CHAPTER IX. PSMITH ENGAGES A VALET
From out of the scented shade of the big cedar on the lawn in front of the castle Psmith looked at the flower-beds, jaunty and gleaming in the afternoon sun; then he looked back at Eve, incredulity in every feature.
“ I must have misunderstood you. Surely,” he said in a voice vibrant with reproach, “you do not seriously intend to work in weather like this?”
“ I must. I’ve got a conscience. They aren’t paying me a handsome salary—a fairly handsome salary—to sit about in deck-chairs.”
“ But you only came yesterday.”
“ Well, I ought to have worked yesterday.”
“ It seems to me,” said Psmith, “the nearest thing to s*****y that I have ever struck. I had hoped, seeing that everybody had gone off and left us alone, that we were going to
