Right Ho, Jeeves

“You are thinking of----” “Exactly.” “--Mr. Fink-Nottle.” “The very man.” “You find what I have done hard to understand.” “Absolutely.” “I don’t wonder.” “I do.” “And yet it is quite simple.” She took another cheese straw. She seemed to like cheese straws. “Quite simple, really. I want to make you happy.” “Dashed decent of you.” “I am going to devote the rest of my life to making you happy.” “A very matey scheme.” “I can at least do that. But--may I be quite frank with you, Bertie?” “Oh, rather.” “Then I must tell you this. I am fond of you. I will marry you. I will do my best to make you a good wife. But my affection for you can never be the flamelike passion I felt for Augustus.” “Just the very point I was working round to. There, as you say, is the snag. Why not chuck the whole idea of hitching up with me? Wash it out altogether. I mean, if you love old Gussie----” “No longer.” “Oh, come.” “No. What happened this afternoon has killed my love. A smear of ugliness has been drawn across a thing of beauty, and I can never feel towards him as I did.” I saw what she meant, of course. Gussie had bunged his heart at her feet; she had picked it up, and, almost immediately after doing so, had discovered that he had been stewed to the eyebrows all the time. The shock must have been severe. No girl likes to feel that a chap has got to be thoroughly plastered before he can ask her to marry him. It wounds the pride.