"Did the papers come? I'll look them over for a little. Whistle when
you're ready and I'll wipe the dishes for you."

He strolled into the living room, and I suddenly remembered that I
had laid my letter from Jack on the table, with its pages scattered so
that any one picking them up could not help seeing them.

I had forgotten all about the letter. I had meant to show it to Dicky
after I had explained about Jack. It was not quite the letter for a
bridegroom to find without expectation. I realized that.

I could not get the letter without attracting his attention. I waited,
every nerve tense, listening to the sounds in the next room. I heard
the rustling of the newspaper; then a sudden silence told me his
attention had been arrested by something. Would he read the letter? I
did not think so. I knew his sense of honor was too keen for that, but
I remembered that the last page with its signature was at the top of
the sheets as I laid them down. That was enough to make any loving
husband reflect a bit.

How would Dicky take it? I wondered. I was soon to know. I Heard
him crush the paper in his hand, then come quickly to the kitchen. I
pretended to be busy with the dishes, but he strode over to me, and
clutching me by the shoulder with a grip that hurt, thrust the letter
before my face, and said hoarsely:

"What does this mean?"

The last words of Jack's letter danced before my eyes, Dicky's hand
was shaking so.