What was needed to straighten matters out, I perceived, was a heart-to-heart talk with Angela. She had caused all the trouble by her mutton-headed behaviour in saying ‘Yes’ instead of ‘No’ when Gussie, in the grip of mixed drinks and cerebral excitement, had suggested teaming up. She must obviously be properly ticked off and made to return him to store. A quarter of an hour later, I had tracked her down to the summerhouse in which she was taking a cooler and was seating myself by her side. ‘Angela,’ I said, and if my voice was stern, well, whose wouldn’t have been, ‘this is all perfect drivel.’ She seemed to come out of a reverie. She looked at me inquiringly. ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, I didn’t hear. What were you talking drivel about?’ ‘I was not talking drivel.’ ‘Oh, sorry, I thought you said you were.’ ‘Is it likely that I would come out here in order to talk drivel?’ ‘Very likely.’ I thought it best to haul off and approach the matter from another angle.
