"Never thought what?" I enquired in amazement.
"That you would treat your friends so shabbily."
"Wh-what, didn't you g-get a card?" I stammered. "I'm sure the wife—" 
"o'donovan was in a rage." "Don't be a fool!" he interrupted. "Of course I got a card. That's what I complain of."
I stared at him blankly. The social experiences resulting from my marriage had convinced me that it was impossible to avoid giving offence. I had no reason to be surprised, but I was.
"What right have you to move and put all your friends to trouble?" he enquired savagely.
"I have put myself to trouble," I said, "but I fail to see how I have taxed your friendship."
"No, of course not," he growled. "I didn't expect you to see. You're just as inconsiderate as everybody else. Don't you think I had enough trouble to commit to memory '109, Little Turncot Street, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras,' without being unexpectedly set to study '21, Victoria Flats—?'"
"22, Albert Flats," I interrupted mildly.
