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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
253
I
could
scarcely
believe
such
a
thing
of
him.
Of
his
Uncle
Cyril,
yes.
With
that
distorted
sense
of
humour
of
his,
Uncle
Cyril
might
quite
conceivably
have
been
capable
of
such
conduct.
But
that
it
should
be
Jeeves--
I
leaped
into
the
saddle
and,
stifling
the
cry
of
agony
which
rose
to
the
lips
as
the
bruised
person
touched
the
hard
leather,
set
out
on
the
homeward
journey.
-23-
I
remember
Jeeves
saying
on
one
occasion--I
forgot
how
the
subject
had
arisen--he
may
simply
have
thrown
the
observation
out,
as
he
does
sometimes,
for
me
to
take
or
leave--that
hell
hath
no
fury
like
a
woman
scorned.
And
until
tonight
I
had
always
felt
that
there
was
a
lot
in
it.
I
had
never
scorned
a
woman
myself,
but
Pongo
Twistleton
once
scorned
an
aunt
of
his,
flatly
refusing
to
meet
her
son
Gerald
at
Paddington
and
give
him
lunch
and
see
him
off
to
school
at
Waterloo,
and
he
never
heard
the
end
of
it.
Letters
were
written,
he
tells
me,
which
had
to
be
seen
to
be
believed.
Also
two
very
strong
telegrams
and
a
bitter
picture
post
card
with
a
view
of
the
Little
Chilbury
War
Memorial
on
it.
Until
tonight,
therefore,
as
I
say,
I
had
never
questioned
the
accuracy
of
the
statement.
Scorned
women
first
and
the
rest
nowhere,
was
how
it
had
always
seemed
to
me.
But
tonight
I
revised
my
views.
If
you
want
to
know
what
hell
can
really
do
in
the
way
of
furies,
look
for
the
chap
who
has
been
hornswoggled
into
taking
a
long
and
unnecessary
bicycle
ride
in
the
dark
without
a
lamp.
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