"We've got rather beyond that, I think," said the victim with dignity.
"I'm not so sure," said George cruelly, "that you can afford to neglect any means. Some people laugh at them even now, in this twentieth century, in this beautiful England of ours."
"And I can tell you why," broke in Raymond eagerly. He took from his pocket a well-known Manual of Psychology and whirled over the pages.
"Meanwhile," said George learnedly, "Bergson may be of some assistance to you. He knows all about laughter. He analysed it."
"Why couldn't he leave it alone?" said Allegra uneasily.
"He defines laughter," said George, "as 'a kind of social gesture.'"
"It isn't," said Allegra rashly. "At least," she added, "that sort of thing isn't going to help Jerry. Do give it up."
"Well, then, here's something more practical," said George. "Listen. 'A situation is always comical when it belongs at one and the same time to two series of absolutely independent events, and can at the same time be interpreted in two different ways.'"
"I should think," said Edna brightly, "that might be very amusing."
She remarked later that it made it all seem very clear, but even she showed signs of relief when Raymond interrupted, having found his place.