 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Damsel in Distress by P. G. Woodhouse. Read by Yaz Bistatio in Waxaw, North Carolina. CHAPTER XXI. Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Bing, seated at a table in the corner of the regent grill-room, gazed fondly into each other's eyes. George, seated at the same table, but feeling many miles away, watched them moodily, fighting to hold off a depression which, cured for a while by the exhilaration of the ride in Reggie's racing-car, it had beaten its previous record for the trip to London by nearly twenty minutes, now threatened to return. The gay scene, the ecstasy of Reggie, the more restrained but equally manifest happiness of his bride, these things induced Mellon Collie and George. He had not wished to attend the wedding lunch, but the happy pair seemed to be revolted at the idea that he should stroll off and get a bite to eat somewhere else. "'Stick by us, laddie,' Reggie had said pleadingly, for there is much to discuss, and we need the counsel of a man of the world. We are married all right." "'Though it didn't seem legal in that little registrar's office,' put in Alice. "'But that, as the blighters say in books, is but a beginning, not an end. We have now to think about the most tactful way of letting the news seep through, as it were, to the maitre.' "'And Lord Marshmorton,' said Alice, "'don't forget he has lost his secretary.' "'And Lord Marshmorton,' amended Reggie, and about a million other people who will be most frightfully peeved at my doing the wedding-glide without consulting them, "'Stick by us, old top, join our simple meal, and over the old cronos we'll discuss many things.' The arrival of a waiter with the dishes broke up the silent communion between husband and wife, and lowered Reggie to a more earthly plane. He refilled the glasses from the stout bottle that nestled in an ice-bucket. "'Only this one, dear,' murmured the bride in a warning undertone, "'and—all right, darling,' replied the dutiful groom, and raised his own to his lips. "'Cherio, here's to us all, maddest, merriest day of all the glad new year and so forth.' And now, he continued, becoming sternly practical, about the good old sequel and aftermath, so to speak, of this little binge of ours. What's to be done? You are a brainy sort of fellow bevan old man, and we look to you for suggestions. How would you set about breaking the news to mother?' "'Write her a letter,' said George. Reggie was profoundly impressed. "'Didn't I tell you he would have some devilish shrewd scheme?' he said enthusiastically to Alice. "'Write her a letter! What could be better? Poetry by Gad!' His face clouded. But what would you say in it? That's a pretty knotty point. Not at all. Be perfectly frank and straightforward. Say you are sorry to go against her wishes.' "'Wishes,' murmured Reggie, scribbling industrially on the back of the marriage-license. "'But you know that all she wants is your happiness. Reggie looked doubtful. I'm not sure about that last bit, old thing. You don't know the maiter.' "'Never mind, Reggie,' put in Alice. Say it anyhow. Mr. Bevan is perfectly right.' "'Write, oh, darling. All right, laddie. Happiness. And then?' "'Point out in a few well-chosen sentences how charming Mrs. Bing is.' "'Mrs. Bing!' Reggie smiled fatrously. I don't think I ever heard anything that sounded so indescribably ripping. That part will be easy enough. Besides, the maiter knows Alice.' "'Lady Caroline 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 maiter'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 old soul. When the maiter 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, as the maiter, the first call on the family doubloons?' said Reggie. Oh, absolutely not. You see, when I call her the maiter, it's usually 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's part simple enough.' "'Then the whole thing is simple. I don't see what you've been worrying about.' "'Just would I keep telling him, Mr. Baven,' said Alice. "'You're a perfectly free agent. She has no hold of you of any kind.' Reggie being 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 maiter 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. Now it's too late. Eh?' George indicated Alice with a gesture. The newly made Mrs. Bing smiled. "'Mr. Bevan means that now you've got to jump hoops and sham dead when I lift a little finger.' Reggie raised her hand to his lips and nibbled at it gently. "'Bless him's little finger at shot lift and have'em's Reggie jumping through?' He broke off, and tendered George a manly apology. Sorry, old top. Forgot myself for the moment. Shall it occur again? Have another chicken or any clare or some soup or something?' Over the cigars Reggie became expansive. "'Now that you've lifted the frightful weight of maiter 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 maiter 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 a gentle firmness. "'No.' "'Oh, no, not Monte Carlo,' said Reggie hastily. "'Though it's a great place—er, scenery and what-not. But Nice and Bordeguerra and Mentone and other fairly ripe resort. 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 maitre. 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 round, 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 have a good mind to go over and pass the time of day.' "'Oh, 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 Marshmorton.' "'Lord Marshmorton?' "'Absolutely, and looking positively festive.' "'I feel so awful, Mr. Bevan,' said Alice. "'You know I left the castle without a word to any one, 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'd take a good look, precious,' replied Reggie, with an 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 is Dor, Billy Dor.' "'Old man,' said Reggie, "'be a good fellow and slide over to their table and cover our retreat. I know there's nothing to be afraid of really, but I simply can't face the old boy.' "'And break the news to him that I've gone, Mr. Pevin,' said Alice. "'Very well. I'll say good-bye, then.' "'Good-bye, Mr. Pevin, and thank you ever so much.' Reggie shook George's hand warmly. "'Good-bye, Pevin old thing, you're a ripper. I can't tell you how bucked up I am at the sportsman-like way you've rallied round. I'll do the same for you one of these days. Just hold the old boy in play for a minute or two while we leg it. And if he wants us, tell him our address till further notice is Paris. "'What-ho! What-ho! What-ho! Toodaloo, laddie-toodaloo!' George threaded his way across the room. Billy Dor welcomed him with a friendly smile. The Earl, who had turned to observe his progress, seemed less delighted to see him. His weather-beaten face wore an almost furtive look. He reminded George of a schoolboy who has been caught in some breach of the law. "'Fancy seeing you here, George,' said Billy. We're always meeting, aren't we? How did you come to separate yourself from the pigs and chickens? I thought you were never going to leave them.' "'I had to run up on business,' explained George. How are you, Lord Marshmorton?' The Earl nodded briefly. "'So you're on to him, too,' said Billy. When did you get wise?' Lord Marshmorton was kind enough to call on me the other morning and drop the incognito. "'Isn't Dada the foxiest old thing?' said Billy delightedly. Imagine him standing there that day in the garden, kidding us along like that. I tell you, when they brought me his card last night after the first act, and I went down to take a slant at this Lord Marshmorton and found Dada hanging round the stage door, you could have knocked me over with a whisk-broom.' "'I have not stood at the stage door for twenty-five years,' said Lord Marshmorton sadly. "'Now it's no use your pulling that Henry W. Mthuzela stuff,' said Billy affectionately. "'You can't get away with it. Anyone can see you're just a kid. Can't they, George?' she indicated the blushing Earl with a wave of the hand. "'Isn't Dada the youngest thing that ever happened?' "'Exactly what I told him myself.' Lord Marshmorton giggled. There is no other verb that describes the sound that proceeded from him. "'I feel young,' he admitted. "'I wish some of the juveniles in the shows I've been in,' said Billy, "'were as young as you. It's getting so nowadays that one's thankful if a juvenile has teeth.' She glanced across the room. "'Your pals are walking out on you, George. The people you were lunching with,' she explained. "'They're leaving.' "'That's all right. I said goodbye to them.' He looked at the Lord Marshmorton. It seemed a suitable opportunity to break the news. "'I was lunching with Mr. and Mrs. Bing,' he said. Nothing appeared to stir beneath Lord Marshmorton's tan forehead. Reggie Bing and his wife, Lord Marshmorton, added George. This time he secured the Earl's interest. Lord Marshmorton started. "'What?' "'They are just off to Paris,' said George. "'Reggie, Bing is not married?' "'Married this morning. I was best man. Busy little creature,' interjected Billy. "'But—but—' "'You know his wife,' said George casually. She was a Miss Faraday. I think she was your secretary.' It would have been impossible to deny that Lord Marshmorton showed emotion. His mouth opened, and he clutched the tablecloth. But just what the emotion was, George was unable to say till, with a sigh that seemed to come from his innermost being, the other exclaimed, "'Thank heaven!' George was surprised. "'You're glad?' "'Of course I'm glad.' "'It's a pity they didn't know how you were going to feel. It would have saved them a lot of anxiety. I rather gathered they supposed that the shock was out to darken your whole life.' "'That girl,' said Lord Marshmorton vehemently, "'was driving me crazy, always bothering me to come up and work on that damned family history. Never gave me a moment's peace.' "'I liked her,' said George. "'Nice enough, girl,' admitted his lordship grudgingly. But a damned nuisance about the house always at me to go on with a family history as if there weren't better things to do with one's time than writing all day about my infernal fools of ancestors. "'Isn't Dada fractious today?' said Billy reprovingly, giving the Earl's hand a pat. "'Quit knocking your ancestors. You're very lucky to have ancestors. I wish I had.' The door family seems to go back about as far as the presidency of Willard-Foilmore, and then it kind of gets discouraged and quite cold. Gee, I'd like to think that my great-great-great-grandmother had helped Queen Elizabeth with the rent. I'm strong for the final stately families of England.' "'Stately old fiddle-sticks,' snapped the Earl. "'Did you see his eyes flash then, George? That's what they call aristocratic rage. It's the fine old spirit of the Marshmortons boiling over.' "'I noticed it,' said George, just like lightning.' "'It's no use trying to fool us, Dada,' said Billy. "'You know just as well as I do that it makes you feel good to think that, every time you cut yourself with your safety razor, you bleed blue.' "'A lot of silly nonsense,' grumbled the Earl. "'What is?' "'This foolery of titles and aristocracy, silly fetish worship, one man's as good as another.' "'This is the spirit of seventy-six,' said George approvingly.' "'Regular IWW stuff,' agreed Billy. Shake hands the president of the Bolshevik.' Lord Marshmorton ignored the interruption. There was a strange look in his eyes. It was evident to George, watching him with close interest, that here was a revelation of the man's soul, that thoughts locked away for years in the other's bosom were crying for utterance. "'Damn silly nonsense. When I was a boy, I wanted to be an engine driver. When I was a young man, I was a socialist, and hadn't any idea except to work for my living, and make a name for myself. I was going to the colonies, Canada. The fruit farm was actually bought—bought and paid for!' He brooded a moment on that long-lost fruit farm. My father was a younger son, and then my uncle must go and break his neck hunting, and the baby, poor little chap, got croup or something. And there I was, settled with the title, and all my plans gone up in smoke. Silly nonsense, silly nonsense. He bit at the end of a cigar, and you can't stand up against it, he went on ruefully. It saps you. It's like some damned drug. I fought against it as long as I could, but it was no