"That must have helped to make things bearable," said the Saint in some awe.
"Of course," she went on innocently, "I should expect you to pay a bit more than that, because after all I'm only a defenceless girl, and I know you must have some horrible motive for wanting me to have dinner with you."
Simon raised his eyebrows.
"You shock me," he said. "What horrible motive could I have for asking you out to dinner? I promise that you'll be as safe with me as you would be with your old Aunt Agatha."
She sighed.
"I know. That's just what I mean. If your eyes were foaming with unholy desire, or anything like that, I probably shouldn't charge you anything at all. After all, brief life is here our portion, and all that sort of thing, and a spot of unholy desire from the right sort of person and in the right sort of way — well, you see what I mean, don't you? But as things are, I don't think I could possibly let you off with less than fifty guineas."
Simon leaned towards her.
"You know," he said earnestly, "there's something about you — an innocence, a freshness, a sort of girlish appeal that attracts me irresistibly. You're so — so ingenuous and uncalculating. Will a check do, or shall you want it in cash?"
"Damn," she said in dismay. "I believe you'd have paid a hundred if I'd asked for it. Oh well, I suppose a bargain's a bargain. A check will do."
The Saint grinned.