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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
222
“But,
dash
it!”
I
cried.
“Do
you
know
what’s
happened?
Madeline
Bassett
says
she’s
going
to
marry
me!”
“I
hope
it
keeps
fine
for
you,”
said
the
relative,
and
passed
from
the
room
looking
like
something
out
of
an
Edgar
Allan
Poe
story.
-21-
I
don’t
suppose
I
was
looking
so
dashed
unlike
something
out
of
an
Edgar
Allan
Poe
story
myself,
for,
as
you
can
readily
imagine,
the
news
item
which
I
have
just
recorded
had
got
in
amongst
me
properly.
If
the
Bassett,
in
the
belief
that
the
Wooster
heart
had
long
been
hers
and
was
waiting
ready
to
be
scooped
in
on
demand,
had
decided
to
take
up
her
option,
I
should,
as
a
man
of
honour
and
sensibility,
have
no
choice
but
to
come
across
and
kick
in.
The
matter
was
obviously
not
one
that
could
be
straightened
out
with
a
curt
nolle
prosequi.
All
the
evidence,
therefore,
seemed
to
point
to
the
fact
that
the
doom
had
come
upon
me
and,
what
was
more,
had
come
to
stay.
And
yet,
though
it
would
be
idle
to
pretend
that
my
grip
on
the
situation
was
quite
the
grip
I
would
have
liked
it
to
be,
I
did
not
despair
of
arriving
at
a
solution.
A
lesser
man,
caught
in
this
awful
snare,
would
no
doubt
have
thrown
in
the
towel
at
once
and
ceased
to
struggle;
but
the
whole
point
about
the
Woosters
is
that
they
are
not
lesser
men.
By
way
of
a
start,
I
read
the
note
again.
Not
that
I
had
any
hope
that
a
second
perusal
would
enable
me
to
place
a
different
construction
on
its
contents,
but
it
helped
to
fill
in
while
the
brain
was
limbering
up.
I
then,
to
assist
thought,
had
another
go
at
the
fruit
salad,
and
in
addition
ate
a
slice
of
sponge
cake.
And
it
was
as
I
passed
on
to
the
cheese
that
the
machinery
started
working.
I
saw
what
had
to
be
done.
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