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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
226
“You
are
thinking
of----”
“Exactly.”
“--Mr.
Fink-Nottle.”
“The
very
man.”
“You
find
what
I
have
done
hard
to
understand.”
“Absolutely.”
“I
don’t
wonder.”
“I
do.”
“And
yet
it
is
quite
simple.”
She
took
another
cheese
straw.
She
seemed
to
like
cheese
straws.
“Quite
simple,
really.
I
want
to
make
you
happy.”
“Dashed
decent
of
you.”
“I
am
going
to
devote
the
rest
of
my
life
to
making
you
happy.”
“A
very
matey
scheme.”
“I
can
at
least
do
that.
But--may
I
be
quite
frank
with
you,
Bertie?”
“Oh,
rather.”
“Then
I
must
tell
you
this.
I
am
fond
of
you.
I
will
marry
you.
I
will
do
my
best
to
make
you
a
good
wife.
But
my
affection
for
you
can
never
be
the
flamelike
passion
I
felt
for
Augustus.”
“Just
the
very
point
I
was
working
round
to.
There,
as
you
say,
is
the
snag.
Why
not
chuck
the
whole
idea
of
hitching
up
with
me?
Wash
it
out
altogether.
I
mean,
if
you
love
old
Gussie----”
“No
longer.”
“Oh,
come.”
“No.
What
happened
this
afternoon
has
killed
my
love.
A
smear
of
ugliness
has
been
drawn
across
a
thing
of
beauty,
and
I
can
never
feel
towards
him
as
I
did.”
I
saw
what
she
meant,
of
course.
Gussie
had
bunged
his
heart
at
her
feet;
she
had
picked
it
up,
and,
almost
immediately
after
doing
so,
had
discovered
that
he
had
been
stewed
to
the
eyebrows
all
the
time.
The
shock
must
have
been
severe.
No
girl
likes
to
feel
that
a
chap
has
got
to
be
thoroughly
plastered
before
he
can
ask
her
to
marry
him.
It
wounds
the
pride.
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