Well, dashed difficult, of course, to know what to say when someone is giving you the old oil on a scale like that. I muttered an “Oh, yes?” or something on those lines, and rubbed the billowy portions in some embarrassment. And there was another silence, broken only by a sharp howl as I rubbed a bit too hard.
“Bertie.”
“Hullo?”
I heard her give a sort of gulp.
“Bertie, will you be chivalrous now?”
“Rather. Only too pleased. How do you mean?”
“I am going to try you to the utmost. I am going to test you as few men have ever been tested. I am going–-”
I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Well,” I said doubtfully, “always glad to oblige, you know, but I’ve just had the dickens of a bicycle ride, and I’m a bit stiff and sore, especially in the—as I say, a bit stiff and sore. If it’s anything to be fetched from upstairs–-”
“No, no, you don’t understand.”
“I don’t, quite, no.”
“Oh, it’s so difficult…. How can I say it?… Can’t you guess?”
“No. I’m dashed if I can.”
“Bertie—let me go!”
“But I haven’t got hold of you.”
“Release me!”
“Re–-”
And then I suddenly got it. I suppose it was fatigue that had made me so slow to apprehend the nub.
“What?”
I staggered, and the left pedal came up and caught me on the shin. But such was the ecstasy in the soul that I didn’t utter a cry.
“Release you?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want any confusion on the point.
“You mean you want to call it all off? You’re going to hitch up with Gussie, after all?”
“Only if you are fine and big enough to consent.”
“Oh, I am.”
“I gave you my promise.”
“Dash promises.”
“Then you really–-”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh, Bertie!”
She seemed to sway like a sapling. It is saplings that sway, I believe.
“A very parfait knight!” I heard her murmur, and there not being much to say after that, I excused myself on the ground that I had got about two pecks of dust down my back and would like to go and get my maid to put me into something loose.
“You go back to Gussie,” I said, “and tell him that all is well.”
She gave a sort of hiccup and, darting forward, kissed me on the forehead. Unpleasant, of course, but, as Anatole would say, I can take a few smooths with a rough. The next moment she was legging it for the dining-room, while I, having bunged the bicycle into a bush, made for the stairs.
I need not dwell upon my buckedness. It can be readily imagined. Talk about chaps with the noose round their necks and the hangman about to let her go and somebody galloping up on a foaming horse, waving the reprieve—not in it. Absolutely not in it at all. I don’t know that I can give you a better idea of the state of my feelings than by saying that as I started to cross the hall I was conscious of so profound a benevolence toward all created things that I found myself thinking kindly thoughts even of Jeeves.
I was about to mount the stairs when a sudden “What ho!” from my rear caused me to turn. Tuppy was standing in the hall. He had apparently been down to the cellar for reinforcements, for there were a couple of bottles under his arm.
“Hullo, Bertie,” he said. “You back?” He laughed amusedly. “You look like the Wreck of the Hesperus. Get run over by a steam-roller or something?”
At any other time I might have found his coarse badinage hard to bear. But such was my uplifted mood that I waved it aside and slipped him the good news.
“Tuppy, old man, the Bassett’s going to marry Gussie Fink-Nottle.”
“Tough luck on both of them, what?”
“But don’t you understand? Don’t you see what this means? It means that Angela is once more out of pawn, and you have only to play your cards properly–-”
He bellowed rollickingly. I saw now that he was in the pink. As a matter of fact, I had noticed something of the sort directly I met him, but had attributed it to alcoholic stimulant.