Heavy Weather by P. G. Wodehouse Page B

the train, and introduced herself.' 'But what was she doing in the train?' 'Returning here from London.' 'I didn't know she had gone up to London.' 'So I imagine,' said Lady Julia.
    Not many minutes had passed since Ronnie Fish had been urging his mother to smile. With these words she had done so, but the fulfilment of his wish brought him no pleasure. The pink of his face deepened. There had come a lightness about his mouth. He had changed his mind about the desirability of keeping the scene light.
    'Do you mind if I just get this straight?' he said coldly. 'A moment ago you were talking about girls who ran off and had affairs ... and now you tell me you have met Sue.'
    'Exactly.'
    'Then you . . . had Sue in mind?' 'Exactly.'
    Ronnie laughed, unpleasantly.
    'On the strength, apparently, of her having gone up to London for the day - to do some shopping or something, I suppose. I wouldn't call this your ripest form, mother.'
    'On the strength, if you really wish to know, of seeing her and young Monty Bodkin lunching together at the Berkeley and finding them together on the train. ..'
    'Monty Bodkin!'
    '... where they had the effrontery to pretend they had never met before.'
    'She was lunching with Monty?'
    'Lunching with Monty and ogling Monty and holding hands with Monty! Oh, for heaven's sake, Ronnie, do use a little intelligence. Can't you see this girl is just like the rest of them? If you can't, you really must be a borderline case. Young Bodkin came here today to be your uncle's secretary. Two days ago he had some sort of employment with the Mammoth Publishing Company. He told me on the train that he had resigned. Why did he resign ? And why is he coming here? Obviously because this girl wanted him here and put him up to it. And directly she hears it's settled, she takes advantage of your being away to sneak up to London and talk things over with him. If there was nothing underhand going on, why should they have pretended that they were perfect strangers? No, as you said just now, I am not dancing round and strewing roses out of a hat!'
    She broke off. The door had opened. Lady Constance Keeble came in.
    In the doorway Lady Constance paused. She looked from one to the other with speculation in her eyes. She was a veteran of too many fine old crusted family rows not to be able to detect a strained atmosphere when she saw one. Her sister Julia was clenching and unclenching her hands. Her nephew Ronald was staring straight before him, red-eyed. A thrill ran through Lady Constance, such as causes the war-horse to start at the sound of the bugle. It was possible, of course, that this was a private fight, but her battling instinct urged her to get into it.
    But there was in Lady Constance Keeble an instinct even stronger than that of battle, and that was the one which impelled her to act as critic of the sartorial deficiencies of her nearest and dearest. Years of association with her brother Clarence, who, if you took your eye off him for a second, was apt to come down to dinner in flannel trousers and an old shooting-jacket, had made this action almost automatic with the chatelaine of Blandings.
    So now, eager for the fray, it was as the critic rather than as the warrior queen that she spoke. ' My dear Ronald! That tie!'
    Ronnie Fish gazed at her lingeringly. It needed, he felt, but this. Poison was running through his veins, his world was rocking, green-eyed devils were shrieking mockery in his ears, and along came blasted aunts babbling of ties. It was as if somebody had touched Othello on the arm as he poised the pillow and criticized the cut of his doublet.
    'Don't you know we have a dinner-party tonight? Go and put on a white tie at once.'
    Even in his misery the injustice of the thing cut Ronnie to the quick. Did his aunt suppose him ignorant of the merest decencies of life? Naturally, if he had known before he started dressing that there was a big binge on, he would have assumed the correct costume of the English