"Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. Wood.
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