"No, I don't. I don't think it's a bit funny."
Her tone was such that, relaxing his arm, he turned and gazed at her. "Don't you? Don't you really?"
"No, I don't. Far from funny."
Some instinct told him he ought not to laugh, but he could not help it. The idea appealed to him as distinctly and clearly comic. "Well, but it is funny. Don't you see? High Jinks alone is such a funny expression—sort of—well, you know what I mean. Apart altogether from Low Jinks," and he laughed again.
Mabel compressed her lips. "I simply don't. Rebecca is not a bit like High Jinks."
He burst out laughing. "No, I'm dashed if she is. That's just it!"
"I really do not see it."
"Oh, go on, Mabel! Of course you do. You make it funnier. High Jinks and Low Jinks! I shall call them that."
"Mark." She spoke the word severely and paused severely. "Mark. I do most earnestly hope you'll do nothing of the kind."
He stared, puzzled. He had tried to explain the absurd thing, and she simply could not see it. "I simply don't."