'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.'