“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing. Just remembered there’s a letter I have to
write tonight without fail. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going
in. Here,” I said, “comes Gussie Fink-Nottle. He will look after you.”
And, as I spoke, Gussie came sidling out from behind a tree.
I passed away and left them to it. As regards these two, everything
was beyond a question absolutely in order. All Gussie had to do was
keep his head down and not press. Already, I felt, as I legged it back
to the house, the happy ending must have begun to function. I mean to
say, when you leave a girl and a man, each of whom has admitted in set
terms that she and he loves him and her, in close juxtaposition in the
twilight, there doesn’t seem much more to do but start pricing fish
slices.
Something attempted, something done, seemed to me to have earned
two-penn’orth of wassail in the smoking-room.