Margaret talked and laughed as much as her husband, but Susie could not tell whether this animation was affected or due to an utter callousness. 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. Margaret, apparently quite unconscious of the effect she had produced, went on talking and laughing. Soon the lights were put out, and Arthur’s agony was ended. He wanted to rush away, to hide his face, to forget the sight of her and her gaiety, above all to forget that story. It was horrible, horrible. She shook hands with him quite lightly. “You must come and see us one day. We’ve got rooms at the Carlton.” He bowed and did not answer. Susie had gone to the dressing-room to get her cloak. She stood at the door when Margaret came out. “Can we drop you anywhere?” said Margaret. “You must come and see us when you have nothing better to do.” Susie threw back her head. Arthur was standing just in front of them looking down at the ground in complete abstraction. “Do you see him?” she said, in a low voice quivering with indignation. “That is what you have made him.” He looked up at that moment and turned upon them his sunken, tormented eyes. They saw his wan, pallid face with its look of hopeless woe. “Do you know that he’s killing himself on your account? He can’t sleep at night. He’s suffered the tortures of the damned. Oh, I hope you’ll suffer as he’s suffered!” “I wonder that you blame me,” said Margaret. “You ought to be rather grateful.” “Why?” “You’re not going to deny that you’ve loved him passionately from the first day you saw him? Do you think I didn’t see that you cared for him in Paris? You care for him now more than ever.” Susie felt suddenly sick at heart. She had never dreamt that her secret was discovered. Margaret gave a bitter little laugh and walked past her. Chapter XII