“Oh?” I said. “I see. And now, I suppose, as the result of this dashed
psychology of yours, Aunt Dahlia is so sore with me that it will be
years before I can dare to show my face here again--years, Jeeves,
during which, night after night, Anatole will be cooking those dinners
of his----”
“No, sir. It was to prevent any such contingency that I suggested that
you should bicycle to Kingham Manor. When I informed the ladies and
gentlemen that I had found the key, and it was borne in upon them that
you were having that long ride for nothing, their animosity vanished
immediately, to be replaced by cordial amusement. There was much
laughter.”
“There was, eh?”
“Yes, sir. I fear you may possibly have to submit to a certain amount
of good-natured chaff, but nothing more. All, if I may say so, is
forgiven, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir.”