“Never mind,” said Collinson, and read the note.
Dear Collie: Dave and Smithie and Old Bill and Sammy Hoag and maybe Steinie and Sol are coming over to the shack about eight-thirty. Home brew and the old pastime. You know! Don’t fail.
Charlie.
“You’ve read this of course,” Collinson said. “The envelope wasn’t sealed.”
“I have not,” his wife returned, covering the prevarication with a cold dignity. “I’m not in the habit of reading other people’s correspondence, thank you! I suppose you think I do so because you’d never hesitate to read any note I got; but I don’t do everything you do, you see!”
“Well, you can read it now,” he said, and gave her the note.
Her eyes swept the writing briefly, and she made a sound of wonderment, as if amazed to find herself so true a prophet. “And the words weren’t more than out of my mouth! You can go and have a grand party right in his flat, while your wife stays home and gets the baby to bed and washes the dishes!”
“I’m not going.”
“Oh, no!” she said mockingly. “I suppose not! I see you missing one of Charlie’s stag parties!”
“I’ll miss this one.”