“Temper, eh?” said Stukeley. He feinted quickly for Perrin’s nose; Perrin’s outstretched hand flew back to guard; the letter was seized with a whoop of triumph. Stukeley glanced contemptuously at Perrin, and began to read the letter, as Margaret quietly walked round the table to him.
Stukeley saw him coming, and kicked Mrs. Prinsep’s chair across his shins, checking his progress for an instant. As he kicked the chair, Perrin dashed at him, to snatch the paper. Stukeley flung him aside heavily, laughing at the fun of the tussle.
“You see what you get, little Pilly,” he said. “You see what you get. Eh?”
Margaret set aside the chair and advanced upon him. “Now, Stukeley,” he said, “that letter.”
Stukeley backed a pace to avoid him. Perrin, recovering, felt blindly along the table for a knife. At this moment the door opened, and Olivia entered.
“I’ve come to ask if I might read the letter. Uncle Nestor’s letter, Charles,” she said.
Perrin, in a voice which shook with the hysteria of wrath, told her that she had better ask her husband.
“There it is,” said Margaret quietly, indicating Stukeley.
Olivia glanced at the three men with surprise, even anxiety. Stukeley, who had not yet read the letter, looked to Margaret for a hint that the letter might be shown.
“There it is,” Margaret repeated.