returned about ten minutes before Jeeves made his call, and Anatole, I take it, was in such a state of elation and devotion and whatnot on seeing her again that the contents of the Mint wouldn’t have bribed him to part from her.”
“But look here, Bingo,” I said, “this is all rot. I see the solution right off. I’m surprised that a bloke of Jeeves’s mentality overlooked it. Aunt Dahlia must engage the parlourmaid as well as Anatole. Then they won’t be parted.”
“I thought of that, too. Naturally.”
“I bet you didn’t.”
“I certainly did.”
“Well, what’s wrong with the scheme?”
“It can’t be worked. If your aunt engaged our parlourmaid she would have to sack her own, wouldn’t she?”
“Well?”
“Well, if she sacks her parlourmaid, it will mean that the chauffeur will quit. He’s in love with her.”
“With my aunt?”
“No, with the parlourmaid. And apparently he’s the only chauffeur your uncle has ever found who drives carefully enough for him.”
I gave it up. I had never imagined before that life below stairs was so frightfully mixed up with what these coves call the sex complex. The personnel of domestic staffs seemed to pair off like characters in a musical comedy.