Edward, standing by her side and looking down at her, shook his head gravely. "Duties should be attended to first, Zoe, pleasures indulged in afterward." "You are talking to me as if I were nothing but a child!" she cried indignantly, her cheeks growing hot. "The dearest, most lovable child in the world," he said, bending down to stroke her hair and look into her face with laughing eyes. "No, sir, I'm your wife. What did you marry me for if you considered me such a child?" she cried with a half pout on her lip, but love-light in the eyes lifted to his. "Because I loved you and wanted the right to take care of you, my bonny belle," he said, repeating his caress. "And you do, the best care in the world, you dear boy!" she exclaimed impulsively, throwing her arms about his neck. "And if it will please you, I'll set to work at the lessons now." "Then do, love; I have letters to write, and we will sit here and work side by side." Both worked diligently for an hour or more; they had a merry time over the recitations, then drove together to the nearest village to post Edward's letters and get the afternoon mail for Ion. Violet was made happy by a long letter from her husband. She had barely time to glance over it, learning when and where it was written, and that he was well at the time of writing, when the tea-bell rang. She slipped the precious missive into her pocket with a little sigh of satisfaction, and joined the others at the table with a very bright and happy face. She had not been the only fortunate one; her mother had cheering news from Herbert and Harold, Mrs. Dinsmore some sprightly, gossipy letters from her sisters Adelaide and May, whose contents furnished topics of lively discourse, in which Violet took part. She had not mentioned her own letter, but at length Edward, noting the brightness of her countenance, asked, "Good news from the captain, Vi?" "Yes, thank you," she said; "he was well and seemingly in excellent spirits at the time of writing, though he says he misses wife and children sorely." All three of his children turned toward her with eager, questioning looks, Max and Lulu asking, "Didn't papa write to us, too?" "He sends you a message, dears," Violet said. "I have not really read the letter yet, but shall do so after supper, and you shall all surely have your share of it." On leaving the table they followed her to the door of her boudoir. "May we come in, Mamma Vi?" Max asked, with a wistful look. "Certainly," she answered in a pleasant tone, though longing to be quite alone while giving her precious letter its first perusal; "I would have you feel as free to come into my apartments as I always have felt to go into mamma's. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable, dears, and you shall hear presently what your papa says. "The letter was written on shipboard, brought into New York by another vessel and there mailed to me."