so much doesn't have the courage to tell her so, isn't it?" He watched Stellery between half-closed lids.
"You don't know her. My wife is a very proud woman. She'd not stand for it a minute, I'm sure of that. This chap has some romantic notion, or he wants to make trouble. It seems to me the letters are a bit too literary in style, as if he were used to composition. And what he says is true, too! How does he know my wife has dimples in her shoulders, by Jove? How does he know how she looks in an Egyptian scarf? She hasn't worn one since her honeymoon when I got one in Cairo. Why, I might have written those letters myself! Little intimate details that make my blood boil to think of another man's knowing! Little tricks she has I didn't think any one else had ever noticed! It's amazing!"
"Are you home much of the time?" Astro asked, stacking the letters into a pile on the table.
"Not much; that is, until lately. I'm a busy man, and when I'm at home I try to get rid of some of my outside work. I have a den down next to my library, and often spend the whole evening there. I've been trying to get together a lot of information on the history of Wall Street coups, and it takes about all my spare time. All the relaxation I get, really, is in bridge at the Percentage Club. Why?" He stopped and darted a look at Astro.
"Oh, I only wondered how much time your wife had to herself."
Stellery wheeled on him. "See here! I hope that's no insinuation! My wife is above suspicion, you understand that! Good lord! why should she show me these letters, if she weren't?"
