She pounced upon them with eager zest.
"Ah, here's one from Jerry Lister.

I knew he would be sure to remember.
He's the dearest boy in the world.

He would have been here, but for some horrid examination that kept him at Oxford." She opened the message impetuously, and began to read it; but suddenly, finding her husband at her side, she desisted, crumpling it in her hand with decidedly heightened colour.
"Oh, he's quite ridiculous.

Let us open some of the others." She thrust a sheaf into his hand, and busied herself with the remainder.
He did not attempt to open any of them, but stood silently watching her glowing face as she opened one after another and tossed them down.
Suddenly she raised her eyes, and met his look fully, with a certain pride.
"Is anything the matter ?" He pointed quite calmly to the scrap of paper she held crumpled in her hand.
"Are you not going to read that ?" he asked, in slow, rather careful English.
Her colour deepened; it rose to her forehead in a burning wave.
"Presently," she returned briefly.
His eyes held hers with a curious insistence.
"You need not be afraid," he said very quietly; "I shall not try to look over." Nan stared at him, too amazed for speech.

The hot blood ebbed from her face as swiftly as it had risen, leaving her as white as the orange-blossoms in her hair.
At length suddenly, with a passionate gesture, she thrust out her hand to him with the ball of paper on her palm.
"Pray take it and read it," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "since it interests you so much." He made no movement to comply.
"I do not wish to read it, Anne," he said gravely.
Her lip curled.