Eve regarded him steadfastly. Then she gave a little laugh.
“Yes,” she said, “I think so, too.” She paused. “Shall I tell you something?”
“You could tell me nothing more wonderful than that.”
“When I met Cynthia in Market Blandings, she told me what the trouble was which made her husband leave her. What do you suppose it was?”
“From my brief acquaintance with Comrade McTodd, I would hazard the guess that he tried to stab her with the bread-knife. He struck me as a murderous-looking specimen.”
“They had some people to dinner, and there was chicken, and Cynthia gave all the giblets to the guests, and her husband bounded out of his seat with a wild cry, and, shouting ‘You know I love those things better than anything in the world!’ rushed from the house, never to return!”
“Precisely how I would have wished him to rush, had I been Mrs. McTodd.”
“Cynthia told me that he had rushed from the house, never to return, six times since they were married.”
“May I mention—in passing—” said Psmith, “that I do not like chicken giblets?”
“Cynthia advised me,” proceeded Eve, “if ever I married, to marry someone eccentric. She said it was such fun. Well, I don’t suppose I am ever likely to meet anyone more eccentric than you, am I?”