“And what about my side of the thing?” he demanded, in a voice choked
with feeling.
“Your side?”
“You don’t suppose,” said Tuppy, with rising vehemence, “that I
would have exposed this dashed synthetic shark for the flatfish it
undoubtedly was if there had not been causes that led up to it. What
induced me to speak as I did was the fact that Angela, the little
squirt, had just been most offensive, and I seized the opportunity to
get a bit of my own back.”
“Offensive?”
“Exceedingly offensive. Purely on the strength of my having let fall
some casual remark--simply by way of saying something and keeping the
conversation going--to the effect that I wondered what Anatole was
going to give us for dinner, she said that I was too material and ought
not always to be thinking of food. Material, my elbow! As a matter of
fact, I’m particularly spiritual.”
“Quite.”
“I don’t see any harm in wondering what Anatole was going to give us
for dinner. Do you?”
“Of course not. A mere ordinary tribute of respect to a great artist.”
“Exactly.”
“All the same----”
“Well?”
“I was only going to say that it seems a pity that the frail craft
of love should come a stinker like this when a few manly words of
contrition----”
He stared at me.
“You aren’t suggesting that I should climb down?”
“It would be the fine, big thing, old egg.”
“I wouldn’t dream of climbing down.”
“But, Tuppy----”
“No. I wouldn’t do it.”
“But you love her, don’t you?”
This touched the spot. He quivered noticeably, and his mouth twisted.
Quite the tortured soul.
“I’m not saying I don’t love the little blighter,” he said, obviously
moved. “I love her passionately. But that doesn’t alter the fact that I
consider that what she needs most in this world is a swift kick in the
pants.”
A Wooster could scarcely pass this. “Tuppy, old man!”
“It’s no good saying ‘Tuppy, old man’.”
“Well, I do say ‘Tuppy, old man’. Your tone shocks me. One raises the
eyebrows. Where is the fine, old, chivalrous spirit of the Glossops.”
“That’s all right about the fine, old, chivalrous spirit of the
Glossops. Where is the sweet, gentle, womanly spirit of the Angelas?
Telling a fellow he was getting a double chin!”
“Did she do that?”
“She did.”
“Oh, well, girls will be girls. Forget it, Tuppy. Go to her and make it
up.”
He shook his head.
“No. It is too late. Remarks have been passed about my tummy which it
is impossible to overlook.”
“But, Tummy--Tuppy, I mean--be fair. You once told her her new hat made
her look like a Pekingese.”
“It did make her look like a Pekingese. That was not vulgar abuse.
It was sound, constructive criticism, with no motive behind it but
the kindly desire to keep her from making an exhibition of herself in
public. Wantonly to accuse a man of puffing when he goes up a flight of
stairs is something very different.”
I began to see that the situation would require all my address and
ingenuity. If the wedding bells were ever to ring out in the little
church of Market Snodsbury, Bertram had plainly got to put in some
shrewdish work. I had gathered, during my conversation with Aunt
Dahlia, that there had been a certain amount of frank speech between
the two contracting parties, but I had not realized till now that
matters had gone so far.
The pathos of the thing gave me the pip. Tuppy had admitted in so many
words that love still animated the Glossop bosom, and I was convinced
that, even after all that occurred, Angela had not ceased to love him.
At the moment, no doubt, she might be wishing that she could hit him
with a bottle, but deep down in her I was prepared to bet that there
still lingered all the old affection and tenderness. Only injured pride
was keeping these two apart, and I felt that if Tuppy would make the
first move, all would be well.