“He can’t be a good influence for you,” she said. “I do wish you would drop him. Will you?”

“Well⁠—” I began. And at this point old Cuthbert the cat, having presumably found it a bit slow by himself in the bushes, wandered in with a matey expression on his face and jumped on my lap.

I welcomed him with a good deal of cordiality. Though but a cat, he did make a sort of third at this party; and he afforded a good excuse for changing the conversation.

“Jolly birds, cats,” I said.

She wasn’t having any.

“Will you drop Bertie Wooster?” she said, absolutely ignoring the cat motif.

“It would be so difficult.”