Dexter
Allison himself, fairly radiating good-will, sat at the foot of the
table, with his son-in-law-to-be on one side and Barbara's little maid,
Cecile, on the other. And between Cecile and Barbara, who sat opposite
Garry and Miriam, Fat Joe leaned both elbows upon the table edge and
monopolized the conversation. The seating arrangement was Joe's; it
was his party. And the absolute inattention to detail, the large
indifference to veracity which his discourse disclosed before that
noisy supper was over, grew to be an astonishing thing. His nights of
fancy left Steve aghast in more than one instance; they even forced a
stiff smile to Wickersham's lips, and that is saying much for Joe's
success as an entertainer, for in the bearing of those two men toward
each other there had been evident from the first a chill antipathy
which amounted, actually, to armed truce. And the color in Miriam's
cheeks, whenever his gaze strayed to that side of the table, helped
Steve to forget, temporarily, much that he found not pleasant to recall
at all.
For Miriam's tongue was no less irresponsible than was Joe's. Her mood
was so mercurial that she drew, time and again, the eyes of all at the
table. She chattered with an abandon that scandalized Barbara; broke
in and interrupted every argument with hoydenish trivialities, in one
breath, to appeal to Garry the next for refutation.
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