'Who's your letter from?'
'How should I know?'
Edith got up and went towards the door. Bruce was beforehand with her and barred the way, standing with his arms outstretched and his back to the door.
'Edith, I'm pained and surprised at your conduct!'
'Conduct!' she exclaimed.
'Don't echo my words! I will not be echoed, do you hear?… Behaviour, then, if you prefer the word…. Why don't you wish me to see that letter?'
Edith quickly looked at the letter. Until this moment she had had an unreasonable and nervous terror that Aylmer might have forgotten his intention of writing what he called officially, and might have written her what she now inwardly termed a lot of nonsense. But she now saw she had made a mistake: it was not his handwriting nor his postmark. She became firmer.
'Look here Bruce,' she said, in a decided voice, quietly. 'We have been married eight years, and I consider you ought to trust me sufficiently to allow me to open my own letters.'
'Oh, you do, do you? What next? What next! I suppose the next thing you'll wish is to be a suffragette.'
'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.'