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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
97
If
Angela’s
shark
had
bitten
me
in
the
leg,
I
couldn’t
have
leaped
more
convulsively.
So
tensely
had
I
been
concentrating
on
Gussie’s
interests
that
it
hadn’t
so
much
as
crossed
my
mind
that
another
and
an
unfortunate
construction
could
be
placed
on
those
words
of
mine.
The
persp.,
already
bedewing
my
brow,
became
a
regular
Niagara.
My
whole
fate
hung
upon
a
woman’s
word.
I
mean
to
say,
I
couldn’t
back
out.
If
a
girl
thinks
a
man
is
proposing
to
her,
and
on
that
understanding
books
him
up,
he
can’t
explain
to
her
that
she
has
got
hold
of
entirely
the
wrong
end
of
the
stick
and
that
he
hadn’t
the
smallest
intention
of
suggesting
anything
of
the
kind.
He
must
simply
let
it
ride.
And
the
thought
of
being
engaged
to
a
girl
who
talked
openly
about
fairies
being
born
because
stars
blew
their
noses,
or
whatever
it
was,
frankly
appalled
me.
She
was
carrying
on
with
her
remarks,
and
as
I
listened
I
clenched
my
fists
till
I
shouldn’t
wonder
if
the
knuckles
didn’t
stand
out
white
under
the
strain.
It
seemed
as
if
she
would
never
get
to
the
nub.
“Yes,
all
through
those
days
at
Cannes
I
could
see
what
you
were
trying
to
say.
A
girl
always
knows.
And
then
you
followed
me
down
here,
and
there
was
that
same
dumb,
yearning
look
in
your
eyes
when
we
met
this
evening.
And
then
you
were
so
insistent
that
I
should
come
out
and
walk
with
you
in
the
twilight.
And
now
you
stammer
out
those
halting
words.
No,
this
does
not
come
as
a
surprise.
But
I
am
sorry----”
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