The girl looked at him pityingly and Bertie, ever alert to the danger of entanglement with the female of the species, wondered what he was in for. He wasn't too worried, as this particular example of the f. of the s. didn't seem to be interested in marrying him; nor was she displaying any distressingly aunt-like characteristics.
He was not even too concerned when she began talking being about the same age as King Henry VIII or some of those chaps, given all the loony stuff she'd come out with earlier. He simply nodded along as she spoke about the supernatural. Loony or not, it was better than the soppy stuff Madeline Basset came out with. And then, she changed.
"AAAUUUGH!" Bertie yelped, leaping back from her in fright and landing in an ungainly heap next to the bench. He stared at her, frozen in fright, and only when her face returned to normal did her words sink in. He gulped, attempting to summon the spirit of the Woosters that had seen them through Agincourt and all the centuries since.
"I say," he said weakly, still staring up at her from the ground.