George, as was his custom, let all irrelevancies pass.
“But what did you do about this scoundrel?”
“Well, George, I’m afraid I let him do it.”
“Do what?”
“Blackmail me.”
George’s face of horror was so poignant that Virginia had to bite her under lip.
“You mean—do I understand you to mean—that you did not correct the misapprehension under which he was labouring?”
Virginia shook her head, shooting a sideways glance at him.
“Good heavens, Virginia, you must be mad.”
“I suppose it would seem that way to you.”
“But why? In God’s name, why?”
“Several reasons. To begin with he was doing it so beautifully—blackmailing me, I mean—I hate to interrupt an artist when he’s doing his job really well. And then, you see, I’d never been blackmailed—”
“I should hope not, indeed.”
“And I wanted to see what it felt like.”
“I am quite at a loss to comprehend you, Virginia.”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“You did not give him money, I hope?”