“Hush, James!” interposed the Canon; “you must allow George to speak. This thing is done and cannot be undone, for there is no question either of my brother’s ability or of his right to make his will, when this statement was written.”
There was a moment’s pause, then George said, “I have nothing to say. It is impossible to reply to my brother’s insinuations.”
“You had better produce James’ letter now,” said the Canon, “that there may be no further misunderstanding.”
“I—I was about to say,” said George, “that most unfortunately, the letter is mislaid; otherwise I might have found an opportunity—Mary, you do not recollect seeing such a letter?”
“No, George, you never showed it to me, nor told me you had received it,” she said, in a hard clear voice that startled them all.
“I think,” said the Canon, with decision, “that we had better separate; no good can be attained by further discussion now. If you will come with me, James, I shall be glad to hear all the particulars of your marriage.”
James had not perhaps so fully realised the situation as to feel the full force of his anger against his brother. He followed his uncle, and the family solicitor, who had been present at the reading of the will, took leave, saying that he should call again on the next day, when matters were more ripe for discussion.
The door closed behind him, and the husband and wife were left alone.
She had remained in her seat by the fire, silent except when appealed to, through the whole interview. Now she sprang up and ran to him, laying her hands on his, and looking right into his eyes, with a passionate appeal in her own.