“Kindly permit the Court to decide what will be tolerated in the conduct of this case,” remarked the judge, in a voice from which all traces of amiability had been swept as by a cold wind. “What is the date of the purported letter?”
“May 7, 1925.”
“Did you write Mrs. Ives a letter on that date, Miss Page?”
“That’s quite a time ago, Your Honour. I certainly shouldn’t like to make any such statement under oath.”
“Would it refresh your memory if you were to look over the letter?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I think that you had better let Miss Page look over the letter if you wish to offer it in evidence, Mr. Lambert.”
Once more Mr. Lambert menacingly tendered the blue square, which Miss Page considered in a leisurely and composed manner in no way calculated to tranquillize the storm of indignation that was rocking him. Her perusal completed, she lifted a gracious countenance to the inflamed one before her. “Oh, yes, that is my letter.”
Mr. Lambert snatched it ungratefully. “I again offer this in evidence.”
“No objection,” said the prosecutor blandly.