Peter's nephew is adorable.
“Uncle Peter’s weakness,” went on Lord Saint-George, carefully disentangling the squashed meringues from their paper, “is his strong sense of public duty. You mightn’t think it to look at him, but it’s there. (Shall we try these on the carp? I don’t think they’re really fit for human consumption.) He’s kept out of it so far—he’s an obstinate old devil. Says he’ll have the right wife or none.”
“But suppose the right one says No.”
“That’s the story he puts up. I don’t believe a word of it. Why should anybody object to Uncle Peter? He’s no beauty and he’d talk the hind leg off a donkey; but he’s dashed well-off and he’s got good manners and he’s in the stud-book.” He balanced himself on the edge of Mercury and peered into its tranquil waters. “Look! there’s the big old one. Been here since the foundation, by the looks of him—see him go? Cardinal Wolsey’s particular pet.” He tossed a crumb to the great fish, which took it with a quick snap and submerged again.