P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

It takes a better man than Mr. Warden to break up a gathering of this kind. The old gentleman was bewildered. He added his voice to the babel, and twice smote Bill grievously with his cane with blows intended for the acquaintance, but beyond that he effected nothing. It seemed probable that the engagement would last till the combatants had consumed each other, after the fashion of the Kilkenny cats, when there suddenly appeared from nowhere a young man in grey.

The world is divided into those who can stop dog-fights and those who cannot. The young man in grey belonged to the former class. Within a minute from his entrance on the scene the poodles and the Irish terrier had vanished; the dog of doubtful breed was moving off up the hill, yelping, with the dispatch of one who remembers an important appointment, and Bill, miraculously calmed, was seated in the centre of the Promenade, licking honourable wounds.

Mr. Warden was disposed to effervesce with gratitude. The scene had shaken him, and there had been moments when he had given his ankles up for lost.

“Don’t mention it,” said the young man. “I enjoy arbitrating in these little disputes. Dogs seem to like me and trust my judgment. I consider myself a sort of honorary dog.”

“Well, I am bound to say, Mr.-?”

“Vince-George Vince.”

“My name is Warden. My daughter.”

Ruth inclined her head, and was conscious of a pair of very penetrating brown eyes looking eagerly into hers in a manner which she thoroughly resented. She was not used to the other sex meeting her gaze and holding it as if confident of a friendly welcome. She made up her mind in that instant that this was a young man who required suppression.

“I’ve seen you several times out here since I arrived, Miss Warden,” said Mr. Vince. “Four in all,” he added, precisely.

“Really?” said Ruth.

She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.

As they approached the casino restlessness crept into Mr. Warden’s manner. At the door he stopped and looked at Ruth.

“I think, my dear-” he said.

“Going to have a dash at the petits chevaux?” inquired Mr. Vince. “I was there just now. I have an infallible system.”

Mr. Warden started like a war-horse at the sound of the trumpet.

“Only it’s infallible the wrong way,” went on the young man. “Well, I wish you luck. I’ll see Miss Warden home.”

“Please don’t trouble,” said Ruth, in the haughty manner which had frequently withered unfortunate fellow- exiles in their tracks.

It had no such effect on Mr. Vince.

“I shall like it,” he said.

Ruth set her teeth. She would see whether he would like it.

They left Mr. Warden, who shot in at the casino door like a homing rabbit, and walked on in silence, which lasted till Ruth, suddenly becoming aware that her companion’s eyes were fixed on her face, turned her head, to meet a gaze of complete, not to say loving, admiration. She flushed. She was accustomed to being looked at admiringly, but about this particular look there was a subtle quality that distinguished it from the ordinary-something proprietorial.

Mr. Vince appeared to be a young man who wasted no time on conventional conversation-openings.

“Do you believe in affinities, Miss Warden?” he said.

“No,” said Ruth.

“You will before we’ve done,” said Mr. Vince, confidently. “Why did you try to snub me just now?”

“Did I?”

“You mustn’t again. It hurts me. I’m a sensitive man. Diffident. Shy. Miss Warden, will you marry me?”

Ruth had determined that nothing should shake her from her icy detachment, but this did. She stopped with a gasp, and stared at him.

Mr. Vince reassured her.

“I don’t expect you to say ‘Yes.’ That was just a beginning-the shot fired across the bows by way of warning. In you, Miss Warden, I have found my affinity. Have you ever considered this matter of affinities? Affinities are the-the-Wait a moment.”

He paused, reflecting.

“I-” began Ruth.

” ‘Sh!” said the young man, holding up his hand.