Then he remembered the strange words: "To be read alone." What could that mean?
That the letter contained something that his young wife must not see or hear.
He looked at her.

She had seemingly forgotten all about the packet, and stood now, with a smile on her face, before one of the finest pictures in the gallery, wrapt in a dream of delight.

There could not be anything in the letter affecting her.

Still, as Philippa had written so pointedly, it would be better perhaps for him to heed her words.
"Madaline, my darling," he said, sinking on to an ottoman, "you have taken no tea.

You would like some.