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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
125
He
started.
I
could
see
that
this
had
impressed
him.
“Oh,
she
was
with
you
all
the
time
at
Cannes,
was
she?”
“I
don’t
suppose
she
said
two
words
to
anybody
else,
except,
of
course,
idle
conv.
at
the
crowded
dinner
table
or
a
chance
remark
in
a
throng
at
the
Casino.”
“I
see.
You
mean
that
anything
in
the
shape
of
mixed
bathing
and
moonlight
strolls
she
conducted
solely
in
your
company?”
“That’s
right.
It
was
quite
a
joke
in
the
hotel.”
“You
must
have
enjoyed
that.”
“Oh,
rather.
I’ve
always
been
devoted
to
Angela.”
“Oh,
yes?”
“When
we
were
kids,
she
used
to
call
herself
my
little
sweetheart.”
“She
did?”
“Absolutely.”
“I
see.”
He
sat
plunged
in
thought,
while
I,
glad
to
have
set
his
mind
at
rest,
proceeded
with
my
tea.
And
presently
there
came
the
banging
of
a
gong
from
the
hall
below,
and
he
started
like
a
war
horse
at
the
sound
of
the
bugle.
“Breakfast!”
he
said,
and
was
off
to
a
flying
start,
leaving
me
to
brood
and
ponder.
And
the
more
I
brooded
and
pondered,
the
more
did
it
seem
to
me
that
everything
now
looked
pretty
smooth.
Tuppy,
I
could
see,
despite
that
painful
scene
in
the
larder,
still
loved
Angela
with
all
the
old
fervour.
This
meant
that
I
could
rely
on
that
plan
to
which
I
had
referred
to
bring
home
the
bacon.
And
as
I
had
found
the
way
to
straighten
out
the
Gussie-Bassett
difficulty,
there
seemed
nothing
more
to
worry
about.
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