There was enough subdued interest in her manner to make him determined to know the contents of the letter, but not wishing to give himself the airs of a Bluebeard, he drew her on to his knee and gave it to her, at the same time opening one of his own. As he read his he saw that she slipped hers without opening it into some hiding-place among the folds of her dress; at first he made no remark upon this, but went on with his own letters until he had come to the end of the pile by throwing a couple of circulars into the fireplace. At this point she tried to get away; she wanted to take her hat off, she said. “Well, that’s soon done,” said George laughing, tossing off her little grey cap and passing his fingers through her curls. “And now who is your letter from?” “Oh, it’s only from an old schoolfellow.” “A schoolfellow! A male schoolfellow! I must see it then; I’m jealous.” “There’s nothing to be jealous about,” said Nouna lightly, but beginning to tremble as she saw that, in spite of the playfulness of his tone, he did not mean to let her go till his curiosity was satisfied. “I haven’t even opened it yet.” “Open it now then, and tell me the news.” He spoke quite gently, and leaned back in the arm-chair they were sitting on, leaving her perched upon his knees in what she might have imagined was liberty, if there had not been, to her sharp eyes, a leonine look of possession and passive power in the strong white hands that lay quietly on the arms of the chair on each side of her. These Eastern women have a subtle sense, transmitted to them from bow-stringing times, of what is best to do in a case of jealousy. George saw the quick glance round under lowered eyelids, and while fearing some impish indiscretion, yet with a little smart of rage admired her self-possession as she crossed her knees carelessly and drew forth her letter from her breast, after affecting to feel in her pocket, as if forgetful where she had put it. As she inserted a small forefinger under the flap of the envelope, George held himself on the alert to seize the little hands if they should make any attempt to destroy the missive. But the first glance at the note apparently relieved her, and she flourished it before him to show that he had made a fuss about nothing. “It is only a note from Captain Pascoe to tell me his address, because he is so anxious to come again to our little suppers,” said she, making a ball of the note, tossing it dexterously, catching it in her hand, and posting it between her husband’s lips, opened for a little lecture. “Has he written to you before?” asked George frowning. “No; if he had I should have known the handwriting,” answered she carelessly, but in the meantime by a clever little movement causing the injured note to roll from its lodging-place under George’s chin on to the floor. “And now please may I go and change my shoes?” “Certainly.”