Another little thing that the autumn emphasised was Grace's inability to discover when a complaint or a remonstrance was decently deceased. One evening Paul, going out in a hurry, asked Maggie to give Grace the message that Evensong would be at 6.30 instead of 7 that day. Maggie forgot to give the message and Grace arrived at the Church during the reading of the second lesson.
"Oh Grace, I'm so sorry!" said Maggie.
"It doesn't matter," said Grace; "but how you could forget, Maggie, is so strange! Do try not to forget things. I know it worries Paul. For myself I don't care, although I do value punctuality and memory—I do indeed. What I mean is that it isn't for my own happiness that I mind—"
"I don't want to forget," said Maggie. "One would think to hear you, Grace, that you imagine I like forgetting."
"Really, Maggie," said Grace, "I don't think that's quite the way to speak to me."
And again and again throughout the long winter this little episode figured.
"You'll remember to be punctual, won't you, Maggie? Not like the time when you forgot to tell me."
"You'll forgive me reminding you, Maggie, but I didn't want it to be like the time you forgot to give me—"
"Oh, you'd better not trust to Maggie, Paul. Only the other day when you gave her the message about Evensong—"
Grace meant no harm by this. Her mind moved slowly and was entangled by a vast quantity of useless lumber. She was really shocked by carelessness and inaccuracy because she was radically careless and inaccurate herself but didn't know it.