“During the brief period of my stay at the castle,” said Psmith, “the same thought has occurred to me. It is the sort of place where one feels that one could gladly settle down into a peaceful retirement and grow a honey-coloured beard.” He looked at her with solemn admiration. “Women are wonderful,” he said.
“And why, Mr. Bones, are women wonderful?” asked Eve.
“I was thinking at the moment of your appearance. You have just stepped off the train after a four-hour journey, and you are as fresh and blooming as—if I may coin a simile—a rose. How do you do it? When I arrived I was deep in alluvial deposits, and have only just managed to scrape them off.”
“When did you arrive?”
“On the evening of the day on which I met you.”
“But it’s so extraordinary. That you should be here, I mean. I was wondering if I should ever see you again.” Eve coloured a little, and went on rather hurriedly. “I mean, it seems so strange that we should always be meeting like this.”
“Fate, probably,” said Psmith. “I hope it isn’t going to spoil your visit?”
“Oh, no.”
“I could have done with a trifle more emphasis on the last word,” said Psmith gently. “Forgive me for criticising your methods of voice production, but surely you can see how much better it would have sounded spoken thus: ‘Oh, no!’”
Eve laughed.