"How absurd, how maddening you are!" said Dora, fuming. "What on earth does it matter where the stupid old things come from?" She tore the paper into a dozen pieces and flung them down, white with rage. "You shut me out from everything. What’s the good of being the wife of a man in your position if you keep everything so secret? I’m the same as yourself; I’ve a right to know everything that you know. I know there is some big intrigue going on at this very moment between England and—well, you know which foreign Power better than I; all the newspapers are hinting at it—anybody would give anything to get hold of a little private knowledge about it. But here you are keeping it all to yourself, when it’s my right to know, when you ought to confide in me. It’s hateful, it’s despicable, it’s absolutely lowering; no wife in the world was ever treated so cruelly as you treat me." Farquharson sighed hopelessly. "We had better understand each other once and for all. I should have thought that you, the daughter of a man who, in the past, was once Colonial Minister, would have understood matters without need of explanation. With an ordinary wife things may be different, I don’t know. The wife of a man holding my office must be content to know neither more nor less than the rest of the world about the work he is engaged in. A man’s political and domestic life are absolutely apart. We have a lot of years before us, Dora, to live out side by side. This point must be made clear now. You must submit to me utterly in this; in everything else I give you your own way, so far as is compatible with common sense. It seems to me a monstrous thing that you should even contemplate the possibility of my being a spy to satisfy your curiosity. Leave my room now, at once, and remember that I put you on your honour never to enter it again without permission."