Right Ho, Jeeves

“What?” “Engaged elsewhere. My affections. During that sojourn.” I had struck the right note. He stopped sidling. His clutching hand fell to his side. “Is that true?” “Quite official.” “Who was she?” “My dear Tuppy, does one bandy a woman’s name?” “One does if one doesn’t want one’s ruddy head pulled off.” I saw that it was a special case. “Madeline Bassett,” I said. “Who?” “Madeline Bassett.” He seemed stunned. “You stand there and tell me you were in love with that Bassett disaster?” “I wouldn’t call her ‘that Bassett disaster’, Tuppy. Not respectful.” “Dash being respectful. I want the facts. You deliberately assert that you loved that weird Gawd-help-us?” “I don’t see why you should call her a weird Gawd-help-us, either. A very charming and beautiful girl. Odd in some of her views perhaps--one does not quite see eye to eye with her in the matter of stars and rabbits--but not a weird Gawd-help-us.” “Anyway, you stick to it that you were in love with her?” “I do.” “It sounds thin to me, Wooster, very thin.” I saw that it would be necessary to apply the finishing touch. “I must ask you to treat this as entirely confidential, Glossop, but I may as well inform you that it is not twenty-four hours since she turned me down.” “Turned you down?” “Like a bedspread. In this very garden.” “Twenty-four hours?” “Call it twenty-five. So you will readily see that I can’t be the chap, if any, who stole Angela from you at Cannes.”