Look here, Jill, look alive and write the cards.

I'll call out." The two spent a most industrious morning, so much so that the household marvelled at their goodness, and remarked to one another, "The children are no trouble at all." Towards the end of the sitting Tom flung down his paper with a whistle of dismay.
"I say, Jill, they ought to be black-edged!" Jill turned pale.
"What is to be done ?" she gasped.
"We'll have to doctor them with pen and ink," said Tom.
So for another hour or so they occupied themselves painfully in putting their invitations into mourning.

The result was not wholly satisfactory, for a card dipped edgeways into a shallow plate of ink is apt to take on its black unevenly.

So that while some of the guests were invited with signs of the slightest sorrow, the company of others was requested with tokens of the deepest bereavement.

However, on the whole the result was passable, and that evening Tom slunk down to Yeld post office with a bundle under his arm.