A Damsel in Distress, P. G. Wodehouse [best finance books of all time .txt] 📗

has seen me at the castle,” said his bride doubtfully, “but I shouldn’t say she knows me. She has hardly spoken a dozen words to me.”

“There,” said Reggie, earnestly, “you’re in luck, dear heart! The mater’s a great speaker, especially in moments of excitement. I’m not looking forward to the time when she starts on me. Between ourselves, laddie, and meaning no disrespect to the dear soul, when the mater is moved and begins to talk, she uses up most of the language.”

“Outspoken, is she?”

“I should hate to meet the person who could out-speak her,” said Reggie.

George sought information on a delicate point.

“And financially? Does she exercise any authority over you in that way?”

“You mean has the mater the first call on the family doubloons?” said Reggie. “Oh, absolutely not! You see, when I call her the mater, it’s using the word in a loose sense, so to speak. She’s my stepmother really. She has her own little collection of pieces of eight, and I have mine. That part’s simple enough.”

“Then the whole thing is simple. I don’t see what you’ve been worrying about.”

“Just what I keep telling him, Mr. Bevan,” said Alice.

“You’re a perfectly free agent. She has no hold on you of any kind.”

Reggie Byng blinked dizzily.

“Why, now you put it like that,” he exclaimed, “I can see that I jolly well am! It’s an amazing thing, you know, habit and all that. I’ve been so accustomed for years to jumping through hoops and shamming dead when the mater lifted a little finger, that it absolutely never occurred to me that I had a soul of my own. I give you my honest word I never saw it till this moment.”

“And now it’s too late!”

“Eh?”

George indicated Alice with a gesture. The newly-made Mrs. Byng smiled.

“Mr. Bevan means that now you’ve got to jump through hoops and sham dead when I lift a little finger!”

Reggie raised her hand to his lips, and nibbled at it gently.

“Blessums ’ittle finger! It shall lift it and have ’ums Reggie jumping through.⁠ ⁠…” He broke off and tendered George a manly apology. “Sorry, old top! Forgot myself for the moment. Shan’t occur again! Have another chicken or an eclair or some soup or something!”

Over the cigars Reggie became expansive.

“Now that you’ve lifted the frightful weight of the mater off my mind, dear old lad,” he said, puffing luxuriously, “I find myself surveying the future in a calmer spirit. It seems to me that the best thing to do, as regards the mater and everybody else, is simply to prolong the merry wedding-trip till Time the Great Healer has had a chance to cure the wound. Alice wants to put in a week or so in Paris.⁠ ⁠…”

“Paris!” murmured the bride ecstatically.

“Then I would like to trickle southwards to the Riviera⁠ ⁠…”

“If you mean Monte Carlo, dear,” said his wife with gentle firmness, “no!”

“No, no, not Monte Carlo,” said Reggie hastily, “though it’s a great place. Air⁠—scenery⁠—and whatnot! But Nice and Bordighera and Mentone and other fairly ripe resorts. You’d enjoy them. And after that⁠ ⁠… I had a scheme for buying back my yacht, the jolly old Siren, and cruising about the Mediterranean for a month or so. I sold her to a local sportsman when I was in America a couple of years ago. But I saw in the paper yesterday that the poor old buffer had died suddenly, so I suppose it would be difficult to get hold of her for the time being.” Reggie broke off with a sharp exclamation.

“My sainted aunt!”

“What’s the matter?”

Both his companions were looking past him, wide-eyed. George occupied the chair that had its back to the door, and was unable to see what it was that had caused their consternation; but he deduced that someone known to both of them must have entered the restaurant; and his first thought, perhaps naturally, was that it must be Reggie’s “mater.” Reggie dived behind a menu, which he held before him like a shield, and his bride, after one quick look, had turned away so that her face was hidden. George swung around, but the newcomer, whoever he or she was, was now seated and indistinguishable from the rest of the lunchers.

“Who is it?”

Reggie laid down the menu with the air of one who after a momentary panic rallies.

“Don’t know what I’m making such a fuss about,” he said stoutly. “I keep forgetting that none of these blighters really matter in the scheme of things. I’ve a good mind to go over and pass the time of day.”

“Don’t!” pleaded his wife. “I feel so guilty.”

“Who is it?” asked George again. “Your stepmother?”

“Great Scott, no!” said Reggie. “Nothing so bad as that. It’s old Marshmoreton.”

“Lord Marshmoreton!”

“Absolutely! And looking positively festive.”

“I feel so awful, Mr. Bevan,” said Alice. “You know, I left the castle without a word to anyone, and he doesn’t know yet that there won’t be any secretary waiting for him when he gets back.”

Reggie took another look over George’s shoulder and chuckled.

“It’s all right, darling. Don’t worry. We can nip off secretly by the other door. He’s not going to stop us. He’s got a girl with him! The old boy has come to life⁠—absolutely! He’s gassing away sixteen to the dozen to a frightfully pretty girl with gold hair. If you slew the old bean round at an angle of about forty-five, Bevan, old top, you can see her. Take a look. He won’t see you. He’s got his back to us.”

“Do you call her pretty?” asked Alice disparagingly.

“Now that I take a good look, precious,” replied Reggie with alacrity, “no! Absolutely not! Not my style at all!”

His wife crumbled bread.

“I think she must know you, Reggie dear,” she said softly. “She’s waving to you.”

“She’s waving to me,” said George, bringing back the sunshine to Reggie’s life, and causing the latter’s face to lose its hunted look. “I know her very well. Her name’s Dore. Billie Dore.”

“Old man,” said Reggie, “be a good fellow and slide over to their table and cover our retreat.