use. I'm as big a snob as any of them now. I'm afraid to do what I want to do. Always thinking of the family dignity. I haven't taken a free step for twenty-five years.' George and Billy exchanged glances. Each had the uncomfortable feeling that they were eavesdropping and hearing things not meant to be heard. George rose. I must be getting on now, he said. I've one or two things to do. Glad to have seen you again, Billy. Is the show going all right? Fine, making money for you right along. Good-bye, Lord Marshmorton. The Earl nodded without speaking. It was not often now that he rebelled even in thoughts against the lot which fate had thrust upon him, and never in his life before had he done so in words. He was still in the grip of the strange discontent which had come upon him so abruptly. There was a silence after George had gone. I'm glad we met George, said Billy. He's a good boy. She spoke so brilliantly. She was conscious of a curious feeling of affection for the sturdy weather-tanned little man opposite her. The glimpse she had been given of his inner self had somehow made him come alive for her. He wants to marry my daughter, said Lord Marshmorton. A few moments before Billy would undoubtedly have replied to such a statement with some jocular remark expressing disbelief that the Earl could have a daughter old enough to be married, but now she felt oddly serious and unlike her usual flippant self. Oh! was all she could find to say. She wants to marry him. Not for years had Billy Dorr felt embarrassed, but she felt so now. She judged herself unworthy to be the recipient of these very private confidences. Oh! she said again. He's a good fellow. I like him. I liked him the moment we met. He knew it too, and I knew that he liked me. A group of men and girls from a neighbouring table passed on their way to the door. One of the girls nodded to Billy. She returned the nod absently. The party moved on. Billy frowned down at the tablecloth and drew a pattern on it with a fork. Why don't you let George marry your daughter, Lord Marshmorton? The Earl drew at his cigar in silence. I know it's not my business, said Billy apologetically, interrupting the silence as a rebuff. Because I'm the Earl of Marshmorton. I see. No, you don't, snapped the Earl. You think I mean by that that I think your friend isn't good enough to marry my daughter. You think that I'm an incurable snob. And I've no doubt he thinks so too, though I took the trouble to explain my attitude to him when we last met. You're wrong. It isn't that at all. When I say I'm the Earl of Marshmorton, I mean that I'm a poor, spineless fool who's afraid to do the right thing because he daren't go in the teeth of the family. I don't understand. What have your family to do with it? They'd worry the life out of me. I wish you could meet my sister Caroline. That's what they've got to do with it. Girls in my daughter's unfortunate position have got to marry position or money. Well, I don't know about position, but when it comes to money, why, George is the fellow that made the dollar bill famous. He and Rockefeller have got all there is, except the little bit they have let Andy Carnegie have for car fare. What do you mean? He told me he worked for a living. Billy was becoming herself again. Embarrassment had fled. If you call it work, he's a composer. I know, writes tunes and things. Billy regarded him compassionately. And I suppose living out in the woods the way that you do, that you haven't a notion that they pay him for it? Pay him? Yes. But how much? Composers were not rich men in my day. I wish you wouldn't talk of your day as if you were telling the boys down at the corner store about the good times they all had before the flood. You're one of the younger set, and don't let me have to tell you again. Say, listen, you know that show you saw last night, the one where I was supported by a few underlings? Well, George wrote the music for that. I know, he told me so. Well, did he tell you that he draws three percent of the gross receipts? You saw the house we had last night. It was a fair average house. We were playing to over $14,000 a week. George's little bit of that is, I can't do it in my head, but it's around $400. That's 80 pounds of your money. And did he tell you that this same show ran over a year in New York? To big business all the time, and that there are three companies on the road now? And did he mention that this is just the ninth show he's done, and that seven of the others were just as big hits as this one? And did he remark in passing that he gets royalties on every copy of his music that's sold, and that at least ten of his things have sold over half a million? No, he didn't, because he isn't the sort of fellow who stands around blowing about his income. But you know it now. Why, he's a rich man. I don't know what you call rich, but keeping on the safe side, I should say that George pulls down in a good year during the season around $5,000 a week. Lord Marshmorton was frankly staggered. A thousand pounds a week. I had no idea. I thought you hadn't. And while I'm boosting George, let me tell you another thing. He's one of the whitest men that ever happened. I know him. You can take it from me. If there's anything rotten in a fellow, the show business will bring it out. And it hasn't come out in George yet. So I guess it isn't there. George is all right. He has at least an excellent advocate. Oh, I'm strong for George. I wish they were more like him. Well, if you think I've butted in on your private affairs sufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We've a rehearsal this afternoon. Let it go, said Lord Marshmorton boyishly. Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did? I'm an honest working girl, and I can't afford to lose jobs. Lord Marshmorton fiddled with his cigar butt. I could offer you an alternative position if you cared to accept it. Billy looked at him keenly. Other men, in similar circumstances, had made much the same remark to her. She was conscious of feeling a little disappointed in her new friend. Well, she said dryly, shoot. You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan's conversation, that my secretary has left me, and run away, and got married. Would you like to take her place? It was not easy to disconcert Billy Dore, but she was taken aback. She had been expecting something different. You're a shriek, Dada. I'm perfectly serious. Can you see me at a castle? I can see you perfectly. Lord Marshmorton's rather formal manner left him. Do please accept, my dear child. I've got to finish this damned family history sometime or other. The family expect me to. Only yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner, and bored me for half an hour about it. I simply can't face the prospect of getting another Alice Faraday from an agency. Charming girl. Charming girl, of course. But—but—well, I'll be damned if I do it, and that's the long and short of it. Billy bubbled over with laughter. Of all the impulsive kids, she gurgled, I never met anyone like you, Dada. You don't even know that I can use a typewriter. I do. Mr. Bevan told me you were an excellent stenographer. So George has been boosting me too, has he? She mused, I must say. I'd love to come. That old place got me when I saw it the other day. Then it settled. Said Lord Marshmorton masterfully. Go to the theatre, and tell them—tell them whatever is usual in these cases. And then go home and pack, and meet me at the Waterloo at six o'clock. The train leaves at six-fifteen. Return of the Wanderer, accompanied by Dizzy Blonde. You've certainly got it all fixed, haven't you? Do you think the family will stand for me? Damn the family, said Lord Marshmorton stoutly. There's one thing, said Billy complacently, eyeing her reflection in the mirror of her vanity case. I may glitter in the fighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid I was a regular little toe-head. I never supposed for a moment that it was anything but genuine. Then you've got a fine, unsuspicious nature, Dada, and I admire you for it. Six o'clock at the Waterloo, said the Earl. I'll be waiting for you. Billy regarded him with affectionate admiration. Boys will be boys, she said. All right, I'll be there. CHAPTER XXII Young blighted Albert, said Keggs the butler, shifting his weight so that it distributed itself more comfortably over the creaking chair in which he reclined. Let this be a lesson to you, young fellow milad. The day was a week after Lord Marshmorton's visit to London, the hour six o'clock. The housekeeper's room, in which the upper servants took their meals, had emptied. Of the gay company which had just finished dinner, only Keggs remained, placidly digesting. Albert, whose duty it was to wait on the upper servants, was moving to and fro, morosely collecting the plates and glasses. The boy was in no happy frame of mind. Throughout dinner the conversation at table had dealt almost exclusively with the now celebrated alopement of Reggie Bing and his bride, and few subjects could have made more painful listening to Albert. What's been the result in what I might call the upshot, said Keggs, continuing his homily, of all your making yourself so busy and thrusting yourself forward and meddling in the affairs of your elders and bests? The upshot, the issue of it, has been, that you are out five shillings and nothing to show for it. Five shillings, what you might have spent on some good book and improved your mind, and goodness knows it was all the improving it can get for all the worthless idle little messes it's ever been my misfortune to have dealings with. You are the champion. Be careful of them, plaits, young man, and don't breathe so hard. You haven't got half-smile or something, have you? I can't breathe now, complained the stricken child. Not like a grandpa's, you can't, and don't you forget. Keggs wagged his head reprovingly. Well, so your Reggie Bing's gone in a lope, does he? That ought to teach you to be more careful another time, how you go gambling and plunging into sweepstikes, the idea of a child of your age having the audacity to thrust his self forward like that. Don't call him my Reggie Bing, I didn't draw him. There's no need to go into all that again, young fella. You accepted him freely and without prejudice when the fair exchange was suggested, so for all practical intents and purposes, he is your Reggie Bing, and I hope you're going to send him a wedding present. Well, you ain't any better off than me with all your eye-way robbery. My what? You have what I said. Well, don't let me hear it again, the idea. If you had any objections to partnering with that ticket, you should have stated them clearly at the time. And what do you mean by saying I ain't any better off than you are? I have my reasons. You think you have, which is a very different thing. I suppose you imagine that you've put a stopper on a certain little affair by surreptitiously destroying letters entrusted to you. I never!" exclaimed Albert, with a convulsive start, that nearly sent eleven plates dashing to destruction. How many times have I got to tell you to be careful of them plates? said Keggs, certainly. Oh, do you think you are a juggler of the alls, earling them about like that? Yes, I know all about that, Ler. You thought you was a very clever, I've no doubt. But let me tell you, young blighted Albert, that only the other evening a ladyship and Mr. Bevan had a long and extended interview in spite of all your heffits. I saw through your little game, and I proceeded, and went, and arranged the meeting. In spite of himself, Albert was odd. He was oppressed by the sense of struggling with the superior intellect. Yes, you did! He managed to say with the proper tone of incredulity, but in his heart he was not incredulous. Dimly Albert had begun to perceive that years must elapse before he could become capable of matching himself in battles of wits with this master strategist. Yes, I certainly did, said Keggs. I don't know what happened at the interview, not being present in person, but I'm no doubt that everything proceeded satisfactorily. And a fat logger that's going to do you when he ain't allowed to come inside the house! A bland smile irradiated the butler's moon-like face. If by you are eluded into Mr. Bevan, young blighted Albert, let me tell