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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
225
“Yes,
he
gave
it
to
me.
That’s
how
I
got
it.”
There
was
another
silence.
And
as
she
was
plainly
shrinking
from
talking
turkey,
I
was
reluctantly
compelled
to
do
so.
I
mean,
somebody
had
got
to.
Too
dashed
silly,
a
male
and
female
in
our
position
simply
standing
eating
salmon
and
cheese
at
one
another
without
a
word.
“Yes,
I
got
it
all
right.”
“I
see.
You
got
it.”
“Yes,
I
got
it.
I’ve
just
been
reading
it.
And
what
I
was
rather
wanting
to
ask
you,
if
we
happened
to
run
into
each
other,
was--well,
what
about
it?”
“What
about
it?”
“That’s
what
I
say:
What
about
it?”
“But
it
was
quite
clear.”
“Oh,
quite.
Perfectly
clear.
Very
well
expressed
and
all
that.
But--I
mean--Well,
I
mean,
deeply
sensible
of
the
honour,
and
so
forth--but----
Well,
dash
it!”
She
had
polished
off
her
salmon,
and
now
put
the
plate
down.
“Fruit
salad?”
“No,
thank
you.”
“Spot
of
pie?”
“No,
thanks.”
“One
of
those
glue
things
on
toast?”
“No,
thank
you.”
She
took
a
cheese
straw.
I
found
a
cold
egg
which
I
had
overlooked.
Then
I
said
“I
mean
to
say”
just
as
she
said
“I
think
I
know”,
and
there
was
another
collision.
“I
beg
your
pardon.”
“I’m
sorry.”
“Do
go
on.”
“No,
you
go
on.”
I
waved
my
cold
egg
courteously,
to
indicate
that
she
had
the
floor,
and
she
started
again:
“I
think
I
know
what
you
are
trying
to
say.
You
are
surprised.”
“Yes.”
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