“Yes, I did. I wronged you. I had a notion that you had given yourself up entirely to the pleasures of the seaside and had chucked that business altogether. I might have known better. Tell me all, Jeeves.”

He bowed in a gratified manner. I beamed. And, while we didn’t actually fall on each other’s necks, we gave each other to understand that all was well once more.

“In this super-super-film, Tiny Hands , sir,” said Jeeves, “the parents of the child had, as I say, drifted apart.”

“Drifted apart,” I said, nodding. “Right! And then?”

“Came a day, sir, when their little child brought them together again.”

“How?”

“If I remember rightly, sir, he said, ‘Dadda, doesn’t ’oo love mummie no more?’ ”