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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
93
I
saw
the
one
she
meant,
a
little
chap
operating
in
a
detached
sort
of
way
above
a
spinney.
“Yes,”
I
said.
“I
wonder
if
it
feels
lonely.”
“Oh,
I
shouldn’t
think
so.”
“A
fairy
must
have
been
crying.”
“Eh?”
“Don’t
you
remember?
‘Every
time
a
fairy
sheds
a
tear,
a
wee
bit
star
is
born
in
the
Milky
Way.’
Have
you
ever
thought
that,
Mr.
Wooster?”
I
never
had.
Most
improbable,
I
considered,
and
it
didn’t
seem
to
me
to
check
up
with
her
statement
that
the
stars
were
God’s
daisy
chain.
I
mean,
you
can’t
have
it
both
ways.
However,
I
was
in
no
mood
to
dissect
and
criticize.
I
saw
that
I
had
been
wrong
in
supposing
that
the
stars
were
not
germane
to
the
issue.
Quite
a
decent
cue
they
had
provided,
and
I
leaped
on
it
Promptly:
“Talking
of
shedding
tears----”
But
she
was
now
on
the
subject
of
rabbits,
several
of
which
were
messing
about
in
the
park
to
our
right.
“Oh,
look.
The
little
bunnies!”
“Talking
of
shedding
tears----”
“Don’t
you
love
this
time
of
the
evening,
Mr.
Wooster,
when
the
sun
has
gone
to
bed
and
all
the
bunnies
come
out
to
have
their
little
suppers?
When
I
was
a
child,
I
used
to
think
that
rabbits
were
gnomes,
and
that
if
I
held
my
breath
and
stayed
quite
still,
I
should
see
the
fairy
queen.”
Indicating
with
a
reserved
gesture
that
this
was
just
the
sort
of
loony
thing
I
should
have
expected
her
to
think
as
a
child,
I
returned
to
the
point.
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