"To me," I said chattily, "things seem to be just as badly managed at the Post Office as they were in Samuel's time."
"Was there a post office in those days?" he asked, without noticeable enthusiasm.
"The Samuel Herbert," I explained, and that again seemed to end it.
After a pause, "However," I said kindly, "you enjoy your letters and I will find what consolation and company I can in a poached egg."
"Enjoy?" asked Wreford. "But you are being sarcastic, no doubt."
"Only panel doctors can afford to be that," I murmured.
Wreford's first letter appeared to pain him, and he looked at me sternly, as if the evils of this life were all my fault. Then he unbent a little.
"Tell me, Everall," said he, "have you enjoyed your little visit to us?"
The question took me by surprise but it was, at any rate, one to be answered in the affirmative.
"And you are proportionately grateful?" he pursued.