“Little girls should be seen and not heard,” said Maurice, between a laugh and a blush. “You have no business to read my books.”
“Why not?” she asked, with a gaiety which already seemed a little strained; “husband and wife should have no secrets from each other, sir. Besides, I want you to read my books. I am going to read Shelley to you.”
“Don't, my dear,” said Maurice simply. “I can't understand him.”
This little scene took place at the dinner-table of Frere's cottage, in New Town, to which Major Vickers had been invited, in order that future plans might be discussed.
“I don't want to go to Port Arthur,” said the bride, later in the evening. “Maurice, there can be no necessity to go there.”
“Well,” said Maurice. “I want to have a look at the place. I ought to be familiar with all phases of convict discipline, you know.”
“There is likely to be a report ordered upon the death of a prisoner,” said Vickers. “The chaplain, a fussy but well-meaning person, has been memorializing about it. You may as well do it as anybody else, Maurice.”
“Ay. And save the expenses of the trip,” said Maurice.
“But it is so melancholy,” cried Sylvia.
“The most delightful place in the island, my dear. I was there for a few days once, and I really was charmed.”