come to fix the leak in the bathroom. It hurt her—my being there.
At this juncture, with the conversation showing every sign of being about to die in awful agonies, an idea came to me. Tea—the good old standby.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” I said.
“Tea?”
She spoke as if she had never heard of the stuff.
“Nothing like a cup after a journey,” I said.
“Bucks you up! Puts a bit of zip into you. What I mean is, restores you, and so on, don’t you know. I’ll go and tell Jeeves.”
I tottered down the passage to Jeeves’s lair. The man was reading the evening paper as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Jeeves,” I said, “we want some tea.”
“Very good, sir.”