“No, Livy. Let’s see it.”
“I suppose I may show it to Tom, Charles?”
“Yes, Olivia.”
“You’ve read the letter, Charles?”
“Yes, Olivia.”
“Well. I don’t understand. What is Uncle Nestor thinking, Tom?”
Stukeley read the letter, with a desire to have Margaret’s throat in his hands, squeezing the life out of him. He looked savagely at Margaret. “You swine, to let me in for this,” he thought. Then he became conscious that Olivia was closely watching him.
“Strange,” he said, puckering his brows. He took a gulp of wine and looked at Margaret. “Hadn’t we better go aboard?” he added. “It’s not a thing we can discuss here. Old Howard might come in.”
“But we can’t go aboard, Tom. The ship is sailing.”
“All our things are on board.”