“A thousand if you wish it,” said Psmith. “You will find me somewhere out there in the great open spaces where men are men.”
He included the entire company in a benevolent smile, and left the room.
“How charming he is!” sighed Miss Peavey. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Baxter?”
The Efficient Baxter seemed for a moment to find some difficulty in replying.
“Oh, very,” he said, but not heartily.
“And such a soul! It shines on that wonderful brow of his, doesn’t it?”
“He has a good forehead,” said Lady Constance. “But I wish he wouldn’t wear his hair so short. Somehow it makes him seem unlike a poet.”
Freddie, alarmed, swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg.
“Oh, he’s a poet all right,” he said hastily.
“Well, really, Freddie,” said Lady Constance, piqued, “I think we hardly need you to tell us that.”