“Indeed!”
“Containing certain libellous statements concerning my son.”
Mrs. Marjoy’s usually florid face grew a shade ruddier; her manner grew instantly more aggressive, and she began to twitch her shoulders, an infallible storm-signal to those who knew her.
“Well, Mr. Strong, what has all this to do with me?”
“Simply this, madam, that you wrote this letter and that I desire to discuss the situation with you.”
Mrs. Marjoy’s first impulse was to slap this stolid and masterful old gentleman’s face. She restrained herself from such a physical retort, remembering a certain fracas she had once had with a cook.
“How dare you, sir, make such an insinuation?”
“I insinuate nothing, madam.”
“Sir!”
“I am merely stating a fact.”