you that it won't be long for he comes a regular, duly invited guest to the castle. A lot of chance! Would you care to owe another five shillings even money on it? Albert recoiled. He had had enough of speculation where the butler was concerned, where that schemer was allowed to get within reach of it hard cash melted away. What are you going to do? Never you mind what I'm going to do. I have my methods. All I have to say to you is that to-morrow, or the day after, Mr. Bevan will be seated on our dining-all with his feet under our table, replying according to his personal taste and preference, when I ask him if he'll have ock or sherry. Brush all them crumbs carefully off the tablecloth, young blighted Albert. Don't shuffle your feet. Brief saw three through your nose, and closed the door behind you when you've finished. I'll go and eat cake, said Albert bitterly, but he said it to his immortal soul, not allowed, and the lad's spirit was broken. Keggs, the processes of digestion completed, presented himself before Lord Belfour in the billiard room. Percy was alone. The house party, so numerous on the night of the ball and on his birthday, had melted down now to reasonable proportions. The second and third cousins had retired, flushed and gratified, to obscure dens from which they had emerged, and the castle housed only the more prominent members of the family, always harder to dislodge than the small fry. The bishop still remained, and the colonel. Besides these there were perhaps half a dozen more of the closer relations to Lord Belfour's way of thinking, half a dozen too many. He was not fond of his family. Might I have a word with your lordship? What is it, Keggs? Keggs was a self-possessed man, but he found it a little hard to begin. Then he remembered that once in the misty past he had seen Lord Belfour spanked for stealing jam. He himself, having acted on that occasion as prosecuting attorney, and the memory nerve'd him. I earnestly hope that your lordship will not think that I am taking illibity. I have been in his lordships for your father's service many years now, and the family honour is, if I may be pardoned for saying so, extremely near to my heart. I have known your lordships since you were a mere boy, and Lord Belfour had listened with great patience to this preamble. His temper was seldom at its best these days, and the rolling periods annoyed him. Yes, yes, of course. He said, what is it? Keggs was himself now. In his opening remarks he had simply been, as it were, winding up. He was now prepared to begin. Your lordship will recall inquiring of me on the night of the ball as to the bona fides of one of the temporary waiters. The one that stated that he was the cousin of young bligh— of the boy, Albert, the page. I have been making inquiries, your lordship, and I regret to say I find that the man was an impostor. He informed me that he was Albert's cousin, but Albert now informs me that he has no cousin in America. I am extremely sorry this should have occurred, your lordship, and I hope you will attribute it to the bustle and ace inseparable from the duties as mine on such occasion. I know the fellow was an impostor. He was probably after the spoons. Keggs coughed. While I might be allowed to take further liberty, your lordship, might I suggest that I am aware of the man's identity and of his motive for visiting the castle? He waited a little apprehensively. This was the crucial point in the interview. If Lord Belfour did not now freeze him with a glance and order him from the room, the danger would be passed, and he could speak freely. His light-blue eyes were expressionless as they met Percy's, but inwardly he was feeling much the same sensation as he was wont to experience when the family was in town, and he had managed to slip off to Kempton Park or some other race course, and put some of his savings on a horse. As he felt when the racing steeds thundered down the street, so did he feel now. A astonishment showed in Lord Belfour's round face. Just as it was about to be succeeded by indignation, the butler spoke again, I am aware, your lordship, that it is not my place to offer suggestions as to the private and intimate affairs of the family I have the honour to serve, but if your lordship would consent to overlook the liberty, I think I could be of help in assistance in a matter which is causing annoyance and unpleasantness to all. He invigorated himself with another dip into the waters of memory. Yes, the young man before him might be Lord Belfour, son of his employer, and heir to all these great estates, but once he had seen him spanked. Perhaps Percy also remembered this. Perhaps he merely felt that Keggs was a faithful old servant, and as such, entitled to thrust himself into the family affairs, whatever his reasons he now definitely lowered the barrier. Well, he said, with a glance at the door, to make sure that there were no witnesses to an act of which the aristocrat in him disapproved. Go on. Keggs breathed freely. The danger-point was passed. Having an actual interest in your lordship, he said, we of the servants all generally managed to become respectfully aware of whatever happens to be transpired and above stairs. May I say that I became acquainted at an early stage with the trouble which your lordship is unfortunately having with a certain party? Lord Belfour, although his whole being revolted against what practically amounted to hobnobbing with a butler, perceived that he had committed himself to the discussion. It revolted him to think that these delicate family secrets were the subject of conversation in menial circles, but it was too late to do anything now. And such was the whole heartedness with which he had declared war upon George Bevan, that at this stage in the proceedings his chief emotion was a hope that Keggs might have something sensible to suggest. I think, Bevan, your lordship's pardon for making the remark, that you are acting injudicious. I have been in service a great number of years, starting as a steward's room boy and rising to my present position, and I may say I have had experience during those years of several different cases where the daughter or son of the house contemplated a misalliance, and all but one of the cases ended disastrously at your lordship on account of the family trying opposition. It is my experience that opposition in matters of the art is useless, feeding, as it, so to speak, does, the flame. Young people, your lordship, if I may be pardoned for employing the expression in the present case, are naturally romantic, and if you keep them away from a thing, they sit, timpity themselves, and want it all the more, and in the end you may be sure they get it. There is no way of stopping them. I was not on sufficiently easy terms for the late Lord Wallingham to give him the benefit of my experience on the occasion when the honourable Aubrey Pershore fell in love with the young person at the Gayety Theatre. Otherwise, I could have told him he was not acting judicious. His lordship opposed the match in every way, and the young couple ran off and got married at the registrar's. It was the same when a young man, who was too to a ladyship's brother, attracted Lady Evelyn Walls, the own daughter of the Earl of Ackleton. In fact, your lordship, the only entanglement of the kind that came to a satisfactory conclusion in the whole of my personal experience, was the affair of Lady Catherine Dusby, Lord Bridgefield's daughter, who interdiciously became infatuated with the roller-skating instructor. Lord Belfour had ceased to feel distantly superior to his companion. The butler's powerful personality hypnotised him. Long ere the harangue was ended, he was as a little child drinking in the utterances of a master. He bent forward eagerly. Kegs had broken off his remarks at the most interesting point. What happened? inquired Percy. The young man, proceeded Kegs, was a young man of considerable personal attractions, having large brown eyes and an athletic lice, some figure, brought about by roller-skating. It was no wonder, in the opinion of the servants all, that her ladyship should have found herself fascinated by him. Particularly, as I myself had heard her observe at a full luncheon table, that roller-skating was in her opinion the only thing except her toy Pomeranian that made life worth living. But when she announced that she had become engaged to this young man, there was the greatest consternation. I was not, of course, privileged to be a participant at any of the councils and discussions that ensued and took place, but I was aware that such transpired with great frequency. Eventually, his lordship took the shrewd step of assuming acquiescence, and inviting the young man to visit us in Scotland, and within ten days of his arrival, your lordship, the match, was broken off. He went back to his roller-skating, and a ladyship took off visiting the poor and eventually contracted an altogether suitable alliance by marrying Lord Ronald Spoforth, the second son of his grace, the Duke of Gorbals, at Strothbongo. How did it happen? Seeing the young man in the surroundings of our own home, her ladyship soon began to see that she had taken too romantic a view of him previous, your lordship. He was one of the lower middle-class, what he sometimes termed the bourgeoisie, and his abbots were not the abbots of the class to which her ladyship belonged. He had nothing in common with the rest of the house-party, and was injudicious in his choice of forks. The very first night at dinner he took a steel knife to the entree, and I see a ladyship look at him very sharp, as much to say that scales had fallen from her eyes. It didn't take her long after that, to become convinced that her art had led her astray. Then you think it is not for me to presume to offer anything but the most respectful advice to your lordship, but I should most certainly advocate a similar procedure in the present instance. Lord Belfour reflected. Recent events had brought home to him the magnitude of the task he had assumed when he had appointed himself the watcher of his sister's movements. The affair of the curate and the village blacksmith had shaken him both physically and spiritually. His feet were still sore, and his confidence in himself had waned considerably. The thought of having to continue his espionage indefinitely was not a pleasant one. How much simpler and more effective it would be to adopt a suggestion which had been offered to him. I'm not sure you aren't right, Kegs. Thank you, your lordship. I feel convinced of it. I will speak to my father tonight. Very good, your lordship. I'm glad you have been of service. Young, blighted Albert, said Kegs crisply shortly after breakfast on the following morning, you ought to take this note to Mr. Bevan at the cottage down by Platt's farm, and you ought to deliver it without playing any of your monkey tricks, and you ought to wait for an answer, and you ought to bring that answer back to me, too, and to Lord Marshmorton, and I may tell you to save you the trouble of opening it with steam from the kitchen-cowl that I've already done so. It's an invitation to dine with us tonight. So, now you know. Look slippy. Albert capitulated. For the first time in his life he felt humble. He perceived how misguided he had been ever to suppose that he could pit his pygmy wits against this smooth-faced worker of wonders. Crikey! he ejaculated. It was all he could say. And there's one more thing, young fellow me lad. I did Kegs earnestly. Don't you ever grow up to be such a fat-ed as our friend Percy. Don't you forget I warned you. End of Chapter 22 A damsel in distress, by P. G. Woodhouse. Read by Yaz Pistachio in Waxaw, North Carolina. Chapter 23 Life is like some crazy machine that is always going either too slow or too fast. From the cradle to the grave we alternate between the Sargasso Sea and the Rapids, for ever either be calmed or storm tossed. It seemed to mod as she looked across the dinner table in order to make sure for the twentieth time that it really was George Bevan, who sat opposite to her, that, after months in which nothing ever had happened, she was now living through a period when everything was happening at once. Life, from being a broken-down machine, had suddenly begun to race. To the orderly routine that had