"That describes your attitude fairly well," I said. "Shy is just what you are. You're always awkward, but you're more clumsy than ever when you're in the presence of women-folk."
"It's a disappointed female who's making that statement," he declared, warmly. "Oh, yes," as I protested, "I know very well what I'm talking about. I've noticed a difference in you ever since that bill was passed making it legal to marry your wife's deceased sister—" Millwood found himself in a tangle of words, and his annoyance increased. He rose and went across to the mantelpiece to find matches. "Who is this letter in the green envelope from?"
"The Quartermaster-Sergeant who was so kind when Master John was missing."
"Can I read it?"
"If your eyesight is good enough. It only came just now, and I am not sure that I finished it."
Millwood explained that he sometimes picked up useful snips of information from letters written near the trenches, and, putting on his glasses, he went through the numbered pages of the communication. Towards the end he began to frown. At the finish he threw the sheets on the table, with a gesture of irritation.
"Well," he said, curtly. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I shall write to him, I suppose, when I can find time. They like to receive correspondence out there. Makes them realise they are not forgotten."
"Yes, yes! But how are you going to answer him? What sort of a reply do you intend to give? I'm one of the family, and I have a right to know." To my surprise, he took hold of my arm, and shook me. "You women!" he shouted. "Upon my word, you do know how to exasperate. It's my belief, you find a certain delight in trying to send a man clean off his 'ead."
"An easy job, enough, in some cases. Let me glance at Cartwright's letter, and see what it is that has upset you."