Uneasy Money P. G. Wodehouse (books to read in your 20s female txt) 📖

a fellow bee-lover to whom can you confide them? “An uncle of mine⁠—”

But felt himself flushing. He looked away from her.

He had a sense of almost unbearable guilt, as if he had just done some particularly low crime and was contemplating another.

“An uncle of mine would have left me enough money to buy all the farms I wanted, only an awful person⁠—an English lord⁠—I wonder if you have heard of him?⁠—Lord Dawlish⁠—got hold of uncle somehow and induced him to make a will leaving all the money to him.”

She looked at Bill for sympathy, and was touched to see that he was crimson with emotion. He must be a perfect dear to take other people’s misfortunes to heart like that.

“I don’t know how he managed it,” she went on. “He must have worked and plotted and schemed, for Uncle Ira wasn’t a weak sort of man whom you could do what you liked with. He was very obstinate. But anyway this Lord Dawlish succeeded in doing it somehow, and then”⁠—her eyes blazed at the recollection⁠—“he had the insolence to write to me through his lawyers, offering me half. I suppose he was hoping to satisfy his conscience. Naturally I refused it.”

“But⁠—but⁠—but why?”

“Why! Why did I refuse it? Surely you don’t think I was going to accept charity from the man who had cheated me?”

“But⁠—but perhaps he didn’t mean it like that. What I mean to say is⁠—as charity, you know.”

“He did! But don’t let’s talk of it any more. It makes me angry to think of him, and there’s no use spoiling a lovely day like this by getting angry.”

Bill sighed. He had never dreamed before that it could be so difficult to give money away. He was profoundly glad that he had not revealed his identity, as he had been on the very point of doing just when she began her remarks. He understood now why that curt refusal had come in answer to his lawyer’s letter. Well, there was nothing to be done, nothing but wait and hope that time might accomplish something.

“What do you want me to do next?” he said. “Why did you open the hive? Did you want to take a look at the queen?”

Elizabeth hesitated. She blushed with pure shame. She had had but one motive in opening the hive, and that had been to annoy him. She scorned to take advantage of the loophole he had provided. Beekeeping is a freemasonry. A beekeeper cannot deceive a brother mason.

She faced him bravely.

“I didn’t want to take a look at anything, Mr. Chalmers. I opened that hive because I wanted you to drop the frame, as my brother did, and get stung, as he was; because I thought that would drive you away, because I thought then that I didn’t want you down here. I’m ashamed of myself, and I don’t know where I’m getting the nerve to tell you this. I hope you will stay on⁠—on and on and on.”

Bill was aghast.

“Good Lord! If I’m in the way⁠—”

“You aren’t in the way.”

“But you said⁠—”

“But don’t you see that it’s so different now? I didn’t know then that you were fond of bees. You must stay, if my telling you hasn’t made you feel that you want to catch the next train. You will save our lives⁠—mine and Nutty’s too. Oh dear, you’re hesitating! You’re trying to think up some polite way of getting out of the place! You mustn’t go, Mr. Chalmers; you simply must stay. There aren’t any mosquitoes, no jellyfish⁠—nothing! At least there are, but what do they matter? You don’t mind them. Do you play golf?”

“Yes.”

“There are links here. You can’t go until you’ve tried them. What is your handicap?”

“Plus two.”

“So is mine.”

“By Jove! Really?”

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes dancing.

“Why, we’re practically twin souls, Mr. Chalmers! Tell me! I know your game is nearly perfect, but if you have a fault, is it a tendency to putt too hard?”

“Why, by Jove, yes, it is!”

“I knew it. Something told me. It’s the curse of my life too! Well, after that you can’t go away.”

“But if I’m in the way⁠—”

“In the way! Mr. Chalmers, will you come in now and help me wash the breakfast things?”

“Rather!” said Lord Dawlish.

X

In the days that followed their interrupted love scene at Riegelheimer’s Restaurant that night of Lord Dawlish’s unfortunate encounter with the tray-bearing waiter, Dudley Pickering’s behavior had perplexed Claire Fenwick. She had taken it for granted that next day at the latest he would resume the offer of his hand, heart and automobiles. But time passed and he made no move in that direction. Of limousine bodies, carburetors, spark plugs and inner tubes he spoke with freedom and eloquence, but the subject of love and marriage he avoided absolutely. His behavior was inexplicable.

Claire was piqued. She was in the position of a hostess who has swept and garnished her house against the coming of a guest and waits in vain for that guest’s arrival. She had made up her mind what to do when Dudley Pickering proposed to her next time, and thereby, it seemed to her, had removed all difficulties in the way of that proposal. She little knew her Pickering.

Dudley Pickering was not a self-starter in the motordrome of love. He needed cranking. He was that most unpromising of matrimonial material, a shy man with a cautious disposition. If he overcame his shyness caution applied the foot brake. If he succeeded in forgetting caution shyness shut off the gas. At Riegelheimer’s some miracle had made him not only reckless but unselfconscious. Possibly the Dream of Psyche had gone to his head. At any rate he had been on the very verge of proposing to Claire when the interruption had occurred, and in bed that night, reviewing the affair, he had been appalled at the narrowness of his escape from taking a definite step. Except in the way of business he was a man who hated definite steps. He never accepted