“Are we old friends?”
“Surely. Have you forgotten all those happy days in London?”
“There was only one.”
“True. But think how many meetings we crammed into it.”
“Are you staying at the castle?”
“Yes. And what is more, I am the life and soul of the party. Have you anything in the shape of luggage?”
“I nearly always take luggage when I am going to stay a month or so in the country. It’s at the back somewhere.”
“I will look after it. You will find the car outside. If you care to go and sit in it, I will join you in a moment. And, lest the time hangs heavy on your hands, take this. Butter-scotch. Delicious, and, so I understand, wholesome. I bought it specially for you.”
A few minutes later, having arranged for the trunk to be taken to the castle, Psmith emerged from the station and found Eve drinking in the beauties of the town of Market Blandings.
“What a delightful old place,” she said as they drove off. “I almost wish I lived here.”