Heavy Weather by P. G. Wodehouse

was assuming, Mr Ronald, that you were aware that her ladyship, your mother, arrived this evening on the two forty-five train.' 'What!' 'Yes, sir.' 'Good Lord!'
    Beach regarded him solicitously, but did not develop the theme. He had a nice sense of the proprieties. Between himself and this young man there had existed for eighteen years a warm friendship. Ronnie as a child had played bears in his pantry. Ronnie as a boy had gone fishing with him on the lake. Ronnie as a freshman at Cambridge had borrowed five-pound notes from him to sec him through to his next allowance. Ronnie, grown to man's estate, had given him many a sound tip on the races, from which his savings bank account had profited largely. He knew the last detail of Ronnie's romance, sympathized with his aims and objects, was aware that an interview of extreme delicacy faced him; and, had they been sitting in his pantry now, would not have hesitated to offer sympathy and advice.
    But because this was the drawing-room, his lips were sealed. A mere professional gesture was all he could allow himself.
    'Another cocktail, Mr Ronald?'
    'Thanks.'
    Ronnie, sipping thoughtfully, found his equanimity returning. For a moment, he could not deny it, there had been a slight sinking of the heart; but now he was telling himself that his mother had always been a cheery soul, one of the best, and that there was no earthly reason to suppose that she was likely to make any serious trouble now. True, there might be a little stiffness at first, but that would soon wear off.
    ' Where is she, Beach ?'
    'In the Garden Room, Mr Ronald.'
    'I ought to go there, I suppose. And yet .. . No,' said Ronnie, on second thoughts.' Might be a little rash, what ? There she would be with her hair-brush handy, and the temptation to put me across her knee and ... No. I think you'd better send a maid or someone to inform her that I await her here.'
    'I will do so immediately, Mr Ronald.'
    With a quiver of the left eyebrow intended to indicate that, had such a thing been possible to a man in his position, he would gladly have remained and lent moral support, the butler left the room. And presently the door reopened, and Lady Julia Fish came sailing in.
    Ronnie straightened his tie, pulled down his waistcoat, and advanced to meet her.
    The emotions of a young man on encountering his maternal parent, when in the interval since they last saw one another he has announced his betrothal to a member of the chorus, are necessarily mixed. Filial love cannot but be tempered with apprehension. On the whole, however, Ronnie was feeling reasonably debonair. He and his mother had laughed together at a good many things in their time, and he was optimistic enough to hope that with a little adroitness on his part the coming scene could be kept on the lighter plane. As he had said to Sue, Lady Julia Fish was not Lady Constance Keeble.
    Nevertheless, as he kissed her, he was aware of something of the feeling which he had had in his boxing days when shaking hands with an unpleasant-looking opponent.
    'Hullo, mother.'
    'Well, Ronnie.'
    'Here you are, what?'
    'Yes.'
    'Nice journey?' 'Quite.'
    'Not rough, crossing over?' 'Not at all.'
    'Good,' said Ronnie. 'Good.' He began to feel easier.
    'Well,' he proceeded chattily, 'we got old George off all right.' 'George?'
    'Cousin George. I've just been best-manning at his wedding.'
    'Ah, yes. I had forgotten. It was today, was it not?'
    'That's right. I only got back half an hour ago.'
    'Did everything go off well?'
    'Splendidly. Not a hitch.'
    'Family pleased, I suppose?'
    'Oh, delighted.'
    'They would be, wouldn't they? Seeing that George was marrying a girl of excellent position with ten thousand a year of her own.'
    'H'r'rmph,' said Ronnie.
    'Yes,' said Lady Julia, 'you'd better say "H'r'rmph!"' There was a pause. Ronnie, who had just straightened his tie again, pulled it crooked and began straightening it once more. Lady Julia watched these manifestations of unrest with a grim