“She’s broken-hearted about this rift, Tuppy.”
“How do you know? Have you seen her?”
“No, but I’ll bet she is.”
“She doesn’t look it.”
“Wearing the mask, no doubt. Jeeves does that when I assert my
authority.”
“She wrinkles her nose at me as if I were a drain that had got out of
order.”
“Merely the mask. I feel convinced she loves you still, and that a
kindly word from you is all that is required.”
I could see that this had moved him. He plainly wavered. He did a sort
of twiddly on the turf with his foot. And, when he spoke, one spotted
the tremolo in the voice:
“You really think that?”
“Absolutely.”
“H’m.”
“If you were to go to her----”
He shook his head.
“I can’t do that. It would be fatal. Bing, instantly, would go my
prestige. I know girls. Grovel, and the best of them get uppish.” He
mused. “The only way to work the thing would be by tipping her off in
some indirect way that I am prepared to open negotiations. Should I
sigh a bit when we meet, do you think?”
“She would think you were puffing.”
“That’s true.”
I lit another cigarette and gave my mind to the matter. And first crack
out of the box, as is so often the way with the Woosters, I got an
idea. I remembered the counsel I had given Gussie in the matter of the
sausages and ham.
“I’ve got it, Tuppy. There is one infallible method of indicating to a
girl that you love her, and it works just as well when you’ve had a row
and want to make it up. Don’t eat any dinner tonight. You can see how
impressive that would be. She knows how devoted you are to food.”
He started violently.
“I am not devoted to food!”
“No, no.”
“I am not devoted to food at all.”
“Quite. All I meant----”
“This rot about me being devoted to food,” said Tuppy warmly, “has got
to stop. I am young and healthy and have a good appetite, but that’s
not the same as being devoted to food. I admire Anatole as a master of
his craft, and am always willing to consider anything he may put before
me, but when you say I am devoted to food----”
“Quite, quite. All I meant was that if she sees you push away your
dinner untasted, she will realize that your heart is aching, and will
probably be the first to suggest blowing the all clear.”
Tuppy was frowning thoughtfully.
“Push my dinner away, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Push away a dinner cooked by Anatole?”
“Yes.”
“Push it away untasted?”
“Yes.”
“Let us get this straight. Tonight, at dinner, when the butler offers
me a _ris de veau à la financiere_, or whatever it may be, hot from
Anatole’s hands, you wish me to push it away untasted?”
“Yes.”
He chewed his lip. One could sense the struggle going on within. And
then suddenly a sort of glow came into his face. The old martyrs
probably used to look like that.
“All right.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Of course, it will be agony.”