"Read, read!" vehemently.
Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense. It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought of him out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. She watched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to say which of the two was the whiter.
"You speak of love to me?"
He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He was guilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that no man can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly.
"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poor brother!"
Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letter aside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell.
"Is it true?"
"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously.
"I know who wrote it."
"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voice now.