He isn't; he is merely a trifle literal, and far too intelligent to see any humour in the silly capers Sam and Harry cut." Valerie, who was feeling better, sipped her tea and nibbled her toast, much amused at Rita's championship of the big sculptor.
"John is a dear," she said, "but even his most enthusiastic partisans could hardly characterise him as a humorist." "He's not a clown--if that's what you mean," said Rita shortly.
"But, Rita, he _isn't_ humorous, you know." "He _is_.

He has a sense of humour perfectly intelligible to those who understand it." "Do you, dear ?" "Certainly ...

And I always have understood it." "Oh, what kind of occult humour is it ?" "It is a quiet, cultivated, dignified sense of humour not uncommon in New England, and not understood in New York." Valerie nibbled her toast, secretly amused.

Burleson was from Massachusetts.

Rita was the daughter of a Massachusetts clergyman.