Indiscretions of Archie - P. G. Wodehouse (essential books to read txt) 📗

said Lucille, “I want to see father.” Archie repressed an exclamation of astonishment. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening. You will be perfectly happy.”

“Queen of my soul, you know I can’t be happy with you away. You know⁠—”

“Yes?” murmured Lucille, appreciatively. She never tired of hearing Archie say this sort of thing.

Archie’s voice had trailed off. He was looking across the room.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “What an awfully pretty woman!”

“Where?”

“Over there. Just coming in, I say, what wonderful eyes! I don’t think I ever saw such eyes. Did you notice her eyes? Sort of flashing! Awfully pretty woman!”

Warm though the morning was, a suspicion of chill descended upon the breakfast-table. A certain coldness seemed to come into Lucille’s face. She could not always share Archie’s fresh young enthusiasms.

“Do you think so?”

“Wonderful figure, too!”

“Yes?”

“Well, what I mean to say, fair to medium,” said Archie, recovering a certain amount of that intelligence which raises man above the level of the beasts of the field. “Not the sort of type I admire myself, of course.”

“You know her, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not and far from it,” said Archie, hastily. “Never met her in my life.”

“You’ve seen her on the stage. Her name’s Vera Silverton. We saw her in⁠—”

“Of course, yes. So we did. I say, I wonder what she’s doing here? She ought to be in New York, rehearsing. I remember meeting what’s-his-name⁠—you know⁠—chappie who writes plays and whatnot⁠—George Benham⁠—I remember meeting George Benham, and he told me she was rehearsing in a piece of his called⁠—I forget the name, but I know it was called something or other. Well, why isn’t she?”

“She probably lost her temper and broke her contract and came away. She’s always doing that sort of thing. She’s known for it. She must be a horrid woman.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to talk about her. She used to be married to someone, and she divorced him. And then she was married to someone else, and he divorced her. And I’m certain her hair wasn’t that colour two years ago, and I don’t think a woman ought to make up like that, and her dress is all wrong for the country, and those pearls can’t be genuine, and I hate the way she rolls her eyes about, and pink doesn’t suit her a bit. I think she’s an awful woman, and I wish you wouldn’t keep on talking about her.”

“Right-o!” said Archie, dutifully.

They finished breakfast, and Lucille went up to pack her bag. Archie strolled out on to the terrace outside the hotel, where he smoked, communed with nature, and thought of Lucille. He always thought of Lucille when he was alone, especially when he chanced to find himself in poetic surroundings like those provided by the unrivalled scenery encircling the Hotel Hermitage. The longer he was married to her the more did the sacred institution seem to him a good egg. Mr. Brewster might regard their marriage as one of the world’s most unfortunate incidents, but to Archie it was, and always had been, a bit of all right. The more he thought of it the more did he marvel that a girl like Lucille should have been content to link her lot with that of a Class C specimen like himself. His meditations were, in fact, precisely what a happily-married man’s meditations ought to be.

He was roused from them by a species of exclamation or cry almost at his elbow, and turned to find that the spectacular Miss Silverton was standing beside him. Her dubious hair gleamed in the sunlight, and one of the criticised eyes was screwed up. The other gazed at Archie with an expression of appeal.

“There’s something in my eye,” she said.

“No, really!”

“I wonder if you would mind? It would be so kind of you!”

Archie would have preferred to remove himself, but no man worthy of the name can decline to come to the rescue of womanhood in distress. To twist the lady’s upper lid back and peer into it and jab at it with the corner of his handkerchief was the only course open to him. His conduct may be classed as not merely blameless but definitely praiseworthy. King Arthur’s knights used to do this sort of thing all the time, and look what people think of them. Lucille, therefore, coming out of the hotel just as the operation was concluded, ought not to have felt the annoyance she did. But, of course, there is a certain superficial intimacy about the attitude of a man who is taking a fly out of a woman’s eye which may excusably jar upon the sensibilities of his wife. It is an attitude which suggests a sort of rapprochement or camaraderie or, as Archie would have put it, whatnot.

“Thanks so much!” said Miss Silverton.

“Oh no, rather not,” said Archie.

“Such a nuisance getting things in your eye.”

“Absolutely!”

“I’m always doing it!”

“Rotten luck!”

“But I don’t often find anyone as clever as you to help me.”

Lucille felt called upon to break in on this feast of reason and flow of soul.

“Archie,” she said, “if you go and get your clubs now, I shall just have time to walk round with you before my train goes.”

“Oh, ah!” said Archie, perceiving her for the first time. “Oh, ah, yes, right-o, yes, yes, yes!”

On the way to the first tee it seemed to Archie that Lucille was distrait and abstracted in her manner; and it occurred to him, not for the first time in his life, what a poor support a clear conscience is in moments of crisis. Dash it all, he didn’t see what else he could have done. Couldn’t leave the poor female staggering about the place with squads of flies wedged in her eyeball. Nevertheless⁠—

“Rotten thing getting a fly in your eye,” he hazarded at length. “Dashed awkward, I mean.”

“Or convenient.”

“Eh?”

“Well, it’s a very good way of dispensing with an introduction.”

“Oh, I say! You don’t mean you think⁠—”

“She’s a horrid woman!”

“Absolutely! Can’t think what people see in her.”

“Well, you seemed to enjoy fussing over her!”

“No, no! Nothing of