y 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.

* * * * *

Bruce, alone, with trembling fingers tore open the envelope. Never in
his life had he been opposed by Edith before in this way. He read these
words in stereotyped writing:

_'Van will call on receipt of post-card. The Lavender Laundry hopes
that you will give them a trial,