The Cards
looked very well as they were, a little plain and formal, perhaps, but very clean (except in the case of a few where the ink had rubbed), and very gratifying to one's natural self-respect.
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
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