"What on earth's the difference?"
"It seems to me there's a great deal of difference. I didn't know she wrote you letters."
He was angry. "Damn it, she doesn't write me letters."
She shrugged her shoulders. "You seem to get them anyway."
Maddening!
And then he thought, "I'm not going to let it be maddening. This is just what happens." He said, "Well, this is silly. I've known her—we've known one another—for years, since we were children, pretty well. She's called me by my Christian name since I can remember. You must have heard her. We don't see much of her—perhaps you haven't. I thought you had. Anyway, dash the thing. What does it matter?"
"It doesn't matter"—she launched a flower into a vase—"a bit. I only think it's funny, that's all."
"Well, it's just her way."
Mabel gave a little sniff. He thought it was over. But it wasn't over. "If you ask me, I call it a funny letter. You say your Christian name, but it isn't your Christian name—Marko! And then saying, 'How are you?' like that—"
"Like what? She just said it, didn't she?"