"If it is business, I ought to see it," she repeated.
"Trouble your little head with such matters? Not much."
She came to him as if to kiss him, then quickly seized the letter and ran laughing away. He pursued her, laughing, too; but she was more agile than her husband, and she managed easily to evade him until her eyes had caught enough of the letter to enable her to guess its entire contents.
"So they want to buy your mine?" she asked. "They say their expert has returned and reported"—she glanced again at the letter as his fingers closed on it—"reported favourably."
"Yes," he said; "it's a French syndicate, some wealthy men in Lyons, and they want to buy the mine."
"But you won't sell?"
"If I can get my figure, I will."
"Your mine?"
"Our mine."
For that she kissed him.