oItaly—tohurlmyselfoncemoreintothatseaofpensionsandsecond-ratehotels,whereinitisthefateofsinglewomen,withmoderateincomes,tospendtheirlivesandIamtakingwithmeaBaedeker,sothatifeverIaminclinedtothinkmyselflessfoolishthantheaveragemanImaylookuponitsredcoverandrememberthatIambuthuman.Bytheway,Ihopedonotshowyourcorrespondencetoyourhusband,leastofallmine.Amancanneverunderstandawoman’sepistolarycommunications,forhereadsthemwithhisownsimplealphabetoftwenty-sixletters,whereasherequiresoneofatleastfifty-twoandeventhatislittle.Itismadnessforahappypairtopretendtohavenosecretsfromoneanother:itleadsthemintosomuchdeception.If,however,asIsuspect,youthinkityourdutytoshowEdwardthisnoteofmine,hewillperhapsfinditnotunusefulfortheelucidationofmycharacter,inthestudyofwhichImyselfhavespentmanyentertainingyears.
Igiveyounoaddresssothatyoumaynotbeinwantofanexcusetoleavethisletterunanswered.—YouraffectionateAunt,
MaryLey.
BerthaimpatientlytossedthelettertoEdward.
“Whatdoesshemean?”heasked,whenhehadreadit.
Berthashruggedhershoulders.“Shebelievesinnothingbutthestupidityofotherpeople....Poorwoman,shehasneverbeeninlove!Butwewon’thaveanysecretsfromoneanother,Eddie.Iknowthatyouwillneverhideanythingfromme,andI—WhatcanIdothatisnotatyourtelling?”
“It’safunnyletter,”hereplied,lookingatitagain.
“Butwe’refreenow,darling,”shesaid.“Thehouseisreadyforusshallwegoatonce?”
“Butwehaven’tbeenhereafortnightyet,”heobjected.
“Whatdoesitmatter?We’rebothsickofLondonletusgohomeandstartourlife.We’regoingtoleaditfortherestofourdays,sowe’dbetterbeginitquickly.Honeymoonsarestupidthings.”
“Well,Idon’tmind.ByJove,fancyifwe’dgonetoItalyforsixweeks.”
“Oh,Ididn’tknowwhatahoneymoonwaslike.IthinkIimaginedsomethingquitedifferent.”
“YouseeIwasright,wasn’tI?”
“Ofcourseyouwereright,”sheanswered,flingingherarmsroundhisneck“you’realwaysright,mydarling....Ah!youcan’tthinkhowIloveyou.”