twelve, he was still standing, in company with his pig-man Pirbright, draped bonelessly over the rail of the sty, his mild eyes beaming with the light of a holy devotion.
From time to time he sniffed sensuously. Elsewhere throughout this fair domain the air was fragrant with the myriad scents of high summer, but not where Lord Emsworth was doing his sniffing. Within a liberal radius of the Empress's headquarters other scents could not compete. This splendid animal diffused an aroma which was both distinctive and arresting. Attractive, too, if you liked that sort of thing, as Lord Emsworth did.
Between Empress of Blandings and these two human beings who ministered to her comfort there was a sharp contrast in physique. Lord Emsworth was tall and thin and scraggy, Pirbright tall and thin and scraggier. The Empress, on the other hand, you're as much trouble as a baby. Why you want to waste your time staring at beastly pigs, I can't imagine.'
Lord Emsworth accompanied her across the paddock, but his face - there was hardly any mud on it at all, really, just a couple of splashes or so - was sullen and mutinous. This was not the first time his sister had alluded in this offensive manner to one whom he regarded as the supreme ornament of her sex and species. Beastly pigs, indeed! He pondered moodily on the curious inability of his immediate circle to appreciate the importance of the Empress in the scheme of things. Not one of them seemed to have the sagacity to realize her true worth.
Well, yes, one, perhaps. That little girl what-was-her-name, who was going to marry his nephew Ronald, had always displayed a pleasing interest in the silver medallist.
'Nice girl,' he said, following this train of thought to its conclusion.
'What are you talking about, Clarence ?' asked Lady Constance wearily.' Who is a nice girl ?'
'That little girl of Ronald's. I've forgotten her name. Smith, is it?'
'Brown,' said Lady Constance shortly. 'That's right, Brown. Nice girl.'
'You are entitled to your opinion, I suppose,' said Lady Constance.
They walked on in silence for some moments.
'While we are on the subject of Miss Brown,' said Lady Constance, speaking the name as she always did with her teeth rather tightly clenched and a stony look in her eyes, 'I forgot to tell you that I had a letter from Julia this morning.'
'Did you?’ said Lord Emsworth, giving the matter some two-fifty-sevenths of his attention. 'Capital, capital. Who,' he asked politely, 'is Julia?'
Lady Constance was within easy reach of his head and could quite comfortably have hit it, but she refrained. Noblesse oblige.
'Julia? ’ she said, with a rising inflection. 'There's only one Julia in our family.'
'Oh, you mean Julia?' said Lord Emsworth, enlightened. 'And what had Julia got to say for herself? She's at Biarritz, isn't she?' he said, making a great mental effort. 'Having a good time, I hope?'
'She's in London.'
'Oh, yes?'
'And she is coming here tomorrow by the two forty-five.'
Lord Emsworth's vague detachment vanished. His sister Julia was not a woman to whose visits he looked forward with joyous enthusiasm.
' Why ?' he asked, with a strong note of complaint in his voice. 'It is the only good train in the afternoon, and gets her here in plenty of time for dinner.' ' I mean, why is she coming ?'
It would be too much to say that Lady Constance snorted. Women of her upbringing do not snort. But she certainly sniffed.
'Well, really!' she said. 'Does it strike you as so odd that a mother whose only son has announced his intention of marrying a ballet-girl should wish to see her?'
Lord Emsworth considered this.
'Not ballet-girl. Chorus-girl, I understood.'
'It's the same thing.'
'I don't think so,' said Lord Emsworth doubtfully. 'I must ask Galahad.' A sudden idea struck him. 'Don't you like this Smith girl?' 'Brown.'
'Don't you like this Brown girl?' 'I do not."
'Don't you want her to marry Ronald?'
'I should have thought I had made my views on that
From time to time he sniffed sensuously. Elsewhere throughout this fair domain the air was fragrant with the myriad scents of high summer, but not where Lord Emsworth was doing his sniffing. Within a liberal radius of the Empress's headquarters other scents could not compete. This splendid animal diffused an aroma which was both distinctive and arresting. Attractive, too, if you liked that sort of thing, as Lord Emsworth did.
Between Empress of Blandings and these two human beings who ministered to her comfort there was a sharp contrast in physique. Lord Emsworth was tall and thin and scraggy, Pirbright tall and thin and scraggier. The Empress, on the other hand, you're as much trouble as a baby. Why you want to waste your time staring at beastly pigs, I can't imagine.'
Lord Emsworth accompanied her across the paddock, but his face - there was hardly any mud on it at all, really, just a couple of splashes or so - was sullen and mutinous. This was not the first time his sister had alluded in this offensive manner to one whom he regarded as the supreme ornament of her sex and species. Beastly pigs, indeed! He pondered moodily on the curious inability of his immediate circle to appreciate the importance of the Empress in the scheme of things. Not one of them seemed to have the sagacity to realize her true worth.
Well, yes, one, perhaps. That little girl what-was-her-name, who was going to marry his nephew Ronald, had always displayed a pleasing interest in the silver medallist.
'Nice girl,' he said, following this train of thought to its conclusion.
'What are you talking about, Clarence ?' asked Lady Constance wearily.' Who is a nice girl ?'
'That little girl of Ronald's. I've forgotten her name. Smith, is it?'
'Brown,' said Lady Constance shortly. 'That's right, Brown. Nice girl.'
'You are entitled to your opinion, I suppose,' said Lady Constance.
They walked on in silence for some moments.
'While we are on the subject of Miss Brown,' said Lady Constance, speaking the name as she always did with her teeth rather tightly clenched and a stony look in her eyes, 'I forgot to tell you that I had a letter from Julia this morning.'
'Did you?’ said Lord Emsworth, giving the matter some two-fifty-sevenths of his attention. 'Capital, capital. Who,' he asked politely, 'is Julia?'
Lady Constance was within easy reach of his head and could quite comfortably have hit it, but she refrained. Noblesse oblige.
'Julia? ’ she said, with a rising inflection. 'There's only one Julia in our family.'
'Oh, you mean Julia?' said Lord Emsworth, enlightened. 'And what had Julia got to say for herself? She's at Biarritz, isn't she?' he said, making a great mental effort. 'Having a good time, I hope?'
'She's in London.'
'Oh, yes?'
'And she is coming here tomorrow by the two forty-five.'
Lord Emsworth's vague detachment vanished. His sister Julia was not a woman to whose visits he looked forward with joyous enthusiasm.
' Why ?' he asked, with a strong note of complaint in his voice. 'It is the only good train in the afternoon, and gets her here in plenty of time for dinner.' ' I mean, why is she coming ?'
It would be too much to say that Lady Constance snorted. Women of her upbringing do not snort. But she certainly sniffed.
'Well, really!' she said. 'Does it strike you as so odd that a mother whose only son has announced his intention of marrying a ballet-girl should wish to see her?'
Lord Emsworth considered this.
'Not ballet-girl. Chorus-girl, I understood.'
'It's the same thing.'
'I don't think so,' said Lord Emsworth doubtfully. 'I must ask Galahad.' A sudden idea struck him. 'Don't you like this Smith girl?' 'Brown.'
'Don't you like this Brown girl?' 'I do not."
'Don't you want her to marry Ronald?'
'I should have thought I had made my views on that
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