"Mr. Brett," she said, after a single glance at her lover, "we have received a letter from my brother."
"A letter from Jack!" cried Fairholme.
"Well, I never did!" ejaculated Mr. Winter.
But Brett only said—
"Have you brought it with you, Miss Talbot?"
"Yes; it is here. My uncle, who was too ill to accompany me, thought you ought to see it at once," and she handed a torn envelope to him.
He glanced at the postmark.
"It was posted in Paris last evening," he said, his cool utterance sending a thrill through the listeners. "Is the address written by him?" he added.
"Oh, yes. It is undoubtedly from Jack."
Here was a woman moulded on the same inscrutable lines as the man whom she faced. Seldom, indeed, would either of these betray the feelings which agitated them. Then he took out the folded letter. It contained but three lines, and was undated.