“I say, Jeeves, what are these coins?”
“Ah, and these?”
“Lire, I believe. Yes, lire, sir.”
Bertie happily played with his coins while Jeeves tidied the room. “Lire, drachma, drachma, drachma, centime.” The valet’s mouth quirked and his eyes twinkled fondly. Eventually, Bertie lost interest in the coins. Tidying most of them away, he played “Forty-seven Ginger-headed Sailors” on the piano.
Jeeves appeared less amused as he moved to set the table. He paused.
“It is yours, you know.”
Clasping the heart-shaped token in his hand, Jeeves crossed the room to kiss Bertie.