ABSTRACT
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Mrs Foster one bright July morning as she entered the sitting room with a bunch of roses in her hand, and an open letter: ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said she addressing her daughter, who, surrounded by a chaos of stationery, was slipping out of sight some scrawled paper. This observation remaining unanswered, the Mother, only too much accustomed to inattention, continued: ‘Here is a note from your Aunt Letty; she wants us to go and pass a few days with them. You know Tuesday is Mary’s birthday, so they mean to have some young people and cannot dispense with your company.’
