Ann Dorland suddenly laughed.
"That's better," said Wimsey. "Look here, you've been brooding over this and you're seeing it all out of proportion. Let's be practical and frightfully ordinary. Is it a baby?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well—that's rather a good thing, because babies, though no doubt excellent in their way, take a long time and come expensive. Is it blackmail?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"Good. Because blackmail is even longer and more expensive than babies. Is it Freudian, or sadistic, or any of those popular modern amusements?"
"I don't believe you'd turn a hair if it was."
"Why should I?—I can't think of anything worse to suggest, except what Rose Macaulay refers to as 'nameless orgies.' Or diseases, of course. It's not leprosy or anything?"
"What a mind you've got," she said, beginning to laugh. "No, it isn't leprosy."
"Well, what did the blighter do?"