stretched back to the time when she had been hurried home in disgrace, from Wales, there had succeeded a mad whirl of events to which the miracle of tonight had come as a fitting climax. She had not begun to dress for dinner until somewhat late, and had consequently entered the drawing-room just as Keggs was announcing that the meal was ready. She had received her first shock when the love-sick plumber, emerging from a mixed crowd of relatives and friends, had informed her that he was to take her in. She had not expected plumber to be there, though he lived in the neighbourhood. Plumber, at their last meeting, had stated his intention of going abroad for a bit, to mend his bruised heart, and it was a little disconcerting to a sensitive girl to find her victim popping up again like this. She did not know that, as far as plumber was concerned, the whole affair was to be considered opened again. To plumber, analysing the girl's motives in refusing him, there had come the idea that there was another, and that this other might be Reggie Bing. From the first he had always looked upon Reggie as his worst rival, and now Reggie had bolted with the Faraday girl, leaving Maude in excellent condition, so it seemed to plumber, to console herself with a worthier man. Plumber knew all about the rebound and the part it plays in the affairs of the heart. His own breach of promise case, two years earlier, had been entirely due to the fact that the refusal of the youngest Devonish girl to marry him had caused him to rebound into the dangerous society of the second girl from the OP, end of the first row in Summertime is Kissing-time number, in the Alhambra Review. He had come to the castle tonight gloomy, but not without hope. Maude's second shock eclipsed the first entirely. No notification had been given to her, either by her father or by Percy, of the proposed extension of the hand of hospitality to George, and the sight of him standing there talking to her aunt Caroline made her momentarily dizzy. Life, which for several days had had all the properties now of a dream, now of a nightmare, became more unreal than ever. She could conceive of no explanation of George's presence. He could not be there. That was all there was to it. Yet there undoubtedly he was. Her manner, as she accompanied Plummer down the stairs, took on such a dazed sweetness that her escort felt that in coming there that night he had done the wisest act of a lifetime, studded but sparsely with wise acts. It seemed to Plummer that this girl had softened towards him. Certainly something had changed her. He could not know that she was merely wondering if she was awake. George, meanwhile, across the table, was also having a little difficulty in adjusting his faculties to the progress of events. He had given up trying to imagine why he had been invited to this dinner, and was now endeavouring to find some theory which would square with the fact of Billy Dorr being at the castle. At precisely this hour, Billy, by rights, should have been putting the finishing touches on her makeup in a second floor dressing-room at the regal. Yet there she sat, very much at her ease, in this aristocratic company, so quietly and unobtrusively dressed in some black stuff that at first he had scarcely recognized her. She was talking to the bishop. The voice of kegs at his elbow broke in on his reverie. Sherry or ox, sir? George could not have explained why this reminder of the butler's presence should have made him feel better. But it did. There was something solid and tranquilizing about kegs. He had noticed it before. For the first time the sensation of having been spittin' over the head with some blunt instrument began to abate. It was as if kegs, by the mere intonation of his voice, had said, All this, no doubt, seems very strange and unusual to you. But feel no alarm, I am here. George began to sit up and take notice. A cloud seemed to have cleared from his brain. He found himself looking on his fellow diners as individuals rather than as a confused mass. The prophet Daniel, after the initial embarrassment of finding himself in the society of the lions, had passed away, must have experienced a somewhat similar sensation. He began to sort these people out and label them. There had been introductions in the drawing room, but they had left him with a bewildered sense of having heard somebody recite a page from Burke's peerage. Not since that day in the free library in London, when he had dived into that fascinating volume in order to discover Maud's identity, had he undergone such a reign of titles. He now took stock, to ascertain how many of these people he could identify. The stock-taking was an absolute failure. Of all those present, the only individuals he could swear to were his own personal little playmates, with whom he had sported in other surroundings. There was Lord Belfour, for instance, eyeing him with a hostility that could hardly be called veiled. There was Lord Marshmorton at the head of the table, listening glumly to the conversation of a stout woman with a pearl necklace. But who was that woman? Was it Lady Jane Allenby, or Lady Edith Wade Beverly, or Lady Patricia Fowles? And who, above all, was the pie-faced fellow with the mustache talking to Maud? He sought assistance from the girl he had taken into dinner. She appeared, as far as he could ascertain from a short acquaintance, to be an amiable little thing. She was small and young and fluffy, and he had caught enough of her name at the moment of introduction to gather that she was plain miss something, a fact which seemed to him to draw them together. I wish she would tell me who some of these people are, he said, as he turned from talking to the man on her other side. Who is that man over there? Which man? The one talking to Lady Maud, the fellow whose face ought to be shoveled and dealt again. That's my brother. That held George during the soup. I'm sorry about your brother, he said, rallying with the fish. That's very sweet of you. It was the light that deceived me. Now that I look again, I see that his face has great charm. The girl giggled. George began to feel better. Who are some of the others? I didn't get your name, for instance. They shot it at me so quick that it had whizzed by before I could catch it. A my name is Plummer. George was electrified. He looked across the table with more vivid interest. The amorous Plummer had been just a voice to him till now. It was exciting to see him in the flesh. And who are the rest of them? They are all members of the family. I thought you knew them. I know Lord Marshmorton, and Lady Maud. And, of course, Lord Belfour. He caught Percy's eye as it surveyed him coldly from the other side of the table, and nodded cheerfully. Great pal of mine, Lord Belfour. The fluffy Miss Plummer twisted her pretty face into a grievous of disapproval. I don't like Percy. No? I think he's conceited. Surely not. What could he have to be conceited about? He's stiff. Yes, of course. That's how he strikes people at first. The first time I met him, I thought he was an awful stiff. But you should see him in his moments of relaxation. He's one of those fellows you have to get to know. He grows on you. Yes, but look at that affair with the policeman in London. Everybody in the country is talking about it. Young blood. Side George. Young blood. Of course, Percy is wild. He must have been intoxicated. Oh, undoubtedly, said George. Miss Plummer glanced across the table. Do look at Edwin. Which is Edwin? My brother, I mean. Look at the way he keeps staring at Maud. Edwin's awfully in love with Maud. She rattled on with engaging frankness. At least, he thinks he is. He's been in love with a different girl every season since I came out. And now that Reggie Bing has gone and married Alice Faraday, he thinks he has a chance. You heard about that, I suppose. Yes, I did hear something about it. Of course, Edwin's wasting his time, really. I happened to know— Miss Plummer sang her voice to a whisper— I happened to know that Maud's awfully in love with some man she met in Wales last year. But the family won't hear of it. The families are like that, agreed, George. Nobody knows who he is, but everybody in the country knows all about it. Those things get about, you know. Of course, it's out of the question. Maud will have to marry somebody awfully rich or with a title. Her family's one of the oldest in England, you know. So I understand. It isn't as if she were the daughter of Lord Peoples, somebody like that. Why Lord Peoples? Well, what I mean to say is, said Miss Plummer with a silvery echo of Reggie Bing, he made his money in whiskey. That's better than spending it that way, argued George. Miss Plummer looked puzzled. I see what you mean, she said a little vaguely. Lord Marshmortin is so different. Haughty nobleman stuff, eh? Yes. So you think this mysterious man in Wales hasn't a chance? Not unless he and Maud are loathe like Reggie Bing and Alice. Wasn't that exciting? Who would ever have expected Reggie had the dash to do a thing like that? Lord Marshmortin's new secretary is very pretty, don't you think? Which is she? The girl in black with the golden hair. Is she Lord Marshmortin's secretary? Yes. She's an American girl. I think she's much nicer than Alice Faraday. I was talking to her before dinner. Her name is Dore. Her father was a captain in the American army who died without leaving her a penny. He was the youngest son of a very distinguished family, but his family disowned him because he married against their wishes. Something ought to be done to stop these families, said George. They're always up to something. So Miss Dore had to go out and earn her own living. It must have been awful for her, mustn't it, having to give up society. Did she give up society? Oh, yes. She used to go everywhere in New York before her father died. I think American girls are wonderful. They have so much enterprise. George at the moment was thinking that it was in imagination that they excelled. I wish I could go out and earn my living, said Miss Plummer. But the family won't dream of it. The family again, said George sympathetically. They're a perfect curse. I want to go on this stage. Are you fond of the theatre? Fairly. I love it. Have you seen Hubert Broadley in Twas Once Spring? I'm afraid I haven't. He's wonderful. Have you seen Cynthia Dane in A Woman's No? I missed that one, too. Hmm. Perhaps you prefer musical pieces. I saw an awfully good musical comedy before I left town. It's called Follow the Girl. It's at the Regal Theatre. Have you seen it? I wrote it. You what? That is to say I wrote the music. Oh, but the music's lovely, gasped little Miss Plummer, as if the fact made his claim ridiculous. I've been humming it ever since. I can't help that. I still stick to it that I wrote it. You aren't George Bevin. I am. But Miss Plummer's voice almost failed here. But I've been dancing to your music for years. I've got about fifty of your records on the Victrola at home. George blushed. However successful a man may be, he can never get used to fame at close range. Why, that tricky thing you know, in the second act, is the darlingest thing I ever heard. I'm mad about it. Did you mean the one that goes lumpty, lumpty, tum, tum, tum, tum, tum? No, the one that goes tum, tum, tum, tum, tum, tum. You know, the one about the granny dancing the shimmy. I'm not responsible for the words, you know. Urge George hastily. Those are wished on me by the lyricist. I think the words are splendid. Although poor Popper thinks it's improper, Granny's always doing it, and nobody can stop her. I loved it. Miss Plummer leaned forward excitedly. She was an impulsive girl. Lady Caroline? Conversation stopped. Lady Caroline turned. Yes, Millie? Did you know that Mr. Bevin was THE Mr. Bevin? Everybody was listening now. George huddled pinkly in his chair. He had not foreseen this ballyhooing. