The woman’s hateful touch struck out a spark of the old fire in Mrs. Farnaby. Her natural force of character asserted itself once more. “You lie!” she rejoined. “Leave the room!”
The door was opened, while she spoke. A respectable woman-servant came in with a letter. Mrs. Farnaby took it mechanically, and looked at the address. Jervy’s feigned handwriting was familiar to her. In the instant when she recognized it, the life seemed to go out of her like an extinguished light. She stood pale and still and silent, with the unopened letter in her hand.
Watching her with malicious curiosity, Mrs. Sowler coolly possessed herself of the letter, looked at it, and recognized the writing in her turn. “Stop!” she cried, as the servant was on the point of going out. “There’s no stamp on this letter. Was it brought by hand? Is the messenger waiting?”
The respectable servant showed her opinion of Mrs. Sowler plainly in her face. She replied as briefly and as ungraciously as possible:—“No.”
“Man or woman?” was the next question.
“Am I to answer this person, ma’am?” said the servant, looking at Mrs. Farnaby.
“Answer me instantly,” Mrs. Sowler interposed—“in Mrs. Farnaby’s own interests. Don’t you see she can’t speak to you herself?”
“Well, then,” said the servant, “it was a man.”
“A man with a squint?”
“Yes.”