Yes, he was glad Freddie was engaged to be married to Aline Peters. He liked Aline. He liked Mr. Peters. Such was the relief he experienced that he found himself feeling almost affectionate toward Freddie, who emerged from the bathroom at this moment, clad in a pink bathrobe, to find the paternal wrath evaporated, and all, so to speak, right with the world.
Nevertheless, he wasted no time about his dressing. He was always ill at ease in his father's presence and he wished to be elsewhere with all possible speed. He sprang into his trousers with such energy that he nearly tripped himself up. As he disentangled himself he recollected something that had slipped his memory.
"By the way, gov'nor, I met an old pal of mine last night and asked him down to Blandings this week. That's all right, isn't it? He's a man named Emerson, an American. He knows Aline quite well, he says—has known her since she was a kid."
"I do not remember any friend of yours named Emerson."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I met him last night for the first time. But it's all right. He's a good chap, don't you know! —and all that sort of rot."
Lord Emsworth was feeling too benevolent to raise the objections he certainly would have raised had his mood been less sunny.
"Certainly; let him come if he wishes."
"Thanks, gov'nor."
Freddie completed his toilet.
"Doing anything special this morning, gov'nor? I rather thought of getting a bit of breakfast and then strolling round a bit. Have you had breakfast?"