The French lady uttered some exclamation in her native tongue.
“Is anything wrong, madam?” I inquired.
Miss Tomlinson in normal mood was, I should be disposed to imagine, a lady who would not readily confide her troubles to the ear of a gentleman’s gentleman, however sympathetic his aspect. That she did so now was sufficient indication of the depth to which she was stirred.
“Yes, there is! Mademoiselle has just found several of the girls smoking cigarettes in the shrubbery. When questioned, they stated that Mr. Wooster had given them the horrid things.” She turned. “He must be in the garden somewhere, or in the house. I think the man is out of his senses. Come, mademoiselle!”
It must have been about a minute later that Mr. Wooster poked his head out of the rug like a tortoise.
“Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“Get a move on! Start her up! Get going and keep going!”
I trod on the self-starter.
“It would perhaps be safest to drive carefully until we are out of the school grounds, sir,” I said. “I might run over one of the young ladies, sir.”
“Well, what’s the objection to that?” demanded Mr. Wooster, with extraordinary bitterness.
“Or even Miss Tomlinson, sir.”
“Don’t!” said Mr. Wooster, wistfully. “You make my mouth water!”