&ldquo;I wonder who this is from,&rdquo; said Mrs. Brandon, picking a letter out of the heap that lay by her plate and holding it at arm&rsquo;s length upside down. &ldquo;It is quite extraordinary how I can&rsquo;t see without my spectacles. It makes me laugh sometimes because it is so ridiculous.&rdquo;<br />In proof of this assertion she laughed very pleasantly. Her son and daughter, who were already eating their breakfast, exchanged pitying glances but said nothing.<br />&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t look like a handwriting that I know,&rdquo; said Mrs. Brandon, putting her large horn-rimmed spectacles on and turning the letter the right way up. &ldquo;More like a handwriting that I don&rsquo;t know. The postmark is all smudgy so I can&rsquo;t see where it comes from.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You might steam it open and see who it&rsquo;s from,&rdquo; said her son Francis, &ldquo;and then shut it up again and guess.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;But if I saw who it was from I&rsquo;d know,&rdquo; said Mrs. Brandon plaintively. &ldquo;In France and places people write their name and address across the back of the envelope so that you know who it is.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;And then you needn&rsquo;t open it at all if you don&rsquo;t like them,&rdquo; said Francis, &ldquo;though I believe they really only do it to put spies from other places off the scent. I mean if Aunt Sissie wanted to write to you she would put someone else&rsquo;s name and address on the flap, and then you would open it instead of very rightly putting it straight into the waste-paper basket.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s from Aunt Sissie, do you?&rdquo; said Mrs. Brandon. &ldquo;Whenever I get a letter I hope it isn&rsquo;t from her; but mostly,&rdquo; she added, reverting to her original grievance, &ldquo;one knows at once by the handwriting who it&rsquo;s from.&rdquo;