Right Ho, Jeeves

“Talking of shedding tears,” I said firmly, “it may interest you to know that there is an aching heart in Brinkley Court.” This held her. She cheesed the rabbit theme. Her face, which had been aglow with what I supposed was a pretty animation, clouded. She unshipped a sigh that sounded like the wind going out of a rubber duck. “Ah, yes. Life is very sad, isn’t it?” “It is for some people. This aching heart, for instance.” “Those wistful eyes of hers! Drenched irises. And they used to dance like elves of delight. And all through a foolish misunderstanding about a shark. What a tragedy misunderstandings are. That pretty romance broken and over just because Mr. Glossop would insist that it was a flatfish.” I saw that she had got the wires crossed. “I’m not talking about Angela.” “But her heart is aching.” “I know it’s aching. But so is somebody else’s.” She looked at me, perplexed. “Somebody else? Mr. Glossop’s, you mean?” “No, I don’t.” “Mrs. Travers’s?” The exquisite code of politeness of the Woosters prevented me clipping her one on the ear-hole, but I would have given a shilling to be able to do it. There seemed to me something deliberately fat-headed in the way she persisted in missing the gist. “No, not Aunt Dahlia’s, either.” “I’m sure she is dreadfully upset.” “Quite. But this heart I’m talking about isn’t aching because of Tuppy’s row with Angela. It’s aching for a different reason altogether. I mean to say--dash it, you know why hearts ache!”