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eh?’
    ‘Well, of course, old thing, I’m always delighted to meet you, but when it comes to your father
and
old Glossop –’
    ‘He’s not one of your greatest admirers, is he? By the way, Bertie,
do
you keep cats in your bedroom?’
    I stiffened a little.
    ‘There have been cats in my bedroom, but the incident to which you allude is one that is susceptible of a ready …’
    ‘All right. Never mind. Take it as read. But you ought to have seen Father’s face when he heard about it. Talking of Father’s face, I should get a big laugh if I saw it now.’
    I could not follow this. Goodness knows, I’m as fond of a chuckle as the next man, but J. Washburn Stoker’s face had never made me so much as smile. He was a cove who always reminded me of a pirate of the Spanish Main – a massive blighter and piercing-eyed, to boot. So far from laughing at the sight of him, I had never yet failed to feel absolutely spineless in his presence.
    ‘If he suddenly came round the corner, I mean, and found us with our heads together like this. He’s convinced that I’m still pining for you.’
    ‘You don’t mean that?’
    ‘I do, honestly.’
    ‘But, dash it –’
    ‘It’s true, I tell you. He looks on himself as the stern Victorian father who has parted the young lovers and has got to exercise ceaseless vigilance to keep them from getting together again. Little knowing that you never had a happier moment in your life than when you got my letter.’
    ‘No, I say!’
    ‘Bertie, be honest. You know you were delighted.’
    ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
    ‘You don’t have to. Mother knows.’
    ‘No, dash it, really! I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I always esteemed you most highly.’
    ‘You did what? Where do you pick up these expressions?’
    ‘Well, I suppose from Jeeves, mostly. My late man. He had a fine vocabulary.’
    ‘When you say “late”, do you mean he’s dead? Or just unpunctual?’
    ‘He’s left me. He didn’t like me playing the banjolele. Words passed, and he is now with Chuffy.’
    ‘Chuffy?’
    ‘Lord Chuffnell.’
    ‘Oh?’
    There was a pause. She sat listening for a moment to a couple of birds who were having an argument in a near-by tree.
    ‘Have you known Lord Chuffnell long?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh, rather.’
    ‘You’re great friends?’
    ‘Bosom is the
mot juste
.’
    ‘Good. I hoped you were. I wanted to talk to you about him. I can confide in you, can’t I, Bertie?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I knew I could. That’s the comfort of having been engaged to a man. When you break it off, you feel such a sister.’
    ‘I don’t regard you as a blister at all,’ I said warmly. ‘You had a perfect right –’
    ‘Not blister. Sister!’
    ‘Oh, sister? You mean, you look on me as a brother.’
    ‘Yes, as a brother. How quick you are. And I want you to be very brotherly now. Tell me about Marmaduke.’
    ‘I don’t think I know him.’
    ‘Lord Chuffnell, idiot.’
    ‘Is his name Marmaduke? Well, well! How true is it that one doesn’t know how the other half of the world lives, what! Marmaduke!’ I said, laughing heartily. ‘I remember he was always evasive and secretive about it at school.’
    She seemed annoyed.
    ‘It’s a beautiful name!’
    I shot one of my swift, keen glances at her. This, I felt, must mean something. Nobody would say Marmaduke was a beautiful name wantonly and without good reason. And, sure enough, the eyes were gleaming and the epidermis a pretty pink.
    ‘Hullo!’ I said. ‘Hullo, hullo, hullo! Hullo!’
    Her demeanour was defiant.
    ‘All right, all right!’ she said. ‘Less of the Sherlock stuff. I’m not trying to hide anything. I was just going to tell you.’
    ‘You love this … ha, ha! Excuse me … this Marmaduke?’
    ‘I’m crazy about him.’
    ‘Good! Well, if what you say –’
    ‘Don’t you worship the way his hair fluffs up behind?’
    ‘I have better things to do than go about staring at the back of Chuffy’s head. But, as I