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

“He did hear what you said last night.”

Nutty’s mouth opened slowly.

“Oh!”

Elizabeth said nothing.

“But you could have explained that.”

“How?”

“Oh, I don’t know⁠—somehow or other.” He appeared to think. “But you said it was you who sent him away.”

“I did.”

“Well, this beats me!”

Elizabeth’s strained patience reached its limit.

“Nutty, please!” she said. “Don’t let’s talk about it. It’s all over now.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“Nutty, don’t! I can’t stand it. I’m raw all over. I’m hating myself. Please don’t make it worse.”

Nutty looked at her face, and decided not to make it worse. But his anguish demanded some outlet. He found it in soliloquy.

“Just like this for the rest of our lives!” he murmured, taking in the farm grounds and all that in them stood with one glassy stare of misery. “Nothing but ghastly bees and sweeping floors and carrying water till we die of old age! That is, if those blighters don’t put me in the coop for getting that money out of them. How was I to know that it was obtaining money under false pretenses? It simply seemed to me a darned good way of collecting a small roll. I don’t see how I’m ever going to pay them back, so I suppose it’s the cooler for me, all right.”

Elizabeth had been trying not to listen to him, but without success.

“I’ll look after that, Nutty. I have a little money saved up, enough to pay off what you owe. I was saving it for something else, but never mind.”

“Awfully good of you,” said Nutty, but his voice sounded almost disappointed. He was in the frame of mind which resents alleviation of its gloom. He would have preferred at that moment to be allowed to round off the picture of the future which he was constructing in his mind with a reel or two showing himself doing the lockstep or brooding in a cell. After all, what difference did it make to a man of spacious tastes whether he languished for the rest of his life in a jail or on a farm in the country. Jail, indeed, was almost preferable. You knew where you were when you were in jail. They didn’t spring things on you. Whereas life on a farm was nothing but one long succession of things sprung on you. Now that Lord Dawlish had gone he supposed that Elizabeth would make him help her with the bees again. At this thought he groaned aloud. When he contemplated a lifetime of Flack’s, a lifetime of bee dodging and carpet beating and water lugging, and reflected that but for a few innocent words⁠—words spoken, mark you, in a pure spirit of kindliness and brotherly love with the object of putting a bit of optimistic pep into sister⁠—he might have been in a position to touch a millionaire brother-in-law for the needful whenever he felt disposed, the iron entered into Nutty’s soul. A rotten, rotten world!

Nutty had the sort of mind that moves in circles. After contemplating for a time the rottenness of the world, he came back to the point from which he had started.

“I can’t understand it,” he said, “I can’t believe it.”

He kicked a small pebble that lay convenient to his foot.

“You say you sent him away. If he had legged it on his own account, because what he heard me say got his goat, I could understand that. But why should you⁠—”

It became evident to Elizabeth that, until some explanation of this point was offered to him, Nutty would drift about in her vicinity, moaning and shuffling his feet indefinitely.

“I sent him away because I loved him,” she said, “and because, after what had happened, he could never be certain that I loved him. Can you understand that?”

“No,” said Nutty frankly, “I’m darned if I can. It sounds looney to me.”

“You can’t see that it wouldn’t have been fair to him to marry him?”

“No.”

The doubts which she was trying to crush increased the violence of their attack. It was not that she respected Nutty’s judgment in itself. It was that his view of what she had done chimed in so neatly with her own. She longed for someone to tell her that she had done right, someone who would bring back that feeling of certainty which she had had during her talk with Bill. And in these circumstances Nutty’s attitude had more weight than on its merits it deserved. She wished she could cry. She had a feeling that if she once did that the right outlook would come back to her.

Nutty, meanwhile, had found another pebble and was kicking it somberly. He was beginning to perceive something of the intricate and unfathomable workings of the feminine mind. He had always looked on Elizabeth as an ordinary good fellow, a girl whose mind worked in a more or less understandable way. She was not one of those hysterical women you read about in the works of the highbrow novelists, she was just a regular girl. And yet now, at the one moment of her life when everything depended on her acting sensibly, she had behaved in a way that made his head swim when he thought of it. What it amounted to was that you simply couldn’t understand women.

Nobody home! There you had Woman in a nutshell.

Into this tangle of silent sorrow came a honking automobile. It drew up at the gate and a man jumped out.

The man who had alighted from the automobile was young and cheerful. He wore a flannel suit of a gay blue and a straw hat with a colored ribbon, and he looked upon a world, which, his manner seemed to indicate, had been constructed according to his own specifications, through a single eyeglass. When he spoke it became plain that his nationality was English.

Nutty regarded his beaming countenance with a lowering hostility. The indecency of anyone’s being cheerful at such a time struck him forcibly, He would have liked mankind to have preserved