Right Ho, Jeeves

leave the hot instrument upon it. I very much fear that it will be impossible for you to wear it again, sir.”
    One of those old pregnant silences filled the room.
    “I am extremely sorry, sir.”
    For a moment, I confess, that generous wrath of mine came bounding back, hitching up its muscles and snorting a bit through the nose, but, as we say on the Riviera, _a quoi sert-il_? There was nothing to be gained by g.w. now.
    We Woosters can bite the bullet. I nodded moodily and speared another slab of omelette.
    “Right ho, Jeeves.”
    “Very good, sir.”