Ballantyne laughed, took a gulp of his whisky-and-soda and put the glass
down again with a wry face.

"This is too strong for me," he said, and he rose from his chair and
crossed over to the tantalus upon the sideboard. He gave a cautious look
towards the table, but Thresk had bent forward towards Stella. She was
saying in a low voice:

"You don't mind a little chaff, do you?" and with an appeal so wistful
that it touched Thresk to the heart.

"Of course not," he answered, and he looked up towards Ballantyne. Stella
noticed a change come over his face. It was not surprise so much which
showed there as interest and a confirmation of some suspicion which he
already had. He saw that Ballantyne was secretly pouring into his glass
not soda-water at all but whisky from the tantalus. He came back with the
tumbler charged to the brim and drank deeply from it with relish.

"That's better," he said, and with a grin he turned his attention to his
wife, fixing her with his eyes, gloating over her like some great snake
over a bird trembling on the floor of its cage. The courses followed one
upon the other and while he ate he baited her for his amusement. She took
refuge in silence but he forced her to talk and then shivered with
ridicule everything she said. Stella was cowed by him. If she answered it
was probably some small commonplace which with an exaggerated politeness
he would nag at her to repeat. In the end, with her cheeks on fire, she
would repeat it and bend her head under the brutal sarcasm with which it
was torn to rags. Once or twice Thresk was on the point of springing up
in her defence, but she looked at him with so much terror in her eyes