Right Ho, Jeeves

I saw the one she meant, a little chap operating in a detached sort of way above a spinney. “Yes,” I said. “I wonder if it feels lonely.” “Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” “A fairy must have been crying.” “Eh?” “Don’t you remember? ‘Every time a fairy sheds a tear, a wee bit star is born in the Milky Way.’ Have you ever thought that, Mr. Wooster?” I never had. Most improbable, I considered, and it didn’t seem to me to check up with her statement that the stars were God’s daisy chain. I mean, you can’t have it both ways. However, I was in no mood to dissect and criticize. I saw that I had been wrong in supposing that the stars were not germane to the issue. Quite a decent cue they had provided, and I leaped on it Promptly: “Talking of shedding tears----” But she was now on the subject of rabbits, several of which were messing about in the park to our right. “Oh, look. The little bunnies!” “Talking of shedding tears----” “Don’t you love this time of the evening, Mr. Wooster, when the sun has gone to bed and all the bunnies come out to have their little suppers? When I was a child, I used to think that rabbits were gnomes, and that if I held my breath and stayed quite still, I should see the fairy queen.” Indicating with a reserved gesture that this was just the sort of loony thing I should have expected her to think as a child, I returned to the point.