“You wait, Loveman. Mrs. Gardner first.”
Mr. Morton ran a forefinger beneath the embossed flap. The little lawyer was yellowish-pale, there was a spasmodic quivering of the soft folds beneath which his Adam’s apple was throbbing. Mary saw Loveman’s condition, and with a seemingly involuntary action, laid a hand upon the finger of Mr. Morton’s that was sheathed in the envelope.
“That letter contains everything, Mr. Morton. I wasn’t quite ready for you to know it. I’d rather you did not know it yet—but Mr. Loveman has forced me.” She turned to Loveman, and her next words had in them a hidden meaning for him, and another meaning for Mr. Morton. “Since you are determined, Mr. Loveman, that Mr. Morton must know it, I prefer that he learn it from me—and that he learn everything.”
In her steady glance, the sallow little man read reckless defiance—and beneath her words he read the offer of a bargain. And he had a swift sense, vague as yet, that the situation might not be as desperate as he had at first believed.
“If Mrs. Gardner really prefers that nothing be said about it just now—”
“I do prefer,” she interrupted him.
“Why, then, naturally, I’ll not say anything at present—provided Mrs. Gardner agrees to say nothing.”
“I agree.”
“And the letter?” softly suggested Loveman.
“With your permission, Mr. Morton,” and Mary deftly slipped the envelope out of his hands.