Right Ho, Jeeves

“Tell me, Jeeves,” I said, wishing to know the worst, “what sort of a girl is this girl of Gussie’s?” “I have not met the young lady, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle speaks highly of her attractions.” “Seemed to like her, did he?” “Yes, sir.” “Did he mention her name? Perhaps I know her.” “She is a Miss Bassett, sir. Miss Madeline Bassett.” “What?” “Yes, sir.” I was deeply intrigued. “Egad, Jeeves! Fancy that. It’s a small world, isn’t it, what?” “The young lady is an acquaintance of yours, sir?” “I know her well. Your news has relieved my mind, Jeeves. It makes the whole thing begin to seem far more like a practical working proposition.” “Indeed, sir?” “Absolutely. I confess that until you supplied this information I was feeling profoundly dubious about poor old Gussie’s chances of inducing any spinster of any parish to join him in the saunter down the aisle. You will agree with me that he is not everybody’s money.” “There may be something in what you say, sir.” “Cleopatra wouldn’t have liked him.” “Possibly not, sir.” “And I doubt if he would go any too well with Tallulah Bankhead.” “No, sir.” “But when you tell me that the object of his affections is Miss Bassett, why, then, Jeeves, hope begins to dawn a bit. He’s just the sort of chap a girl like Madeline Bassett might scoop in with relish.” This Bassett, I must explain, had been a fellow visitor of ours at Cannes; and as she and Angela had struck up one of those effervescent friendships which girls do strike up, I had seen quite a bit of her. Indeed, in my moodier moments it sometimes seemed to me that I could not move a step without stubbing my toe on the woman.