prestige is doomed, my self-respect will be obliterated, my name will be mud, and I shall not dare to show my face in the West-end of London again.”
“My aunt!” I cried, deeply impressed.
“Exactly,” said young Bingo, with a hollow laugh. “You have put it in a nutshell. The whole trouble is due to your blasted aunt.”
“Which blasted aunt? Specify, old thing. I have so many.”
“ Mrs. Travers. The one who runs that infernal paper.”
“Oh, no, dash it, old man,” I protested. “She’s the only decent aunt I’ve got. Jeeves, you will bear me out in this?”
“Such has always been my impression, I must confess, sir.”
“Well, get rid of it,