“I think you would be unwise to wait on the chance.”
“The only thing is . . .,” said Eve reflectively. “‘Mrs. Smith’ . . . It doesn’t sound much, does it?”
Psmith beamed encouragingly.
“We must look into the future,” he said. “We must remember that I am only at the beginning of what I am convinced is to be a singularly illustrious career. ‘Lady Psmith’ is better . . . ‘Baroness Psmith’ better still . . . And—who knows?—‘The Duchess of Psmith’ . . .”
“Well, anyhow,” said Eve, “you were wonderful just now, simply wonderful. The way you made one spring . . .”
“Your words,” said Psmith, “are music to my ears, but we must not forget that the foundations of the success of the manœuvre were laid by Comrade Threepwood. Had it not been for the timely incursion of his leg . . .”
“Good gracious!” cried Eve. “Freddie! I had forgotten all about him!”
“The right spirit,” said Psmith. “Quite the right spirit.”
“We must go and let him out.”
“Just as you say. And then he can come with us on the stroll I was about to propose that we should take through the woods. It is a lovely night, and what could be jollier than to have Comrade Threepwood prattling at our side? I will go and let him out at once.”