Her voice seemed natural enough, yet it was inconceivable that she should
be so lighthearted. Perhaps she was trying to show that she was happy.
The supper proceeded, and the lights, the surrounding gaiety, the
champagne, made everyone more lively. Their host was in uproarious
spirits. He told a story or two at which everyone laughed. Oliver Haddo
had an amusing anecdote handy. It was a little risky, but it was so
funnily narrated that everyone roared but Arthur, who remained in perfect
silence. Margaret had been drinking glass after glass of wine, and no
sooner had her husband finished than she capped his story with another.
But whereas his was wittily immoral, hers was simply gross. At first the
other women could not understand to what she was tending, but when they
saw, they looked down awkwardly at their plates. Arbuthnot, Haddo, and
the other man who was there laughed very heartily; but Arthur flushed to
the roots of his hair. He felt horribly uncomfortable. He was ashamed. He
dared not look at Margaret. It was inconceivable that from her exquisite
mouth such indecency should issue.
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