When we play at trains I have to be a tunnel. I don't know if you have ever been a tunnel? No; well, it's an over-rated profession.
"We won't play trains," I announced firmly, "because it's Sunday."
"Why not because it's Sunday?"
(Oh, you little pagan!)
"Hasn't Mummy told you about Sunday?"
"Oh, yes, Maud did tell me," said Margery casually. Then she gave an innocent little smile. "Oh, I called Mummy Maud," she said in pretended surprise. "I quite fought I was upstairs!"
I hope you follow. The manners and customs of good society must be observed on the ground floor where visitors may happen; upstairs one relaxes a little.
"Do you know," Margery went on with the air of a discoverer, "you mustn't say 'prayers' downstairs. Or 'corsets.'"
"I never do," I affirmed. "Well, anyhow I never will again."
"Why mayn't you?"