“Very good, Jeeves,” I said. “I shall go for a walk in the Park. Kindly put me out the Old Etonian spats.”
“Very good, sir.”
It must have been a couple of days after that that Marion Wardour rolled in at about the hour of tea. She looked warily round the room before sitting down.
“Your cousins not at home, Bertie?” she said.
“No, thank goodness!”
“Then I’ll tell you where they are. They’re in my sitting room, glaring at each other from opposite corners, waiting for me to come in. Bertie, this has got to stop.”
“You’re seeing a good deal of them, are you?”
Jeeves came in with the tea, but the poor girl was so worked up that she didn’t wait for him to pop off before going on with her complaint. She had an absolutely hunted air, poor thing.
“I can’t move a step without tripping over one or both of them,” she said. “Generally both. They’ve taken to calling together, and they just settle down grimly and try to sit each other out. It’s wearing me to a shadow.”
“I know,” I said sympathetically. “I know.”
“Well, what’s to be done?”
“It beats me. Couldn’t you tell your maid to say you are not at home?”
She shuddered slightly.