‘Leave me,’ I said, ‘I would be alone. I can’t see anybody till I’ve had my tea.’
‘When Cynthia smiles,’ said young Bingo, ‘the skies are blue; the world takes on a roseate hue; birds in the garden trill and sing, and Joy is king of everything, when Cynthia smiles.’ He coughed, changing gears. ‘When Cynthia frowns—’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
‘I’m reading you my poem. The one I wrote to Cynthia last night. I’ll go on, shall I?’
‘No!’
‘No?’
‘No. I haven’t had my tea.’
At this moment Jeeves came in with the good old beverage, and I sprang on it with a glad cry. After a couple of sips things looked a bit brighter. Even young Bingo didn’t offend the eye to quite such an extent. By the time I’d finished the first cup I was a new man, so much so that I not only permitted but