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendigo combined had never felt a tithe of the warmth that consumed him. He was essentially a modest young man. THE Mr. Bevin echoed Lady Caroline coldly. It was painful to her to have to recognize George's existence on the same planet as herself. To admire him, as Miss Plummer apparently expected her to do, was a loathsome task. She cast one glance, fresh from the refrigerator, at the shrinking George, and elevated her aristocratic eyebrows. Miss Plummer was not dampened. She was at the hero-worshipping age, and George shared with the Messers, Fairbanks, Francis X, Bushman, and one or two tennis champions an imposing pedestal in her hall of fame. You know George Bevin! Who wrote the music of Follow the Girl? Lady Caroline showed no signs of thawing. She had not heard of Follow the Girl. Her attitude suggested that, while she admitted the possibility of George having disgraced himself in the manner indicated, it was nothing to her. And all those other things pursued Miss Plummer infatigably. You must have heard his music on the Victrola. Why, of course! It was not Lady Caroline who spoke, but a man further down the table. He spoke with enthusiasm. Of course by Jove, he said! The schenectady shimmy by Jove and all that ripping! Everybody seemed pleased and interested. Everybody, that is to say, except Lady Caroline and Lord Belfour. Percy was feeling that he had been tricked. He cursed the imbecility of kegs in suggesting that this man should be invited to dinner. Everything had gone wrong. George was an undoubted success. The majority of the company was solid for him. As far as exposing his unworthiness in the eyes of Maude was concerned, the dinner had been a ghastly failure. Much better to have left him to lurk in his infernal cottage. Lord Belfour drained his glass moodily. He was seriously upset. But his discomfort at the moment was as nothing to the agony which rent his tortured soul a moment later. Lord Marshmorton, who had been listening with growing excitement to the chorus of approval, rose from his seat. He cleared his throat. It was plain that the Lord Marshmorton had something on his mind. He said, The clatter of conversation ceased once more. Stunned, as it always is at dinner parties when one of the gathering is seen to have assumed an upright position, Lord Marshmorton cleared his throat again. His tanned face had taken on a deeper hue, and there was a look in his eyes which seemed to suggest that he was defying something or somebody. It was the look which Ajax had in his eyes when he defied the lightning, the look which nervous husbands have when they announce their intention of going round the corner to bowl a few games with the boys. One could not say definitely that Lord Marshmorton looked pop-eyed. On the other hand, one could not assert truthfully that he did not. At any rate, he was manifestly embarrassed. He had made up his mind to a certain course of action on the spur of the moment, taking advantage, as others have done, of the trend of popular enthusiasm. And his state of mind was nervous, but resolute, like that of a soldier going over the top. He cleared his throat for the third time, took one swift glance at his sister Caroline, and gazed glassily into the emptiness above her head. Take this opportunity, he said rapidly, clutching at the tablecloth for support. Take this opportunity of announcing the engagement of my daughter Maud to Mr. Bevin. And, he concluded with a rush, pouring back into his chair, I should like you all to drink their health. There was a silence that hurt. It was broken by two sounds, occurring simultaneously in different parts of the room. One was a gasp from Lady Caroline. The other was a crash of glass. For the first time in a long, unblemished career, Keggs, the butler, had dropped a tray. End of Chapter 23 Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel blue sky the stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night of the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery, listening to the wailing of the music, and thinking long thoughts. From the dark meadows by the brook came the cry of a corn-crake. Its harsh note softened by distance. What shall we do? said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat where Reggie Bing had sat, and meditated on his love for Alice Faraday, and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach shots. To George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the darkness. He could not see her face. I don't know, he said, frankly. Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belfer and Keggs the butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmorton's dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheralded by any warning, and had found him unequal to it. A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarred on George's disturbed nerves. Please, I can't help it! There's nothing to cry about, really. If we think long enough, we shall find some way out, all right? Please don't cry. I'm not crying! The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of mirth. It's so absurd! Poor Father getting up like that in front of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face? It haunts me still, said George. I shall never forget it. Your brother didn't seem any too pleased, either. Maud stopped laughing. It's an awful position, she said, soberly. The announcement will be in the morning post the day after tomorrow, and then the letters of congratulation will begin to pour in, and after that the presence. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all that there has been a mistake. Another aspect of the matter struck her. It's so hard on you, too. Oh, don't think about me, urged George. Heaven knows I'd give the whole world if we could just let the thing go on. But there's no use in discussing impossibilities. He lowered his voice. There's no use, either, in my pretending that I'm not going to have a pretty bad time. But we won't discuss that. It is my own fault. I came butting into your life of my own free will. And whatever happens, it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service to you. You're the best friend I ever had. I'm glad you think that. The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish she broke off. Oh, well. There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play the piano. Then a man's voice began to sing. That said when Plummer, said Maud, how badly he sings. George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the tension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a somber commentary on the situation, or because he was the sort of man who does sing that particular song, was chanting Toasty's Goodbye. He was giving to its never very cheery notes, a wailing melancholy all his own. A dog in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came curious soothing of George's nerves. He might feel brokenhearted later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it was impossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeper emotions. Plummer and his canine duetist had brought him to earth. He felt calm and practical. We better talk the whole thing over quietly, he said. There's certain to be some solution. At the worst, you could always go to Lord Marshmorton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp of his subject. I could, said Maud, but just at present I feel as if I'd rather do anything else in the world. You don't realise what it must have cost Father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever since I was old enough to notice anything, I have seen how she dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this trouble. If it had only been Father, I could have cooked him to let me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you would think of some other solution. I haven't heard an opportunity of telling you, said George, that I called at Belle Grave Square, as you asked me to do. I went there directly I had seen Reggie being safely married. Did you see him married? I was the best man. Dear old Reggie, I hope you will be happy. He will. Don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I called at Belle Grave Square and found the house shut up. I couldn't get any answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at the time. I think they must have gone abroad again. No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His uncle died of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a business trip. She paused. He left Geoffrey all his money. She went on. Every penny. The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the castle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. To George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the ghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realised that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as he recognised the hope to be. Maude had told him she loved another man. That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitable subconscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news ended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maude and this man apart was removed. There was nothing to prevent them marrying. George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the rope had parted, and he was drifting, alone, out into the ocean of desolation. Oh! he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very much the same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strange that it should show no signs of effort. That alters everything, doesn't it? He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in London and talk things over, I suppose. Well, there's nothing now to prevent your going. I mean, now that your father has made this announcement, you are free to go where you please. Yes, I suppose I am. There was another silence. Everything's so difficult, said Maude. In what way? Oh, I don't know. If you are thinking of me, said George, please don't. I know exactly what you mean. You are hating the thought of hurting my feelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All I want is to see you happy. And as I said just now, it's enough for me to know that I've helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact that our engagement has been officially announced makes no difference in our relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, we are exactly where we were the last time we met. It's no worse for me now than it was then to know that I'm not the man you love, and that there's somebody else you love before you ever knew of my existence. For goodness sake, a girl like you must be used to having men tell her that they love her and having to tell them that she can't love them in return. But you're so different. Not a bit of it. I'm just one of the crowd. I've never known anybody quite like you. Well, you've never known anybody quite like Plummer, I should imagine, but the thought of his sufferings didn't break your heart. I've known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer. Said Maude, emphatically, all the men I ever have known have been like him, quite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed to matter of refusing them. One knew that they would be just a little bit peaked for a week or two, and then wander off and fall in love with somebody else. But you're different. You matter. That is where we disagree. My argument is that where your happiness is concerned, I don't matter. Maude rested her chin on her hand and stared out into the velvet darkness. You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy, she said at last. What chums we should have been, and how simple that would have made everything. The best thing for you to do is to regard me as an honorary brother. That will make everything simple. It's easy to talk like that. No, it isn't. It's horribly hard. I know exactly how difficult it is for you to talk as you have been doing, to try to make me feel better by pretending the whole trouble is just a trifle. It's strange. We have only met, really, for a few minutes at a time, and three weeks ago I didn't know there was such a person as you. But somehow I seem to know everything you're thinking. I've never felt like that before with any man. Even Jeffrey. He always puzzled me. She broke off. The corn-crate began to call again out in the distance. I wish I knew what to do, she said with a catch in her voice. I'll tell you in two words what to do. The whole thing is absurdly simple. You love this man, and he loves you, and all that kept you apart before was the fact that he could not afford to marry you. Now that he is rich, there's no obstacle at all. I simply won't let you look on me and my