Twitters. In no way my dear. (Aside.) I must dissemble—go on.
Clara (reading). “The unfortunate couple were well known in the highest social circles. The married life of the twain had been unmarred by a cloud. It seems most strange that a train of circumstantial evidence is wound around the unhappy wife, which points”—(stops). Papa, dear, how can a chain point.
Twitters. Continue your reading, flippant girl.
Clara (reading). “Which points at her as the murderess. It seems that, with a noteworthy economy, she alone of the household had access to the sugar barrel.” (Turns and refolds paper.)
Twitters (aside). The sugar barrel! In far-off Kalamazoo! That letter bears the stamp of truth.
Clara (having folded paper, reads). “The lemonade was prepared with her own hands. Traces of arsenic were found in the glass from which the victim drank his last drink; and in the barrel of sugar, which had but just arrived from the highly respectable store of Spicer & Co., not less than half an ounce has already been discovered—” What stupid stuff! Why, papa! What is the matter?
Twitters (with his head on his hands, in agony). Nothing, my dear nothing. It is so terrible to think of all that suffering (Enter Hunker).
Hunker. Mr. Twitters, I believe.
Twitters. Yes, what do you want? (Seizing and pocketing paper.)
Hunker. Your servant was not disposed to introduce me, so I take the liberty of introducing myself.