Miss May drew a long breath, and then, as if ashamed of the interest she had shown, buried her face in the newspaper.
"If you have finished with your cross-questionings," I remarked, "I will take a hand. Who are your letters from?"
She clung to the envelopes as if she feared I would try to wrest them from her.
"A friend," she answered, frigidly.
"Two friends, at least. One is directed in the handwriting of a man. Now, Marjorie, I am not going to permit that sort of thing. I draw the line at male correspondents while you are travelling with me."
Hesitating an instant she laid the envelope of which I spoke in my lap.
"Read it," she said, looking me full in the eyes.
"Not unless you wish me to," I answered.
"I do wish it."
"Really?"