Mulliner Nights by P. G. Wodehouse

Author:P. G. Wodehouse [Wodehouse, P. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humour
ISBN: 9781585674336
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 1933-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The butler at Ennismore Gardens informed Sacheverell, when he arrived, that Muriel was, as he supposed, visiting the house, though for the moment out to lunch. Sacheverell waited, and presently the door of the drawing-room opened and the girl came in.

She seemed delighted to see him.

‘Hullo, old streptococcus,’ she said. ‘Here you are, eh? I rang you up this morning to ask you to give me a bite of lunch, but you were out, so I roped in Bernard instead and we buzzed off to the Savoy in a taximeter.’

‘I saw you,’ said Sacheverell coldly.

‘Did you? You poor chump, why didn’t you yell?’

‘I had no desire to meet your Cousin Bernard,’ said Sacheverell, still speaking in the same frigid voice. And, while we are on this distasteful subject, I must request you not to see him again.’

The girl stared.

‘You must do how much?’

‘I must request you not to see him again,’ repeated Sacheverell. ‘I do not wish you to continue your Cousin Bernard’s acquaintance. I do not like his looks, nor do I approve of my fiancée lunching alone with young men.

Muriel seemed bewildered.

‘You want me to tie a can to poor old Bernard?’ she gasped.

‘I insist upon it.’

‘But, you poor goop, we were children together.’

Sacheverell shrugged his shoulders.

‘If,’ he said, ‘you survived knowing Bernard as a child, why not be thankful and let it go at that? Why deliberately come up for more punishment by seeking him out now? Well, there it is,’ said Sacheverell crisply. ‘I have told you my wishes, and you will respect them.’

Muriel appeared to be experiencing a difficulty in finding words. She was bubbling like a saucepan on the point of coming to the boil. Nor could any unprejudiced critic have blamed her for her emotion. The last time she had seen Sacheverell, it must be remembered, he had been the sort of man who made a shrinking violet look like a Chicago gangster. And here he was now, staring her in the eye and shooting off his head for all the world as if he were Mussolini informing the Italian Civil Service of a twelve per cent cut in their weekly salary.

And now,’ said Sacheverell, ‘there is another matter of which I wish to speak. I am anxious to see your father as soon as possible, in order to announce our engagement to him. It is quite time that he learned what my plans are. I shall be glad, therefore, if you will make arrangements to put me up at the Towers this coming week-end. Well,’ concluded Sacheverell, glancing at his watch, ‘I must be going. I have several matters to attend to, and your luncheon with your cousin was so prolonged that the hour is already late. Good-bye. We shall meet on Saturday.’

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