He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. “Now,” he resumed, “if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it.”
Lemuel produced the letter. “There are some bits in it,” he explained, “which you had better not see. If you want the truth—that’s the reason I brought it myself. Read the first page-and then I’ll tell you where to skip.”
So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to the second page—and Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. “Read as far as that,” he went on, “and then skip till you come to the last bit at the end.”
On the last page, Ovid’s name appeared. He was mentioned, as a “delightful person, introduced by your brother,”—and with that the letter ended. In the first bitterness of his disappointment, Benjulia conceived an angry suspicion of those portions of the letter which he had been requested to pass over unread.
“What has Morphew got to say to you that I mustn’t read?” he asked.
“Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the letter,” Lemuel rejoined. “Morphew is a doctor like you. Is it anything medical?”
Benjulia answered this in the easiest way—he nodded his head.
“Is it Vivisection?” Lemuel inquired slyly.
Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to the door. His momentary interest in the suppressed passages was at an end. “That will do,” he answered. “Take yourself and your letter away.”
“Ah,” said Lemuel, “I’m glad you don’t want to look at it again!” He put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, and tapped his pocket significantly. “You have got a nasty temper, Nathan—and there are things here that might try it.”