I had no difficulty in recognizing the situation as what the French call an impasse, and as I stood pondering what to do for the best, footsteps sounded without, and feeling that ’twere well it were done quickly I made for the sofa once more, lowering my previous record by perhaps a split second.
I was surprised, as I lay nestling in my little nook, by the complete absence of dialogue that ensued. Hitherto, all my visitors had started chatting from the moment of their entry, and it struck me as odd that I should now be entertaining a couple of deaf mutes. Peeping cautiously out, however, I found that I had been mistaken in supposing that I had with me a brace of guests. It was Madeline alone who had blown in. She was heading for the piano, and something told me that it was her intention to sing old folk songs, a pastime to which, as I have indicated, she devoted not a little of her leisure. She was particularly given to indulgence in this nuisance when her soul had been undergoing an upheaval and required soothing, as of course it probably did at this juncture.
My fears were realized. She sang two in rapid succession, and the thought that this sort of thing would be a permanent feature of our married life chilled me to the core. I’ve always been what you might call allergic to old folk songs, and the older they are, the more I dislike them.
Fortunately, before she could start on a third she was interrupted. Clumping footsteps sounded, the door handle turned, heavy breathing made itself heard, and a voice said ‘Madeline!’ Spode’s voice, husky with emotion.
‘Madeline,’ he said, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Oh, Roderick! How is your eye?’
‘Never mind my eye,’ said Spode. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about eyes.’
‘They say a piece of beefsteak reduces the swelling.’
‘Nor about beefsteaks. Sir Watkyn has told me the awful news about you and Wooster. Is it true you’re going to marry him?’
‘Yes, Roderick, it is true.’
‘But you can’t love a half-baked, half-witted ass like Wooster,’ said Spode, and I thought the remark extremely offensive. Pick your words more carefully, Spode, I might have said, rising and confronting him. However, for one reason and another I didn’t, but continued to nestle and I heard Madeline sigh, unless it was the draught under the sofa.
‘No, Roderick, I do not love him. He does not appeal to the essential me. But I feel it is my duty to make him happy.’
‘Tchah!’ said Spode, or something that sounded like that. ‘Why on earth do you want to go about making worms like Wooster happy?’
‘He loves me, Roderick. You must have seen that dumb, worshipping look in his eyes as he gazes at me.’
‘I’ve something better to do than peer into Wooster’s eyes. Though I can well imagine they look dumb. We’ve got to have this thing out, Madeline.’
‘I don’t understand you, Roderick.’
‘You will.’
‘Ouch!’
I think on the cue ‘You will’ he must have grabbed her by the wrist, for the word ‘Ouch!’ had come through strong and clear, and this suspicion was confirmed when she said he was hurting her.
‘I’m sorry, sorry,’ said Spode. ‘But I refuse to allow you to ruin your life. You can’t marry this man Wooster. I’m the one you’re going to marry.’
I was with him heart and soul, as the expression is. Nothing would ever make me really fond of Roderick Spode, but I liked the way he was talking. A little more of this, I felt, and Bertram would be released from his honourable obligations. I wished he had thought of taking this firm line earlier.
‘I’ve loved you since you were so high.’
Not being able to see him, I couldn’t ascertain how high that was, but I presumed he must have been holding his hand not far from the floor. A couple of feet, would you say? About that, I suppose.
Madeline was plainly moved. I heard her gurgle.
‘I know, Roderick, I know.’
‘You guessed my secret?’
‘Yes, Roderick. How sad life is!’