He trusted not; such an accusation had never been brought against him. Would monsieur be kind enough to produce the decanter? A proper deduction would be made if only one small glass had been taken.
"Produce the decanter! Certainly I will."
I called to Barbara to give me the decanter, and, her white arm bared to the shoulder, she handed it out to me. It was empty. I blushed from shame.
"Does monsieur find the account correct?"
"It is correct. Here is your money."
He receipted the bill and departed with polite bows and more deprecatory waving of his hands. As I sat with my closed eyes covered by my hand, Barbara touched my shoulder. I looked up into her smiling face.
"Have I made myself beautiful, dear?"
Most assuredly she would have been so in other men's eyes, for she was eminently attractive, but she was not in mine. Her beautiful outside served only to accentuate what was corrupt within.
"Why do you not answer? Are you not proud of your wife?"
Proud of her? Great God! Proud of a woman who had brought this shame upon me, and who, but an hour ago, was as degraded a spectacle as imagination could compass.