t 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."

"Well, let's get on with the letter of thanks," said Egbert.

"Proceed," said Janetta.

"'How clever of you to guess that Wordsworth is our favourite poet,'"
dictated Egbert.

Again Janetta laid down her pen.

"Do you realise what that means?" she asked; "a Wordsworth booklet next
Christmas, and another calendar the Christmas after, with the same
problem of having to write suitable letters of thankfulness. No, the
best thing to do is to drop all further allusion to the calendar and
switch off on to some other topic."

"But what other topic?"

"Oh, something like this: 'What do you think of the New Year Honours
List? A friend of ours made such a clever remark when he read it.' Then
you can stick in any remark that comes into your head; it needn't be
clever. The Froplinsons won't know whether it is or isn't."

"We don't even know on which side they are in politics," objected Egbert;
"and anyhow you can't suddenly dismiss the subject of the calendar.
Surely there must be some intelligent remark that can be