feelings as an obstacle. Rune me out altogether. Your father's mistake has made the situation a little more complicated than it need have been, but that can easily be remedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Bing. He was in a position where it would have been embarrassing to announce what he intended to do, so he very sensibly went quietly off and did it, and left everybody to find out after it was done. I'm bound to say I never looked on Reggie as a mastermind, but when it came to finding a way out of embarrassing situations, one has to admit he had the right idea. Do what he did. Maud started. She half rose from the stone seat. George could hear the quick intake of her breath. You mean, run away? Exactly, run away. An automobile swung around the corner of the castle from the direction of the garage, and drew up, purring at the steps. There was a flood of light, and the sound of voices as the great door opened. Maud rose. People are leaving, she said. I didn't know it was so late. She stood, irresolutely. I suppose I ought to go in and say goodbye. But I don't think I can. Stay where you are. Nobody will see you. More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was shattered by the noise of their engines. Maud sat down again. I suppose they would think it very old of me not being there. Never mind what people think. Reggie being didn't. Maud's foot traced circles on the dry turf. What a lovely night, she said. There's no dew at all. The automobiles snorted, tooted, backfired, and passed away. Their clamour died in the distance, leaving the night a thing of peace and magic once more. The door of the castle closed with a bang. I suppose I ought to be going in now, said Maud. I suppose so. And I ought to be there, too, politely making my farewells. But something seems to tell me that Lady Caroline and your brother will be quite ready to dispense with the formalities. I shall go home. They faced each other in the darkness. Would you really do that? asked Maud. Run away, I mean, and get married in London. It's the only thing to do. But can one get married as quickly as that? Add a registrar's? Nothing simpler. You should have seen Reggie Bing's wedding. It was over before one realised it had started. A snuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in his head asked a few questions, wrote a few words, and the thing was done. That sounds rather dreadful. Well, Reggie didn't seem to think so. Unromantic, I mean, prosaic. You would supply the romance. Of course, one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as a regular wedding. In effects, absolutely. They moved up the terrace together. On the gravel drive by the steps they paused. I'll do it, said Maud. George had to make an effort before he could reply. For all his sane and convincing arguments he could not check a pang at this definite acceptance of them. He had begun to appreciate, now, the strain under which he had been speaking. You must, he said. Well, goodbye. There was light on the drive. He could see her face. Her eyes were troubled. What will you do? she asked. Do? I mean, are you going to stay on in your cottage? No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to London tomorrow and stay at the Carleton for a few days. Then I shall sail for America. There are a couple pieces I've got to do for the fall. I ought to be starting on them. Maud looked away. You've got your work. She said, almost inaudibly. George understood her. Yes, I've got my work. I'm glad. She held out her hand. You've been very wonderful. Right from the beginning. You've been... Oh, what's the use of me saying anything? I've had my reward. I've known you. We're friends, aren't we? My best friend. Pals? Pals. They shook hands. End of Chapter 24. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Damsel in Distress by P. G. Woodhouse. Read by Yazpistatio in Waxaw, North Carolina. Chapter 25 I was never so upset in my life, said Lady Caroline. She had been saying the same thing and many other things for the past five minutes. Until the departure of the last guest, she had kept an icy command of herself, and shown an unruffled front to the world. She had even contrived to smile. But now, with the final automobile whirring homewards, she had thrown off the mask. The very furniture of Lord Marshmorton's study seemed to shrink, seared by the flame of her wrath. As for Lord Marshmorton himself, he looked quite shriveled. It had not been an easy matter to bring her airing brother to bay. The hunt had been in progress full ten minutes before she and Lord Belfur finally cornered the poor wretch. His plea, through the keyhole of the locked door, that he was working on the family history and could not be disturbed, was ignored, and now he was face to face with the Avengers. I cannot understand it, continued Lady Caroline. You know that for months we have all been straining every nerve to break off this horrible entanglement, and just as we had begun to hope that something might be done, you announced the engagement in the most public manner. I think you must be out of your mind. I can hardly believe, even now, that this appalling thing has happened. I am hoping that I shall wake up and find it as all the nightmare. How you can have done such a thing I cannot understand! Quite, said Lord Belfur. If Lady Caroline was upset, there are no words in the language that will adequately describe the emotions of Percy. From the very start of this lamentable episode in High Life, Percy had been in the forefront of the battle. It was Percy, who had had his best hat, smitten from his head in the full view of all Piccadilly. It was Percy, who had suffered arrest and imprisonment in the cause. It was Percy, who had been crippled for days owing to his zeal in tracking mod across the country, and now all his sufferings were in vain. He had been betrayed by his own father. There was, so the historians of the Middle West tell us, a man of Chicago named Young, who once, when his nerves were unstrung, put his mother, unseen, in the chopping machine, and canned her and labeled her tongue. It is enough to say that the glance of disapproval which Percy cast upon his father at this juncture would have been unduly severe if cast by the Young offspring upon their parent at the moment of confession. Lord Marshmorton had rallied from his initial panic. The spirit of revolt began to burn again in his bosom. Once the die is cast for revolution, there can be no looking back. One must defy, not apologize. Perhaps the inherited tendencies of a line of ancestors who, whatever their shortcomings, had at least known how to treat their womenfolk, came to his aid. Possibly there stood by his side in this crisis ghosts of dead and buried Marshmortans whispering spectral encouragement in his ear. The ghosts, let us suppose, of that Earl who, in the days of the Seventh Henry, had stabbed his wife with a dagger to cure her tendency to lecture him at night. Or of that other Earl, who, at a previous date in the annals of the family, had caused two aunts and a sister to be poisoned, apparently from a mere whim. At any rate, Lord Marshmorton produced from some source sufficient courage to talk back. Silly nonsense, he grunted. Don't see what you're making all this fuss about. Maud loves the fellow. I like the fellow. Perfectly decent fellow. Nothing to make a fuss about. Why shouldn't I announce the engagement? You must be mad! cried Lady Caroline. Your only daughter and a man nobody knows anything about. Quite! said Percy. Lord Marshmorton seized his advantage with a skill of an adroit debater. That's where you're wrong. I know all about him. He's a very rich man. You heard the way all those people at dinner behaved when they heard his name? Very a celebrated man. Makes thousands of pounds a year. Perfectly suitable match in every way. It is not a suitable match, said Lady Caroline vehemently. I don't care whether this Mr. Bevan makes thousands of pounds a year or twopence her penny. The match is not suitable. Money is not everything. She broke off. A knock had come on the door. The door opened, and Billy door came in. A kind-hearted girl. She had foreseen that Lord Marshmorton might be glad of a change of subject at about this time. Would you like me to help you to-night? she asked brightly. I thought I would ask if there was anything you wanted me to do. Lady Caroline snatched hurriedly at her aristocratic calm. She resented the interruption acutely, but her manner when she spoke was bland. Lord Marshmorton will not require your help to-night, she said. He will not be working. Good night, said Billy. Good night, said Lady Caroline. Percy Scowl, the valediction. Money, resumed Lady Caroline, is immaterial. Maud is in no position to be obliged to marry a rich man. What makes the thing impossible is that Mr. Bevan is a nobody. He comes from nowhere. He has no social standing whatsoever. Don't see it, said Lord Marshmorton. The fellows are thoroughly decent fellow. That's all that matters. How can you be so pig-headed? You are talking like an imbecile. Your secretary, Miss Door, is a nice girl. But how would you feel if Percy were to come to you and say he was engaged to be married to her? Exactly, said Percy, quite. Lord Marshmorton rose and moved to the door. He did it with a certain dignity, but there was a strange hunted expression in his eyes. That would be impossible, he said. Precisely, said his sister, I am glad that you admit it. Lord Marshmorton had reached the door and was standing holding the handle. He seemed to gather strength from its support. I've been meaning to tell you about that, he said. About what? About Miss Door. I married her myself last Wednesday, said Lord Marshmorton, and disappeared like a diving duck. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 At a quarter past four in the afternoon, two days after the memorable dinner party at which Lord Marshmorton had behaved for the so notable a lack of judgment, Maud sat in Yikosi Nook, waiting for Geoffrey Raymond. He had said in his telegram that he would meet her there at four thirty, but eagerness had brought Maud to the Trist a quarter of an hour ahead of time, and already the sadness of her surroundings was causing her to regret this impulsiveness. Depression had settled upon her spirit. She was aware of something that resembled foreboding. Yikosi Nook, as its name will immediately suggest to those who know their London, is a tea shop in Bond Street, connected by distressed gentlewoman. In London, when a gentlewoman becomes distressed, which she seems to do on the slightest provocation, she collects about her two or three other distressed gentlewoman, forming a quorum, and starts a tea shop in the West End, which she calls Ye Oak Leaf, Ye Old Willow Pattern, Ye Linden Tree, or Ye Snug Harbour, according to personal taste. There, dressed in Tyrolese, Japanese, Norwegian, or some other exotic costume, she and her associates administer refreshments of an afternoon with the proud langer calculated to knock the nonsense out of the cheeriest customer. Here you will find none of the coarse bustle and efficiency of the rival establishments of Lyon and Co., nor the glitter and gaiety of rumple-mayors. These places have an atmosphere of their own. They rely for their effect on an insufficiency of light, an almost total lack of ventilation, a property chocolate cake which you are not supposed to cut, and the sad aloofness of their ministering angels. It is to be doubted whether there is anything in the world more damping to the spirit than a London tea shop of this kind, unless it be another London tea shop of the same kind. Maud sat and waited. Somewhere out of sight, a kettle bubbled in an undertone like a whispering pessimist. Across the room, two distressed gentleman in fancy dress leaned against the wall. They, too, were whispering. Their expression suggested that they looked on life as low, and wished they were well out of it, like the body upstairs. One assumed that there was a body upstairs. One cannot help it at these places. One's first thought on entering is that the lady assistant will approach one, and ask in a hushed voice, tea or chocolate, and would you care to view the remains? Maud looked at her watch. It was twenty past four. She could scarcely believe that she had only been there five