“‘My darling,’ he will say tenderly, ‘is there anything I can do?’ To
which your reply will be that there jolly well is--viz. reach for his
cheque-book and start writing.”
I was watching her closely as I spoke, and was pleased to note respect
suddenly dawn in her eyes.
“But, Bertie, this is positively bright.”
“I told you Jeeves wasn’t the only fellow with brain.”
“I believe it would work.”
“It’s bound to work. I’ve recommended it to Tuppy.”
“Young Glossop?”
“In order to soften Angela.”
“Splendid!”
“And to Gussie Fink-Nottle, who wants to make a hit with the Bassett.”
“Well, well, well! What a busy little brain it is.”
“Always working, Aunt Dahlia, always working.”
“You’re not the chump I took you for, Bertie.”
“When did you ever take me for a chump?”
“Oh, some time last summer. I forget what gave me the idea. Yes,
Bertie, this scheme is bright. I suppose, as a matter of fact, Jeeves
suggested it.”
“Jeeves did not suggest it. I resent these implications. Jeeves had
nothing to do with it whatsoever.”
“Well, all right, no need to get excited about it. Yes, I think it will
work. Tom’s devoted to me.”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“I’ll do it.”
And then the rest of the party trickled in, and we toddled down to
dinner.
Conditions being as they were at Brinkley Court--I mean to say, the
place being loaded down above the Plimsoll mark with aching hearts
and standing room only as regarded tortured souls--I hadn’t expected
the evening meal to be particularly effervescent. Nor was it. Silent.
Sombre. The whole thing more than a bit like Christmas dinner on
Devil’s Island.