“Jeeves, Mr Little is in love with that female.""So I gathered, sir. She was slapping him in the passage."I clutched my brow."Slapping him?""Yes, sir. Roguishly.”

“Oh, Jeeves,' I said; 'about that check suit.'Yes, sir?'Is it really a frost?'A trifle too bizarre, sir, in my opinion.'But lots of fellows have asked me who my tailor is.'Doubtless in order to avoid him, sir.'He's supposed to be one of the best men in London.'I am saying nothing against his moral character, sir.”

“But I wasn't done," she pouted, no longer hungry for anything but him. "Yes, you were.""Yes, sir.""Lay down on your back.""Very yes, sir.”

“Brookfield, my correspondent, writes that last week he observed him in the moonlight at an advanced hour gazing up at his window.""Whose window? Brookfield's?""Yes, sir. Presumably under the impression that it was the young lady's.""But what the deuce is he doing at Twing at all?""Mr Little was compelled to resume his old position as tutor to Lord Wickhammersley's son at Twing Hall, sir. Owing to having been unsuccessful in some speculations at Hurst Park at the end of October.""Good Lord, Jeeves! Is there anything you don't know?""I couldn't say, sir.”

“How does he look, Jeeves?""Sir?""What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like?""It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”