minutes, but the ticking of the watch assured her that it had not stopped. Her depression deepened. Why had Jeffrey told her to meet him in a cavern of gloom like this, instead of at the Savoy? She would have enjoyed the Savoy. But here she seemed to have lost beyond recovery the first gay eagerness with which she had set out to meet the man she loved. Suddenly she began to feel frightened. Some evil spirit, possibly the kettle, seemed to whisper to her that she had been foolish in coming here, to cast doubts on what she had hitherto regarded as the one rock-solid fact in the world, her love for Jeffrey. Could she have changed since those days in Wales? Life had been so confusing of late. In the vividness of recent happenings, those days in Wales seemed a long way off. She herself, different from the girl of a year ago, she found herself thinking about George Bevan. It was a curious fact that, the moment she began to think of George Bevan, she felt better. It was as if she had lost her way in a wilderness and had met a friend. There was something so capable, so soothing about George, and how well he had behaved at that last interview. George seemed somehow to be a part of her life. She could not imagine life in which he had no share. And he was, at this moment, probably, packing to return to America. And she would never see him again. Something stabbed at her heart. It was as if she were realizing now for the first time that he was really going. She tried to rid herself of the ache at her heart by thinking of Wales. She closed her eyes and found that that helped her to remember. With her eyes shut, she could bring it all back. That rainy day, the graceful supple figure that had come to her out of the mist, those walks over the hills, if only Geoffrey would come, it was the sight of him that she needed. There you are! Maud opened her eyes with a start. The voice had sounded like Geoffrey's, but it was a stranger who stood by the table, and not the particularly prepossessing stranger. In the dim light of Ecosi Nook, to which her opening eyes had not yet gone accustomed, all she could see of the man was that he was remarkably stout. She stiffened defensively. This was what a girl who sound about in tea-rooms alone had to expect. I hope I'm not late, said the stranger, sitting down and breathing heavily. I thought a little exercise would do me good, so I walked. Every nerve in Maud's body seemed to come to life simultaneously. She tingled from head to foot. It was Geoffrey! He was looking over his shoulder and endeavoring, by snapping his fingers, to attract the attention of the nearest distressed gentlewoman, and this gave Maud time to recover from the frightful shock she had received. Her dizziness left her, and, leaving, was succeeded by a panicked dismay. This couldn't be Geoffrey! It was outrageous that it should be Geoffrey, and yet it undeniably was Geoffrey. For a year she had prayed that Geoffrey might be given back to her, and the gods had heard her prayer. They had given her back Geoffrey, and with a careless generosity they had given her twice as much of him as she had expected. She had asked for the slim Apollo whom she had loved in Wales, and this colossal changeling had arrived in his stead. We all of us have our prejudices. Maud had a prejudice against fat men. It may have been the spectacle of her brother Percy bulging more and more every year she had known him that had caused this kink in her character. At any rate it existed, and she gazed in sickened silence at Geoffrey. He had turned again now, and she was unable to get a full and complete view of him. He was not merely stout. He was gross. The slim figure which had haunted her for a year had spread into a sea of waistcoat. The keen lines of his face had disappeared altogether. His cheeks were pink jellies. One of the distressed gentle-woman had approached with a slow disdain, and was standing by the table, brooding on the corpse upstairs. It seemed a shame to bother her. Tea or chocolate, she inquired proudly. Tea, please, said Maud, finding her voice. One tea. Side the mourner. Chocolate for me, said Geoffrey briskly, with the air of one discoursing on a congenial topic. I'd like plenty of whipped cream, and please see that it's hot. One chocolate. Geoffrey pondered. This was no light matter that occupied him. And bring some fancy cakes. I like the ones with the icing on them. And some tea cake and buttered toast. Please see that there's plenty of butter on it. Maud shivered. This man before her was a man in whose lexicon there should have been no such word as butter. A man who should have called for the police had some enemy endeavour to thrust butter upon him. Well, said Geoffrey, leaning forward as the hotty-ministerant drifted away. You haven't changed a bit. To look at, I mean. No, said Maud. You're just the same. I think I—he squinted down at his waistcoat—have put on a little weight. I don't know if you notice it. Maud shivered again. He thought he had put on a little weight, and didn't know if she had noticed it. She was oppressed by the eternal melancholy miracle of the fat man, who does not realise that he has become fat. It was living on the yacht that put me a little out of condition, said Geoffrey. I was on the yacht nearly all the time since I saw you last. The old boy had a Japanese cook, and lived pretty high. It was apoplexy that got him. We had a great time touring about. We were on the Mediterranean all last winter, mostly at Nice. I should like to go to Nice, said Maud, for something to say. She was feeling that it was not only externally that Geoffrey had changed, or had he, in reality, always been like this—common place and prosaic, and wasn't merely in her imagination that he had been wonderful. If you ever go, said Geoffrey earnestly, don't fail to lunch at the Hotel Côte d'Azur. They give you the most amazing selection of hors d'oeuvres you ever saw, crayfish as big as baby lobsters. And there's a fish—I've forgotten its name. It'll come back to me. This is just like the Florida Pompano. Be careful to have it broiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavour. Tell the waiter you must have it broiled, with melted butter and a little parsley and some plain-boiled potatoes. It's really astonishing. It's the best to stick to fish on the continent. People can say what they like, but I maintain that the French don't really understand steaks, or any sort of red meat. The veal isn't bad, though. I prefer our way of serving it. Of course, what the French are real geniuses at is the omelette. I remember when we put it in at Toulon for coal. I went ashore for a stroll, and had the most delicious omelette with chicken lovers beautifully cooked at a little small, unpretentious place near the harbour. I shall always remember it. The mourner returned, bearing a laden tray from which she removed the funeral baked meats, and placed them limply on the table. Geoffrey shook his head, annoyed. I particularly asked for plenty of butter on my toast. He said, I hate butter toasted. There isn't lots of butter. It isn't worth eating. Get me a couple of pats, will you, and I'll spread it myself. Do hurry, please, before the toast gets cold. It's no good if the toast gets cold. They don't understand tea as a meal at these places. He said to Maud, as the mourner withdrew, you have to go to the country to appreciate the real thing. I remember we lay off lime reaches down Devonshire Way for a few days, and I went and had tea at a farmhouse there. It was quite amazing, thick Devonshire cream, and homemade jam and cakes of every kind. This sort of thing here is just a farce. I do wish that woman would make haste with that butter. It'll be too late in a minute. Maud sipped her tea in silence. Her heart was like lead within her. The recurrence of the butter theme as a sort of leet motif in her companion's conversation was fraying her nerves till she felt she could endure a little more. She cast her mind's eye back over the horrid months, and had a horrid vision of Geoffrey, steadily absorbing butter, day after day, week after week, ever becoming more and more of a human keg. She shuddered. Indignation at the injustice of fate in causing her to give her heart to a man, and then changing him into another and quite different man, fought with a cold terror, which grew as she realized more and more clearly the magnitude of the mistake she had made. She felt that she must escape. And yet how could she escape? She had definitely pledged herself to this man. Ah! cried Geoffrey gaily as the pats of butter arrived. That's more like it. He began to smear the toast. Maude averted her eyes. She had told him that she loved him, that he was the whole world to her, that there never would be anyone else. He had come to claim her. How could she refuse him, just because he was about thirty pounds overweight? Geoffrey finished his meal. He took out a cigarette. No smoking, please! Said the distressed gentlewoman. He put the cigarette back in his case. There was a new expression in his eyes now, a tender expression. For the first time since they had met, Maude seemed to catch a far-off glimpse of the man she had loved in Wales. Butter appeared to have softened Geoffrey. So you couldn't wait? He said with pathos. Maude did not understand. I waited over a quarter of an hour. It was you who were late. I don't mean that. I'm referring to your engagement. I saw the announcement in the morning post. Well, I hope you will let me offer you my best wishes. This Mr. George Bevin, whoever he is, is lucky. Maude had opened her mouth to explain, to say that it was all the mistake. She closed it again without speaking. So you couldn't wait? Proceeded Geoffrey with a gentle regret. Well, I suppose I ought not to blame you. You are at an age when it's easy to forget. I had no right to hope that you would be proof against a few months' separation. I expected too much. But it is ironical, isn't it? There was I, thinking always of those days last summer when we were everything to each other. Well, you had forgotten me. Forgotten me! Said Geoffrey. He picked a fragment of cake absently off the tablecloth and inserted it into his mouth. The unfairness of the attack stung Maude into speech. She looked back over the months, thought of all she had suffered, and ached with self-pity. I hadn't, she cried. You hadn't? But you let this other man, this George Bevin, make love to you. I didn't. It was all a mistake. A mistake? Yes. It would take too long to explain, but she stopped. It had come to her, suddenly, in a flash of clear vision, that the mistake was one which she had no desire to correct. She felt like one who, lost in a jungle, comes out after long wandering into the open air. For days she had been thinking confusedly, unable to interpret her own emotions, and now everything had abruptly become clarified. It was as if the sight of Geoffrey had been the key to a cipher. She loved George Bevin, the man she had sent out of her life forever. She knew it now, and the shock of realization made her feel faint and helpless, and, mingled with the shock of realization, there came to her the mortification of knowing that her aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother, Percy, had been right after all. What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime had been, as they had so often insisted, a mere infatuation, unable to survive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too much butter and put on flesh. Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake and bent forward. Aren't you engaged to this man, Bevin? Mod avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived, and that her whole future hung on her next words. And then Fate came to her rescue. Before she could speak, there was an interruption. Pardon me, said a voice one moment. So intent had Mod and her companion been on their own affairs, than either of them observed the entrance of a third party. This was a young man, with mouse-coloured hair, and a freckled, badly shaven face, which seemed undecided whether to be fritive or impudent. He had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and the shabby. He wore a bowler hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side, and carried a small bag which he rested on the table between them. Sorry to intrude, miss. He bowed gallantly to Mod, but I want to have a few words with Mr. Spencer Gray here. Mod, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his florid face had lost much of its colour. His mouth was open, and his eyes had taken a glassy expression. I think you've made a mistake, she said coolly. She disliked the young man at sight. This is Mr. Raymond. Geoffrey found speech. Of course I'm Mr. Raymond. He cried angrily. What do you mean by coming and annoying us like this? The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to being unpopular. He proceeded as though there had been no interruption. He produced a dingy card. Glance at that. He said, Miss. Willoughby and son. Solicitous, I'm son. The governor put this little man in my hands. I've been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to undo this paper. He opened the bag like a conjurer, performing a trick, and brought out a stiff document of legal aspect. You're a witness, Miss, that I've saved the papers. You know what this is, of course, he said to Geoffrey. Action for breach of promise of marriage. Our client, Miss Yvonne Sinclair of the Regal Theatre, is suing you for £10,000. And if you ask me, said the young man, with a genial candour, and dropping the professional manner. I don't mind telling you, I think it's a walk over. It's the best little action for breach we've handled for years. He became professional again. Your lawyers will no doubt communicate with us in due course. And if you take my advice, he concluded, with another of his swift changes of manner, you'll get him to settle out of court. Between me and you in the lamppost, you haven't unearthly. Geoffrey had started to his feet. He was puffing with outraged innocence. What the devil do you mean by this? He demanded, can't you see you've made a mistake? My name is not Gray. This lady has told you that I'm Geoffrey Raymond. Makes it all worse for you, said the young man, imperturbably, making advances to our client under an assumed name. We've got letters and witnesses and the whole bag of tricks. And how about this photo? He dived into his bag again. Do you recognise that, Miss? Maud looked at the photograph. It was unmistakably Geoffrey, and it had evidently been taken recently, for it showed the latter, Geoffrey, the man of substance. It was a full-length photograph, and across the stout legs was written in a flowing hand, the legend, two babe from her little poodles. Maud gave a shudder and handed it back to the young man, just as Geoffrey, reaching across the table, made a grab for it. I recognise it, she said. Mr. Willoughby, Jr., packed the photograph away in his bag and turned to go. That's all for today, then, I think, he said affably. He bowed again in his courtly way, tilted the hat a little more to the left, and, having greeted one of the distressed stuntwoman, who loitered limply in his path with a polite if-you-please mable, which drew upon him a freezing stare of which he seemed oblivious. He passed out, leaving behind him strained silence. Maud was the first to break it. I think I'll be going, she said. The words seemed to rouse her companion from his stupor. Let me explain. There's nothing to explain. It was just a—it was just a passing. It was nothing. Nothing. Poodles murmured Maud. Geoffrey followed her as she moved to the door. Be reasonable, pleaded Geoffrey. Men aren't saints. It was nothing. Are you going to end everything just because I lost my head? Maud looked at him with a smile. She was conscious of an overwhelming relief. The dim interior of Yucosi Nook no longer seemed depressing. She could have kissed this unknown babe, whose business-like action had enabled her to close a regrettable chapter in her life with a clear conscience. But you haven't only lost your head, Geoffrey. She said, you've lost your figure as well. She went out quickly, with a convulsive bound, Geoffrey started to follow her, but was checked before he had gone a yard. There are formalities to be observed before a patron can leave Yucosi Nook. If you please, said a distressed gentlewomanly voice. The lady, whom Mr. Willoughby had addressed as Mabel, erroneously, for her name was Ernestine, was standing beside him with a slip of paper. Six and tuppence, said Ernestine. For a moment the sapelling statement drew the unhappy man's mind from the main issue. Six and tuppence for a cup of chocolate and a few cakes? He cried aghast. It's robbery. Six and tuppence, please, said the queen of the bandits with undisturbed calm. She had been through this sort of thing before. Yucosi Nook did not get many customers, but it made the most of those it did get. Here, Geoffrey produced a half-sovereign. I haven't time to argue. The distressed brigand showed no gratification. She had the air of one who was aloof from worldly things. All she wanted was rest and leisure. Leisure to meditate upon the body upstairs. All flesh is as grass. We are here today and gone tomorrow. But there, beyond the grave, is peace. You'll change, she said. Damn the change! You are forgetting your hat. Damn my hat! Geoffrey dashed from the room. He heaved his body through the door. He lumbered downstairs. Out in Bond Street the traffic moved up, and the traffic moved down. Strollers strolled upon the sidewalks. But Maud had gone. End of Chapter 26 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Damsel in Distress by P. G. Woodhouse. Read by Yaz Pistachio in Waxaw, North Carolina. Chapter 27 In his bedroom at the Carlton Hotel, George Bevan was packing. That is to say, he had begun packing. But for the last twenty minutes he had been sitting on the side of the bed, staring into a future which became bleaker and bleaker, the more he examined it. In the last two days he had been no stranger to these grey moods, and they had become harder and harder to dispel. Now with a steamer-trunk before him, gaping to receive its contents, he gave himself up wholeheartedly to gloom. Somehow the steamer-trunk, with all that it implied of partings and voyagings, seemed to emphasize the fact that he was going out alone into an empty world. Soon he would be on board the liner. Every revolution of whose engines would be taking him farther away from where his heart would always be. There were moments when the torment of this realization became almost physical. It was incredible that three short weeks ago he had been a happy man, lonely perhaps, but only in a vague, impersonal way. Not lonely with this aching loneliness that tortured him now. What was there left for him? As regards any triumphs which the future might bring in connection with his work, he was, as Mac the stage-doorkeeper had said, blarzy. Any success he might have would be but a stale repetition of other successes which he had achieved. He would go on working, of course. But the ringing of the telephone bell across the room jerked him back to the present. He got up with a modern malediction. Somebody calling up again from the theatre, probably. They had been doing it all the time since he had announced his intention of leaving for America by Saturday's boat. Hello, he said wearily. Is that George? asked a voice. It seemed familiar, but all female voices sound the same over the telephone. This is George, he replied. Who are you? Don't you know my voice? I do not. You'll know it quite well before long. I'm a great talker. Is that Billy? It is not Billy, whoever Billy may be. I am female, George. So is Billy. Well, you had better run through the list of your feminine friends till you reach me. I haven't any feminine friends. None? That's odd. Why? You told me in the garden two nights ago that you looked on me as a pal. George sat down abruptly. He felt boneless. Is—is that you, he stammered? It can't be, Maud. How clever of you to guess, George! I want to ask you one or two things. In the first place, are you fond of butter? George blinked. This was not a dream. He had just bumped his knee against the corner of the telephone table, and it still hurt most convincingly. He needed the evidence to assure himself that he was awake. Butter? he queried. What do you mean? Oh, well, if you don't even know what butter means, I expect it's all right. What is your weight, George? About a hundred and eighty pounds, but I don't understand. Wait a minute. There was a silence on the other end of the wire. About thirteen stone, said Maud's voice. I've been doing it in my head. And what was it this time last year? About the same, I think. I always weigh about the same. How wonderful, George! Yes? This is very important. Have you ever been in Florida? I was there one winter. Do you know a fish called the Pompanoe? Yes? Tell me about it. How do you mean? It's just a fish. You eat it. I know. Go into details. There aren't any details. You just eat it. The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval. I never heard anything so splendid. The last man who mentioned Pompanoe to me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and melted butter. Well, that's that. Now, here's another very important point. How about wallpaper? George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead. This conversation was unnerving him. I didn't get that, he said. Didn't get what? I mean, I didn't quite catch what you said that time. It sounded to me like, what about wallpaper? It was what about wallpaper. Why not? But, said George weakly, it doesn't make any sense. Oh, but it does. I mean, what about wallpaper for your den? My den? Your den? You must have a den. Where do you suppose you're going to work, if you don't? My idea would be some nice quiet grass-cloth, and, of course, you would have lots of pictures and books, and a photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Then there would be a piano for you to work on, and two or three really comfortable chairs. And, well, that would be about all, wouldn't it? George pulled himself together. Hello? He said. Why do you say hello? I forgot I was in London. I should have said, are you there? Yes, I'm here. Well, then, what does it all mean? What does what mean? What you've been saying about butter, and pompanoes, and wallpaper, and my den, and all that? I don't understand. How stupid of you! I was asking you what sort of wallpaper you would like in your den after we were married and settled down. George dropped the receiver. It clashed against the side of the table. He groped for it blindly. Hello? He said. Don't say hello. It sounds so abrupt. What did you say, then? I said, don't say hello. No, no, before that, before that. You said something about getting married? Well, how are we going to get married? Our engagement is announced in the morning post. But—but— George, Mudd's voice shook. Don't tell me you're going to jilt me, she said tragically, because if you are, let me know in time, as I shall want to bring an action for breach of promise. I've just met such a capable young man who will look after the whole thing for me. He wears a bowler hat on the side of his head and calls Waitress's Mabel. Answer yes or no. Will you marry me? But—but how about—I mean, what about—I mean, how about— Make of your mind what you do mean. The other fellow gasped George. A musical laugh was wafted to him over the wire. What about him? Well, what about him? said George. Isn't a girl allowed to change her mind? Said Mudd. George yelped excitedly. Mudd gave a cry. Don't sing! She said, you nearly made me deaf. Have you changed your mind? Certainly I have. And you really think—you really want—I mean, you really want—you really think? Don't be so incoherent. Mudd. Well, will you marry me? Of course I will. Gosh, what did you say? I said gosh, and listen to me when I say gosh, I mean gosh. Where are you? I must see you. Where can we meet? I want to see you. For heaven's sake, tell me where you are. I want to see you. Where are you? Where are you? I'm downstairs. Where? Here at the Carlton? Here at the Carlton. Alone? Quite alone. You won't be long, said George. He hung up the receiver, and bounded across the room to where his coat hung over the back of a chair. The edge of the steamer trunk caught his shin. Well, said George to the steamer trunk, and what are you butting in for? Who wants you, I should like to know. End of Chapter Twenty-Seven. End of A Damsel in Distress by P. G. Woodhouse. Thank you for listening.