"Oh, no!"
"Splendid," said Lucius Pim, relieved. "I knew you would feel that I
had done the only possible thing. It would have been awful if Beatrice
had found out about Gwladys. I dare say you have noticed, Wooster, that
when women find themselves in a position to take a running kick at one
of their own sex they are twice as rough on her as they would be on a
man.
"Now, you, being of the male persuasion, will find everything made nice
and smooth for you. A quart of assorted roses, a few smiles, a tactful
word or two, and she'll have melted before you know where you are. Play
your cards properly, and you and Beatrice will be laughing merrily
together in about five minutes.
"Better not let Slingsby's Soups catch you at it, however. He's very
jealous where Beatrice is concerned. And now you'll forgive me, old
chap, if I send you away. The doctor says I ought not to talk too much
for a day or two. Besides, it's time for beddy-by."
The more I thought it over, the better that idea of sending those roses
looked. Lucius Pim was not a man I was fond of--in fact, if I had had
to choose between him and a cockroach as a companion for a walking
tour, the cockroach would have had it by a short head--but there was no
doubt that he had outlined the right policy. His advice was good, and I
decided to follow it.
Rising next morning at ten-fifteen, I swallowed a strengthening
breakfast and legged it off to that flower shop in Piccadilly. I
couldn't leave the thing to Jeeves. It was essentially a mission that
demanded the personal touch.
I laid out a couple of quid on a sizable bouquet, sent it with my card
to Hill Street, and then looked in at the Drones' for a refresher. It
is a thing I don't often do in the morning, but this threatened to be
rather a special morning.
It was about noon when I got back to the flat. I went into the sitting
room and tried to adjust the mind to the coming interview. It had to be
faced, of course, but it wasn't any good my telling myself that it was
going to be a jolly scene.
I stood or fell by the roses. If they sweetened the Slingsby, all would
be well. If they failed to sweeten her, Bertram was undoubtedly for it.
The clock ticked on, but she did not come. A late riser, I took it, and
was slightly encouraged by the reflection. My experience of women has
been that the earlier they leave the hay the more vicious specimens
they are apt to be. My aunt Agatha, for instance, is always up with the
lark, and look at her.
Still, you couldn't be sure that this rule always worked, and after
a while the suspense began to get in amongst me a bit. To divert the
mind, I fetched the old putter out of its bag and began to practice
putts into a glass. After all, even if the Slingsby turned out to be
all that I had pictured her in my gloomier moments, I should have
improved my close-to-the-hole work on the green and be that much up, at
any rate.
It was while I was shaping for a trick shot that the doorbell went.
I picked up the glass and shoved the putter behind the settee. It
struck me that if the woman found me engaged on what you might call a
frivolous pursuit she might take it to indicate lack of remorse and
proper feeling.
I straightened the collar, pulled down the waistcoat, and managed to
fasten on the face a sort of sad half smile which was welcoming without
being actually jovial. It looked all right in the mirror, and I held it
as the door opened.
"Mr. Slingsby," announced Jeeves.
And having spoken these words, he closed the door and left us together.
For quite a time there wasn't anything in the way of chit-chat.
The shock of expecting Mrs. Slingsby and finding myself confronted
by something entirely different--in fact, not the same thing at
all--seemed to have affected the vocal cords.
And the visitor didn't appear to be disposed to make light conversation
himself. He stood there looking strong and silent. I suppose you have
to be like that if you want to manufacture a really convincing soup.
Slingsby's Superb Soups was a Roman-emperor-looking sort of bird, with
keen, penetrating eyes and one of those jutting chins. The eyes seemed
to me to be fixed on me in a dashed unpleasant stare and, unless I
was mistaken, he was grinding his teeth a trifle. For some reason he
appeared to have taken a strong dislike to me at sight, and I'm bound
to say this rather puzzled me.
I don't pretend to have one of those Fascinating Personalities which
you get from studying the booklets advertised in the back pages of the
magazines, but I couldn't recall another case in the whole of my career
where a single glimpse of the old map had been enough to make anyone
look as if he wanted to foam at the mouth. Usually, when people meet me
for the first time, they don't seem to know I'm there.