'The question,' said Edith, in the most cool, high, irritating voice she could command, 'really, of votes for women hardly enters into our argument here. As a matter of fact, I take no interest in any kind of politics, and, I may be entirely wrong, but if I were compelled to take sides on the subject, I should be an anti-suffragist.' 'Oh, you would, would you? That's as well to know! That's interesting. Give me that letter.' 'Do you think you have the right to speak to me like that?' 'Edith,' he said rather pathetically, trying to control himself. 'I beg you, I _implore_ you to let me see the letter! Hang it all! You know perfectly well, old girl, how fond I am of you. I may worry you a bit sometimes, but you know my heart's all right.' 'Of course, Bruce; I'm not finding fault with you. I only want to read my own letter, that's all.' 'But if I let you out of this room without having shown it me, then if there's something you don't want me to see, you'll tear it up or chuck it in the fire.' Edith was quite impressed at this flash of prophetic insight. She admitted to herself he was right. 'It's entirely a matter of principle,' she said after another reassuring look at the envelope. 'It's only a matter of principle, dear, I'm twenty-eight years old, we've been married eight years; you leave the housekeeping, the whole ordering of the children's education, and heaps of other quite important things, entirely to me; in fact, you lead almost the life of a schoolboy, without any of the tiresome part, and with freedom, going to school in the day and amusing yourself in the evening, while everything disagreeable and important is thought of and seen to for you. You only have the children with you when they amuse you. I have all the responsibility; I have to be patient, thoughtful--in fact, you leave things to me more than most men do to their wives, Bruce. You won't be bothered even to look at an account--to do a thing. But I'm not complaining.' 'Oh, you're not! It sounded a little like it.' 'But it isn't. I don't _mind_ all this responsibility, but I ought, at least, to be allowed to read my letters.' 'Well, darling, you shall, as a rule. Look here, old girl, you shall. I promise you, faithfully, dear. Oh, Edith, you're looking awfully pretty; I like that hat. Look here, I promise you, dear, I'll _never_ ask you again, never as long as I live. But I've a fancy to read this particular letter. Why not just gratify it? It's a very harmless whim.' His tone suddenly changed. 'What do you suppose there's _in_ the damned letter? Something you're jolly well anxious I shouldn't see.' She made a step forward. He rushed at her, snatched the letter out of her hand, and went to the window with it. She went into her own room, shut the door, and threw herself on the bed, her whole frame shaking with suppressed laughter. * * * * *