“You have a very happy gift of phrase,” he said. “That, as you sensibly say, is that.”
Eve was silent for awhile. Psmith completed the obsequies and stepped back with the air of a man who has done what he can for a fallen friend.
“Fancy Miss Peavey being a thief!” said Eve. She was somehow feeling a disinclination to allow the conversation to die down, and yet she had an idea that, unless it was permitted to die down, it might become embarrassingly intimate. Subconsciously, she was endeavouring to analyse her views on this long, calm person who had so recently added himself to the list of those who claimed to look upon her with affection.
“I confess it came as something of a shock to me also,” said Psmith. “In fact, the revelation that there was this other, deeper side to her nature materially altered the opinion I had formed of her. I found myself warming to Miss Peavey. Something that was akin to respect began to stir within me. Indeed, I almost wish that we had not been compelled to deprive her of the jewels.”
“‘We’?” said Eve. “I’m afraid I didn’t do much.”
“Your attitude was exactly right,” Psmith assured her. “You afforded just the moral support which a man needs in such a crisis.”
Silence fell once more. Eve returned to her thoughts. And then, with a suddenness which surprised her, she found that she had made up her mind.
“So you’re going to be married?” she said.
Psmith polished his monocle thoughtfully.
“I think so,” he said. “I think so. What do you think?”