my plate, or beside it, addressed
in Cousin Anastasia's large handwriting. "Dearest," the letter inside
it begins, "if" (heavily underlined) "you should be passing Paternoster
Row, will you choose me a nice little prayer-book, without a cross
on it, please; people tell me they are cheaper there than elsewhere,
prayer-books, I mean, for Jane, who is going to be confirmed. She
is such a nice clean girl. I do hope she will be as clean after her
confirmation, but one never can tell. In any case I feel I ought to give
her something, and a prayer-book, under the circumstances, seems the
most suitable thing."

Jane, I remember, is a kitchen-maid. Of course I never pass Paternoster
Row, but that to a country cousin of Anastasia's mental caliber is not
worth consideration. She has no knowledge of geography, London's or
otherwise, and is doubtless one of those people who think New Zealand is
another name for Australia.

On another occasion she writes to say that Martha, the head housemaid,
"such an excellent servant," (all heavily under lined), who has been
with them seventeen years, is going to marry a nice, clean widower with
six children. She must give her a nice present; "nice" is underlined
several times. She has heard that in the Edgeware Road there are to be
had, complete in case, for three-and-sixpence, excellent clocks. She
doesn't know the name of the shop, but she believes it begins with "P,"
and if I could look in as I pass, she would be most grateful. As will be
guessed, Anastasia is a wealthy woman with no sense of humor. She knows
she has none, and she says she doesn't know what rich people want it
for. Of course for poor people it is an excellent thing, because it
enables them to look at the bright side of things; but as Anastasia's
things, life in particular, are bright on all sides, she doesn't need
that particular sense.

Then there is another country cousin she is so sweet and diffident about
asking me to do anything, that I feel I ought willingly to look into
every shop window in the Edgeware Road beginning with "P" or any other
letter, however wet or hot the day! And I am not sure that I wouldn't!
Her writing is as meek as Anastasia's is aggressive, and she never
descends to the transparency of an underlined "if." She says, would I
mind sending her a book, called so-and-so, by such and such an author,
price so much? It is all plain sailing with Cousin Penelope. She knows
just what she wants and where to