"What makes you say that?"
"I have been shown your letter."
"Oh! Obadiah Scantlebray is premature."
"He is not at Othello Cottage yet. His brother came beforehand to prepare me."
"How considerate of your feelings," sneered Captain Cruel. "I would not have expected that of Scantlebray."
"You have not awaited my decision," said Judith.
"That is true," answered Coppinger, carelessly. "I knew you would shrink from the exposure, the disgrace of publication of what has occurred here. I knew you so well that I could reckon beforehand on what you would elect."
"But, why to Scantlebray? Are there not other asylums?"
"Yes: so long as that boy is placed where he can do no mischief, I care not."
"Then, if that be so, I have another proposal to make."
"What is that?" Coppinger stood up.
"If you have any regard for my feelings, any care for my happiness, you will grant my request."
"Let me hear it."
"Mr. Menaida is going to Portugal."
"What!"—in a tone of concentrated rage—"Oliver?"
"Oliver and his father. But the proposal concerns the father."
"Go on." Coppinger strode once across the room, then back again. "Go on," he said, savagely.
"Old Mr. Menaida offers to take Jamie with him. He intends to settle at Oporto, near his son, who has been appointed to a good situation there. He will gladly undertake the charge of Jamie. Let Jamie go with them. There he can do no harm."
"What, go—without you? Did they not want you to go, also?"
Judith hesitated and flushed. There was a single tallow candle on the table. Coppinger took it up, snuffed it, and held the flame to her face to study its expression. "I thought so," he said, and put down the light again.
"Jamie is useful to Mr. Menaida," pleaded Judith, in some confusion, and with a voice of tremulous apology.
