engaged to her for about three weeks, much against my wishes, when the old boy most fortunately got the idea that I was off my rocker and put the bee on the proceedings. Since then the mere thought of her had been enough to make me start out of my sleep with a loud cry. And this girl was exactly like her.
“Er—how are you?” I said.
“How do you do?”
Her voice put the lid on it. It might have been Honoria herself talking. Honoria Glossop has a voice like a lion tamer making some authoritative announcement to one of the troupe, and so had this girl. I backed away convulsively and sprang upwards as my foot stubbed itself against something squashy. A sharp yowl rent the air, followed by an indignant cry, and I turned to Aunt Jane, on all fours, trying to put things right with the cat, which had gone to earth under the sofa. She gave me a look, and I could see that her worst fears had been realized.
At this juncture dinner was announced—not before I was ready for it.
“Jeeves,” I said, when I got him alone that night, “I am no faint-heart, but I am inclined to think that this binge is going to prove a shade above the odds.”
“You are not enjoying your visit, sir?”
“I am not, Jeeves. Have you seen Miss Pringle?”
“Yes, sir. From a distance.”
“The best way to see her. Did you observe her keenly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did she remind you of anybody?”