“Extremely, sir.”

I watched him narrowly as he read on, and, as I was expecting, what you might call the love-light suddenly died out of his eyes. I braced myself for an unpleasant scene.

“Come to the bit about soft silk shirts for evening wear?” I asked, carelessly.

“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves, in a low, cold voice, as if he had been bitten in the leg by a personal friend. “And if I may be pardoned for saying so⁠—”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, sir. I do not. Soft silk shirts with evening costume are not worn, sir.”