Very well, all I had to do was to ascertain the date of that disaster and I had her.

But in the meantime she laughed at me and my hives.
"I suppose it is--er--humorous, in some sort of way," I said a bit stiffly, only to find that there was no use in being stiff with Miss West, for it only set her off into more laughter.
"What you needed," she announced, with fresh gurglings, "was an exterior treatment." "Don't tell me I've got the chicken-pox or the measles," I protested.
"No." She shook her head emphatically while she enjoyed another paroxysm.

"What you are suffering from is a severe attack.

.

.