“I know, now.  Rather a pretty girl, with blue eyes.”

I stared at him blankly.  It was not much good, as he could not see my face, but it relieved me.  “Rather a pretty girl!” What a description!

“Of course, yes,” continued Ukridge.  “She came to dinner here one night with her father, that fat little buffer.”

“As you were careful to call him to his face at the time, confound you!  It was that that started all the trouble.”

“Trouble?  What trouble?”

“Why, her father. . . .”

“By Jove, I remember now!  So worried lately, old boy, that my memory’s gone groggy.  Of course!  Her father fell into the sea, and you fished him out.  Why, damme, it’s like the stories you read.”

“It’s also very like the stories I used to write.  But they had one point about them which this story hasn’t.  They invariably ended happily, with the father joining the hero’s and heroine’s hands and giving his blessing.  Unfortunately, in the present case, that doesn’t seem likely to happen.”

“The old man won’t give his consent?”

“I’m afraid not.  I haven’t asked him yet, but the chances are against it.”

“But why?  What’s the matter with you?  You’re an excellent chap, sound in wind and limb, and didn’t you once tell me that, if you married, you came into a pretty sizeable bit of money?”

“Yes, I do.  That part of it is all right.”

Ukridge’s voice betrayed perplexity.

“I don’t understand this thing, old horse,” he said.  “I should have thought the old boy would have been all over you.  Why, damme, I never heard of anything like it.  You saved his life!  You fished him out of the water.”

“After chucking him in.  That’s the trouble.”

“You chucked him in?”

“By proxy.”

I explained.  Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed in a way that must have been heard miles away in distant villages in Devonshire.

“You devil!” he bellowed. " ’Pon my Sam, old horse, to look at you one would never have thought you’d have had it in you.”

“I can’t help looking respectable.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“That’s where I wanted your advice.  You’re a man of resource.  What would you do in my place?”

Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder.

“Laddie,” he said, “there’s one thing that’ll carry you through any mess.”

“And that is——?”

“Cheek, my boy, cheek.  Gall.  Nerve.  Why, take my case.  I never told you how I came to marry, did I. I thought not.  Well, it was this way.  It’ll do you a bit of good, perhaps, to hear the story, for, mark you, blessings weren’t going cheap in my case either.  You know Millie’s Aunt Elizabeth, the female who wrote that letter?  Well, when I tell you that she was Millie’s nearest relative and that it was her consent I had to snaffle, you’ll see that I was faced with a bit of a problem.”