She didn’t answer. She took the sheet from the envelope, unfolded it, and read it with her head turned to one side, using, apparently, the left eye only from behind the veil. Then she stuffed it in her bag, turned, and started for the door. I got up and went to open it, but young Dunn was ahead of me, and anyway we were both premature. She altered her course abruptly, and was confronting April Hawthorne, close enough to touch her; but when she lifted her hand it was to take hold of the bottom edge of the veil.
“Look, April!” she demanded. “I wouldn’t care to have the others see — but just for you — as a favor, you know, in memory of Leo—”
“Don’t!” April screamed. “Don’t let her!”
There was commotion. Most of them were out of their chairs. The one who got there first was Celia Fleet, living up to her name. I didn’t know a blonde’s eyes could blaze the way hers did as she faced the veil. “You do that again,” she said furiously, “and I’ll pull that thing off of you! I swear I will! Try it!”
A masculine voice horned in. “Get away from here! Get out!” It was Mr. Stauffer, the chap who kept his face arranged. It was now fierce with indignation, as he shouldered Celia Fleet aside to stand protectively in front of April, who had shrunk back in her seat and covered her face with her hands. The same terrible little laugh came from behind the veil, then Noel Hawthorne’s widow turned and started again for the door. But again, halfway there, she halted to speak, this time to Mrs. Dunn.
“Don’t send the brats to guard me, June. I’ll keep my word. I’ll give you till Monday.”
Then she went. Fritz was there in the hall, looking concerned on account of the scream he had heard, and I was glad to leave it to him to escort her out the front door. That damn veil got on my nerves. As I rejoined the scene, April’s shoulders were having spasms and Mr. Stauffer was patting one of them and Celia Fleet the other. May and June were quietly observing the operation. Prescott was mopping his face with his handkerchief. I asked if I should get some brandy or something.
“No, thank you.” May smiled at me. “My sister is always teetering on the edge of things, more or less. I doubt if she could be a good actress if she weren’t. It seems that artists have to. It used to be attributed to the flames of genius, but now they say it’s glands.”
April’s face, pale with revulsion, came into view and she blurted, “Stop it!”
“Yes,” June put in, “I don’t think that’s necessary, May.” She looked at Wolfe. “I imagine you’ll agree I was correct when I said our sister-in-law is implacable.”