Blanche guessed the contents by that action; but she made no remark.
For at least an hour did he sit looking fixedly on the ground, keeping the crumpled letter in his closed hand; and then she saw him slowly open it, smooth the paper, and examine it attentively. While she was thus watching his countenance, curious as to what could be his motive for examining so minutely a handwriting he knew, he suddenly looked up at her. A strange expression distorted his face as he shouted,—
"What the devil are you looking at me for?"
"I ... I ... Cecil..."
"You don't suspect anything, do you?" he fiercely asked.
"Suspect, Cecil; and what?"
"What's that to you?" he said brusquely, and again turned away his head.
She began to fear that he was getting insane.
"Are you not well, dearest?"
"No."