Right Ho, Jeeves

“Yes, he gave it to me. That’s how I got it.” There was another silence. And as she was plainly shrinking from talking turkey, I was reluctantly compelled to do so. I mean, somebody had got to. Too dashed silly, a male and female in our position simply standing eating salmon and cheese at one another without a word. “Yes, I got it all right.” “I see. You got it.” “Yes, I got it. I’ve just been reading it. And what I was rather wanting to ask you, if we happened to run into each other, was--well, what about it?” “What about it?” “That’s what I say: What about it?” “But it was quite clear.” “Oh, quite. Perfectly clear. Very well expressed and all that. But--I mean--Well, I mean, deeply sensible of the honour, and so forth--but---- Well, dash it!” She had polished off her salmon, and now put the plate down. “Fruit salad?” “No, thank you.” “Spot of pie?” “No, thanks.” “One of those glue things on toast?” “No, thank you.” She took a cheese straw. I found a cold egg which I had overlooked. Then I said “I mean to say” just as she said “I think I know”, and there was another collision. “I beg your pardon.” “I’m sorry.” “Do go on.” “No, you go on.” I waved my cold egg courteously, to indicate that she had the floor, and she started again: “I think I know what you are trying to say. You are surprised.” “Yes.”