Much Obliged, Jeeves

in order to get such stark emotions under way, and I intended — delicately, of course, — to question him about this. I had, however, no opportunity to do so, for on entering the summerhouse the first thing I saw was him and Magnolia Glendennon locked in an embrace so close that it seemed to me that only powerful machinery could unglue them.

CHAPTER Thirteen

    In taking this view, however, I was in error, for scarcely had I uttered the first yip of astonishment when the Glendennon popsy, echoing it with a yip of her own such as might have proceeded from a nymph surprised while bathing, disentangled herself and came whizzing past me, disappearing into the great world outside at a speed which put her in the old ancestor’s class as a sprinter on the flat. It was as though she had said ‘Oh for the wings of a dove’ and had got them.
    I, meanwhile, stood rooted to the s, the mouth slightly ajar and the eyes bulging to their fullest extent. What’s that word beginning with dis? Disembodied? No, not disembodied. Distemper? No, not distemper. Disconcerted, that’s the one. I was disconcerted. I should imagine that if you happened to wander by accident into the steam room of a Turkish bath on Ladies Night, you would have emotions very similar to those I was experiencing now.
    Ginger, too, seemed not altogether at his ease. Indeed, I would describe him as definitely taken aback. He breathed heavily, as if suffering from asthma: the eye with which he regarded me contained practically none of the chumminess you would expect to see in the eye of an old friend: and his voice, when he spoke resembled that of an annoyed cinnamon bear. Throaty, if you know what I mean, and on the peevish side. His opening words consisted of a well-phrased critique of my tactlessness in selecting that particular moment for entering the summerhouse. He wished, he said, that I wouldn’t creep about like a ruddy detective. Had I, he asked, got my magnifying glass with me and did I propose to go around on all fours, picking up small objects and putting them away carefully in an envelope? What, he enquired, was I doing here, anyway?
    To this I might have replied that I was perfectly entitled at all times to enter a summerhouse which was the property of my Aunt Dahlia and so related to me by ties of blood, but something told me that suavity would be the better policy. In rebuttal, therefore, I merely said that I wasn’t creeping about like a ruddy detective, but navigating with a firm and manly stride, and had simply been looking for him because Florence had ordered me to and I had learned from a usually well-informed source that this was where he was.
    My reasoning had the soothing effect I had hoped for. His manner changed, losing its cinnamon bear quality and taking on a welcome all-pals-together-ness. It bore out what I have always said, that there’s nothing like suavity for pouring oil on the troubled w’s. When he spoke again, it was plain that he regarded me as a friend and an ally.
    ‘I suppose all this seems a bit odd to you, Bertie.’
    ‘Not at all, old man, not at all.’
    ‘But there is a simple explanation. I love Magnolia.’
    ‘I thought you loved Florence.’
    ‘So did I. But you know how apt one is to make mistakes.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘When you’re looking for the ideal girl, I mean.’
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘I dare say you’ve had the same experience yourself.’
    ‘From time to, time.’
    ‘Happens to everybody, I expect.’
    ‘I shouldn’t wonder.’
    ‘Where one goes wrong when looking for the ideal girl is in making one’s selection before walking the full length of the counter. You meet someone with a perfect profile, platinum-blonde hair and a willowy figure, and you think your search is over. “Bingo! ” you say to yourself. “This is the one. Accept no substitutes”. Little knowing that you are linking your lot with that of a female sergeant-major with strong views on the subject of discipline, and that if you’d only gone on a bit further you would have found the sweetest, kindest, gentlest girl that ever took down outgoing mail in shorthand, who would love you and cherish you and would never dream of giving you hell, no matter what the circumstances. I allude to Magnolia Glendennon.’
    ‘I thought you did.’
    ‘I can’t tell you how I feel about her, Bertie.’
    ‘Don’t try.’
    ‘Ever since we came down here I’ve had a lurking suspicion that she was the mate for me and that in