Right Ho, Jeeves

I drew myself up. “That,” I replied, with dignity, “is just what I am going to go away and boil. At least, I mean, I shall now leave you. I have said my say.” “Good.” “But permit me to add----” “I won’t.” “Very good,” I said coldly. “In that case, tinkerty tonk.” And I meant it to sting. “Moody” and “discouraged” were about the two adjectives you would have selected to describe me as I left the summer-house. It would be idle to deny that I had expected better results from this little chat. I was surprised at Angela. Odd how you never realize that every girl is at heart a vicious specimen until something goes wrong with her love affair. This cousin and I had been meeting freely since the days when I wore sailor suits and she hadn’t any front teeth, yet only now was I beginning to get on to her hidden depths. A simple, jolly, kindly young pimple she had always struck me as--the sort you could more or less rely on not to hurt a fly. But here she was now laughing heartlessly--at least, I seemed to remember hearing her laugh heartlessly--like something cold and callous out of a sophisticated talkie, and fairly spitting on her hands in her determination to bring Tuppy’s grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again--girls are rummy. Old Pop Kipling never said a truer word than when he made that crack about the f. of the s. being more d. than the m.