'We have been married eight years, and I consider you ought to trust me sufficiently to allow me to open my own letters.' 'Oh, you do, do you?
What next?
What next! I suppose the next thing you'll wish is to be a suffragette.' 'The question,' said Edith, in the most cool, high, irritating voice she could command, 'really, of votes for women hardly enters into our argument here.

As a matter of fact, I take no interest in any kind of politics, and, I may be entirely wrong, but if I were compelled to take sides on the subject, I should be an anti-suffragist.' 'Oh, you would, would you?
That's as well to know! That's interesting.
Give me that letter.' 'Do you think you have the right to speak to me like that ?' 'Edith,' he said rather pathetically, trying to control himself.

'I beg you, I _implore_ you to let me see the letter! Hang it all! You know perfectly well, old girl, how fond I am of you.

I may worry you a bit sometimes, but you know my heart's all right.' 'Of course, Bruce; I'm not finding fault with you.

I only want to read my own letter, that's all.' 'But if I let you out of this room without having shown it me, then if there's something you don't want me to see, you'll tear it up or chuck it in the fire.' Edith was quite impressed at this flash of prophetic insight.