"Cecilia," I said, rising, "if you don't control this reptile that you have married, if you don't force him to hold his peace, if you allow him to read one word, I'll throw the bread-knife at him and ... and pour my coffee all over the tablecloth."
"John," said Cecilia, "have a little thought for others and read it quietly to yourself."
Cecilia meant well, of course, but Margery giggled again.
John read it to himself in a dead silence, sighed heavily and passed it to Margery.
"We shall never live it down," he said, putting his head into his hands and gazing moodily at the marmalade.
Margery read it and giggled three or four times; but Margery giggles at anything.
Cecilia read it and beamed.
"Alan, dear," she said, "it's lovely! Of course they accepted it. John, you wretch, say you liked it." (Cecilia can be a dear.)
"Well, if I must tell the truth," said John, "it isn't quite so bad as I expected. In fact I very much doubt whether he wrote it at all. If he did—well, it's a marvellous fluke, that's all."
I smiled.