“Ha!”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought you said something.”
“No, nothing.”
And I continued to do so. For at this juncture, as had so often happened when this girl and I were closeted, the conversation once more went blue on us. The night breeze whispered, but not the Bassett. A bird twittered, but not so much as a chirp escaped Bertram. It was perfectly amazing, the way her mere presence seemed to wipe speech from my lips—and mine, for that matter, from hers. It began to look as if our married life together would be rather like twenty years among the Trappist monks.
“Seen Jeeves anywhere?” I asked, eventually coming through.
“Yes, in the dining-room.”
“The dining-room?”
“Waiting on everybody. They are having eggs and bacon and champagne.... What did you say?”