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'I'll tell you,' she said, 'why he sent the telegram. It's because of that dull display of the English gentleman that I detested. He gives himself the solemn airs of the Foreign Minister, but he's only a youngest son at the best. That is why I loathe him.'

Mrs Satterthwaite said:

'That isn't the reason why he sent the telegram.'

Her daughter had a gesture of amused, lazy tolerance.

'Of course it isn't,' she said. 'He sent it out of consideration: the lordly, full-dress consideration that drives me distracted. As he would say: "He'd imagine I'd find it convenient to have ample time for reflection." It's like being addressed as if one were a monument and by a herald according to protocol. And partly because he's the soul of truth like a stiff Dutch doll. He wouldn't write a letter because he couldn't without beginning it "Dear Sylvia" and ending it "Yours sincerely" or "truly" or "affectionately."...He's that sort of precise imbecile. I tell you he's so formal he can't do without all the conventions there are and so truthful he can't use half of them.'