“Read this, then.” He took a letter from his pocket and held it towards her, his name, “Paul Tennant, Esq.,” clearly visible on the envelope in the light of the flame.
But at the same instant Eve bent forward; she grasped his arm, drawing his hand back.
“Don’t you interfere,” he said, freeing himself.
Eve turned to the judge. “Oh, take her away!”
“Where to? I relied upon Tennant; I thought Tennant would be able to do something,” said the old man, miserably.
Paul meanwhile, his back turned squarely to Eve, was again holding out the letter to Cicely.
Cicely did not take it.
“I’ll read it aloud, then.” He drew the sheet from its envelope, and, opening it, began, “‘Dear old Paul—’”
Cicely put out both her hands,—“Give it to me.” She took it hastily. “Oh, how can you treat him so—Ferdie, your own brother!” Her eyes were full of tears.
“I cared for him before you ever saw him,” answered Paul, exasperated. “What do you know about my feelings? Ferdie wishes you to stay here, and every one thinks you exceedingly wrong to go—every one except Miss Bruce, who seems to have lost her head.” Here he flashed a short look at Eve.