Thank You, Jeeves

Well, if it was so, it was all right with me. Nothing of the dog in the manger about Bertram. As far as I was concerned, Pauline Stoker could hitch up with anyone she liked and she would draw a hearty 'Go to it!' from the discarded suitor. You know how it is on quiet reflection in these affairs. For a time the broken heart, and then suddenly the healing conviction that one is jolly well out of it. I could still see that Pauline was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever met, but of the ancient fire which had caused me to bung my heart at her feet that night at the Plaza there remained not a trace.

Analysing this, if analysing is the word I want, I came to the conclusion that this changed outlook was due to the fact that she was so dashed dynamic. Unquestionably an eyeful, Pauline Stoker had the grave defect of being one of those girls who want you to come and swim a mile before breakfast and rout you out when you are trying to snatch a wink of sleep after lunch for a merry five sets of tennis. And now that the scales had fallen from my eyes, I could see that what I required for the role of Mrs Bertram Wooster was something rather more on the lines of Janet Gaynor.

But in Chuffy's case these objections fell to the ground. He, you see, is very much on the dynamic side himself. He rides, swims, shoots, chivvies foxes with loud cries, and generally bustles about. He and this P. Stoker would make the perfect pair, and I felt that if there was anything I could do to push the thing along, it should be done unstintedly.

So when at this point I saw Pauline coming out of the house and bearing down on me, obviously with a view to exchanging notes and picking up the old threads and what not, I did not leg it but greeted her with a bright 'What ho!' and allowed her to steer me into the shelter of a path that led through the rhododendron shrubbery.

All of which goes to show to what lengths a Wooster will proceed when it is a question of helping a pal, because the last thing I really wanted was to be closeted with this girl. The first shock of meeting her was over, but I was still feeling far from yeasty at the prospect of a heart-to-heart talk. As our relations had been severed by post and the last time we had forgathered we had been an engaged couple, I wasn't quite sure what was the correct note to strike.

However, the thought that I might be able to put in a word for old Chuffy nerved me to the ordeal, and we parked ourselves on a rustic bench and got down to the agenda.

'How perfectly extraordinary finding you here, Bertie,' she began. 'What are you doing in these parts?'

'I am temporarily in retirement,' I replied, pleased to find the conversational exchanges opening on what I might call an unemotional note. 'I needed a place where I could play the banjolele in solitude, and I took this cottage.'

'What cottage?'

'I've got a cottage down by the harbour.'

'You must have been surprised to see us.'

'I was.'

'More surprised than pleased, eh?'

'Well, of course, old thing, I'm always delighted to meet you, but when it comes to your father and old Glossop ...'

'He's not one of your greatest admirers, is he? By the way, Bertie, do you keep cats in your bedroom?'

I stiffened a little.

'There have been cats in my bedroom, but the incident to which you allude is one that is susceptible of a ready...'

'All right. Never mind. Take it as read. But you ought to have seen father's face when he heard about it. Talking of father's face, I should get a big laugh if I saw it now.'

I could not follow this. Goodness knows, I'm as fond of a chuckle as the next man, but J. Washburn Stoker's face had never made me so much as smile. He was a cove who always reminded me of a pirate of the Spanish Main – a massive blighter and piercing-eyed, to boot. So far from laughing at the sight of him, I had never yet failed to feel absolutely spineless in his presence.

'If he suddenly came round the corner, I mean, and found us with our heads together like this. He's convinced that I'm still pining for you.'

'You don't mean that?'

'I do, honestly.'

'But, dash it ...'

'It's true, I tell you. He looks on himself as the stern Victorian father who has parted the young lovers and has got to exercise ceaseless vigilance to keep them from getting together again. Little knowing that you never had a happier moment in your life than when you got my letter.'

'No, I say!'

'Bertie, be honest. You know you were delighted.'

'I wouldn't say that.'

'You don't have to. Mother knows.'

'No, dash it, really! I wish you wouldn't talk like that. I always esteemed you most highly.'

'You did what? Where do you pick up these expressions?'

'Well, I suppose from Jeeves, mostly. My late man. He had a fine vocabulary.'

'When you say "late", do you mean he's dead? Or just un-punctual?'

'He's left me. He didn't like me playing the banjolele. Words passed, and he is now with Chuffy.'

'Chuffy?'

'Lord Chuffnell.'

'Oh?'

There was a pause. She sat listening for a moment to a couple of birds who were having an argument in a near-by tree.

'Have you known Lord Chuffnell long?' she asked.

'Oh, rather.'

'You're great friends?'

'Bosom is the mot juste!

'Good. I hoped you were. I wanted to talk to you about him. I can confide in you, can't I, Bertie?'

'Of course.'

'I knew I could. That's the comfort of having been engaged to a man. When you break it off, you feel such a sister.'

'I don't regard you as a blister at all,' I said warmly. You had a perfect right ...'

'Not blister. Sister!'

'Oh, sister? You mean, you look on me as a brother.'

'Yes, as a brother. How quick you are. And I want you to be very brotherly now. Tell me about Marmaduke.'

'I don't think I know him.'

'Lord Chuffnell, idiot.'

'Is his name Marmaduke? Well, well! How true it is that one doesn't know how the other half of the world lives, what? Marmaduke!' I said, laughing heartily. 'I remember he was always evasive and secretive about it at school.'

She seemed annoyed.

'It's a beautiful name!'

I shot one of my swift, keen glances at her. This, I felt, must mean something. Nobody would say Marmaduke was a beautiful name wantonly and without good reason. And, sure enough, the eyes were gleaming and the epidermis a pretty pink.

'Hallo!' I said. 'Hallo, hallo, hallo! Hallo!'

Her demeanour was defiant.

'All right, all right!' she said. 'Less of the Sherlock stuff. I'm not trying to hide anything. I was just going to tell you.'

'You love this ... ha, ha! Excuse me ... this Marmaduke?'

'I'm crazy about him.'

'Good! Well, if what you say...'

'Don't you worship the way his hair fluffs up behind?'

'I have better things to do than go about staring at the back of Chuffy's head. But, as I was about to remark, if what you say is really so, be prepared for tidings of great joy. I'm a pretty close observer, and a certain bulbous look in the old boy's eyes when a recent conversation happened to turn in your direction has convinced me that he is deeply enamoured of you.'

She wiggled her shoulder impatiently, and in a rather peevish manner hoofed a passing earwig with a shapely foot.

'I know that, you chump. Do you think a girl can't tell?'

I was frankly nonplussed.

'Well, if he loves you and you love him, I fail to comprehend what you are beefing about.'

'Why, can't you understand? He's obviously dippy about me, but not a yip from him.'