This all hasn’t anything to do with Violet’s scrape; that wasn’t my fault in the least, no one said it was, not even Fräulein. If it was anybody’s fault, it was Mother’s, because she hates paying calls. I should feel just the same if I were her, because it’s perfectly horrid having on your best clothes; you can’t climb trees, nor hang by your legs nor do anything interesting, but Humphrey says he shall go calling all day when he’s grown up, so as to get scones and things for tea. Humphrey has got an awfully sweet tooth, and he is rather greedy besides. Another thing he says is that he doesn’t mind whom he marries, but he has settled to have a most enormous wedding-cake, and to cut it himself. I like wedding-cake too, but I don’t care about it as much as all that, and I’d sooner be a widow, of course. Well, to go on about Violet. How it all started was that one evening Father said to Mother, “You’ve never called on those Crespignys who’ve come to live at Boscombe Park. You really must, you know, dear.” “I don’t feel very attracted by them,” Mother said, and she laughed. But Father said it was no good being rude to people, and that the Crespignys were new comers, so Mother ought to leave cards this week. “Very well,” Mother said, “only I shall be glad when Molly and Violet are able to pay my calls for me.” “Well, it’s to be hoped Molly will discontinue her practice of smashing people’s best crockery and spilling tea over their plush sofas,” but, of course, I rushed at Father for saying that. It is a shame. I only once dropped a plate when I was out calling, and once I upset my cup, but the people happened to be awfully fussy, and Mother said I mustn’t pay visits any more. I’m sure it wasn’t my fault that they had velvet chairs, and no one seems to remember that it isn’t pleasant sitting there with scalding tea trickling down your legs, and never say a word, like the Spartan boy. In the middle of the commotion, because Father started tickling me when I punched him, Violet said suddenly, “Can’t I go and call on the Crespignys now?” We were most astonished because Violet is so shy she generally cries if she has to see strangers, so I thought it was just to show she’d be allowed to, because she doesn’t upset things like me, and I said very crossly-- “Oh, we all know you are a saint without your telling us.” I felt sorry directly afterwards, because Violet got quite red and I ought to have remembered that she’s very little and doesn’t understand much besides dolls, so I got out Aytoun’s Lays and stuffed my fingers into my ears to show I didn’t care at all. All the same I could hear them talking, and Mother said to Violet-- “Never mind, dear, I know it wasn’t that. You shall go to call on the Crespignys if your new dress comes home this week, my good little girl.” Mother was pleased, because she is always telling Violet she must conquer her shyness, and she thought she was trying to. As for me, I felt horrid.