"
"That sounds more probable," said Egbert; "well, let's collaborate on
this letter of thanks and get it done. I'll dictate, and you can
scribble it down. 'Dear Mrs. Froplinson--thank you and your husband so
much for the very pretty calendar you sent us. It was very good of you
to think of us.'"
"You can't possibly say that," said Janetta, laying down her pen.
"It's what I always do say, and what every one says to me," protested
Egbert.
"We sent them something on the twenty-second," said Janetta, "so they
simply _had_ to think of us. There was no getting away from it."
"What did we send them?" asked Egbert gloomily.
"Bridge-markers," said Janetta, "in a cardboard case, with some inanity
about 'digging for fortune with a royal spade' emblazoned on the cover.
The moment I saw it in the shop I said to myself 'Froplinsons' and to the
attendant 'How much?' When he said 'Ninepence,' I gave him their
address, jabbed our card in, paid tenpence or elevenpence to cover the
postage, and thanked heaven. With less sincerity and infinitely more
trouble they eventually thanked me."
"The Froplinsons don't play bridge," said Egbert.
"One is not supposed to notice social deformities of that sort," said
Janetta; "it wouldn't be polite. Besides, what trouble did they take to
find out whether we read Wordsworth with gladness? For all they knew or
cared we might be frantically embedded in the belief that all poetry
begins and ends with John Masefield, and it might infuriate or depress us
to have a daily sample of Wordsworthian products flung at us.
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