"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.

Myra was silent.

When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my
thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony
that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are two
sorts of T.Y.V.M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us, we
shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for having us,
we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could really
concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever was of
importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and one
rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of mine
had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the Riviera
and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had arrived a week
ago.

"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically
asking a stranger for hospitality."

"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."

Myra smiled slowly to herself.

"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are.
Yours sincerely.'"

"Well, that's the idea."