"He seemed to think it was not essential."
That evening I took a small cardboard box that had contained candles, and packed in it a few carefully selected flowers from the garden, and one of our cards. On the card I wrote "With kindest love from" just above the names, and posted it to Eliza's mother.
So far was Eliza's mother from being offended that she sent Eliza a present of a postal-order for five shillings, three pounds of pressed beef, and a nicely worked apron.
On glancing over that sentence, I see that it is, perhaps, a little ambiguous. The postal order was for the shillings alone—not for the beef or the apron.
I only mention the incident to show whether, in this case, Eliza or I was right.
I put a few of my own cards in my letter-case, and the rest were packed away in a drawer. A few weeks afterward I was annoyed to find Eliza using some of her cards for winding silks. She said that it did not prevent them from being used again, if they were ever wanted.
"Pardon me," I said, "but cards for social purposes should not be bent or frayed at the edge, and can hardly be too clean. Oblige me by not doing that again!"
That evening Eliza told me that No. 14 in the Crescent had been taken by some people called Popworth.