"Tell me about Beauty and the Beast," said Margery as usual that
evening.

"There's not time," I said. "We've only five minutes to-night."

"Oh! Then tell me all the work you've done to-day."

(A little unkind, you'll agree, but you know what relations are.)

And so now I have to cram the record of my day's work into five
breathless minutes. You will understand what bare justice I can do
to it in the time.

I am sorry that these footnotes have grown so big; let us leave them
and return to the letter. There are many ways of answering such a
letter. One might say, "MY DEAR MARGERY,--It was jolly to get a real
letter from you at last--" but the "at last" would seem rather
tactless considering what had passed years before. Or one might say,
"MY DEAR MARGERY,--Thank you for your jolly letter. I am so sorry
about baby's knee and so glad about your toys. Perhaps if you gave
one of the toys to baby, then her knee--" But I feel sure that
Margery would expect me to do better than that.

In the particular case of this last letter but seven I wrote:--

"DEAREST MARGERY,--Thank you for your sweet letter. I had a very
busy day at the office or I would have come to see you. P.T.O.--I
hope to be down next week, and then I will tell you all about my
work; but I have a lot more to do now, and so I must say Good-bye.
Your loving UNCLE."