It merged into a multiple roar of inextinguishable laughter.

The Mistress saw a hundred faces all turned in one direction, The faces were convulsed with mirth.

A hundred derisively wondering fingers were pointing.

She ran to the veranda rail and looked down.
Across the patch of greensward, from the stables, a man and a dog were advancing.

The man was shaking his fist at the world at large and fairly dancing with rage.
But it was the dog, and not he, that caused the Homeric gusts of merriment and the gobbling chorus of amazed questions.