“Another!” Sir Roderick drew a deep breath. “And this is the man I was about to allow my daughter to marry!” I heard him mutter.
I tapped him in a kindly spirit on the shoulder. It took some doing, mark you, but I did it.
“If I were you,” I said, “I should call that off. Scratch the fixture. Wash it out absolutely, is my advice.”
He gave me a nasty look.
“I do not require your advice, Mr. Wooster! I had already arrived independently at the decision of which you speak. Mr. Wooster, you are a friend of this man—a fact which should in itself have been sufficient warning to me. You will—unlike myself—be seeing him again. Kindly inform him, when you do see him, that he may consider his engagement at an end.”
“Right-ho,” I said, and hurried off after the crowd. It seemed to me that a little bailing-out might be in order.
It was about an hour later that I shoved my way out to where I had parked the car. Jeeves was sitting in the front seat, brooding over the cosmos. He rose courteously as I approached.
“You are leaving, sir?”
“I am.”
“And Sir Roderick, sir?”
“Not coming. I am revealing no secrets, Jeeves, when I inform you that he and I have parted brass-rags. Not on speaking terms now.”
“Indeed, sir? And Mr. Biffen? Will you wait for him?”
“No. He’s in prison.”