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?”