There were evidently difficulties in the way of the immediate annexation of Madame Hyacinthe de Lyrolle. When I reached home next evening I found Letitia in cookless solitude, a dinnerless dining-room, and the indications of another restaurant repast. My wife looked somewhat excited, as though she had much to tell me, and I felt that, perchance, the course of French cook did not run smooth. I had arrived at the stage when nothing connected with the domestic life could surprise me; I was persistently prepared for the worst, and quite disposed to regard the best as a luxury. Possibly in time I should even grow philosophic—not that I owned the temperament of the confirmed philosopher.

When we were seated at table, in our selected restaurant, and I had chosen the lesser of two evils—or of two soups—Letitia's pent-up excitement burst forth, and—well, conversation did not flag.

"It is going to be so very much more expensive than I thought, Archie," she said. "I called upon Madame Hyacinthe de Lyrolle to-day, and found her exceedingly distinguished—I might almost say haughty. She spoke English as well as I do, and I could scarcely realize that she was French. Her aptitude for languages, she told me, was quite remarkable. Everything seemed satisfactory, until—until she asked about—about the butler. Had we a reliable butler? She considered a docile, reliable butler almost indispensable. I know I turned scarlet, for I felt quite humiliated as I had to inform her that we didn't keep a butler."

The soup had made its appearance, but Letitia was too engrossed to touch it. I was not.

"She smiled rather provokingly," continued Letitia, "but told me not to be discouraged. She has a nephew, a respectable young man, born here, whom she has been coaching in the duties of a butler. She suggested that he would be of great value and comfort to us, as, being her relative, she could work with him in perfect harmony."

"But you know, my girl," I interrupted rather testily, "that we couldn't put up a butler. There isn't space in this apartment, unless—unless he roomed with his aunt."

"I warn you, Archie, that if you begin to be funny—"

"I can't think of any other way in which we could accommodate a butler. A nice Japanese screen in his aunt's room—"

Letitia was a lovely subject to tease. She took everything to heart so promptly! It seems an undignified confession to make, but my little wife never amused me more than when she was in rebellion at what she called my levity. After all, a man must have a little fun in the dreary drabness of his cookless home.

I continued heartlessly: "If you don't like that idea, I have another. Rather than deprive Madame Hyacinthe de Lyrolle of the services of her dear nephew, we could arrange things this way: you could room with Madame and I with the butler. You must admit, dear, that there would be no glaring impropriety in that."

This time Letitia smiled and was saved. She made strenuous efforts to remain vexed, as I could see, but in spite of herself she was moved to a suspicion of mirth, and it did her good.

"Don't be a silly boy," she said, "and reserve your ingenuity. We need it in serious and not frivolous matters. I told Madame de Lyrolle that we occupied an apartment, which was not particularly spacious, and that much as we should like to employ her nephew, we could not possibly see our way to do so. She was disappointed. She then asked me about first maids, and second maids, and—and oh, Archie, I felt disgraced. I made up my mind to abandon Madame de Lyrolle."

Letitia paused, and remembered her soup. She toyed with it nonchalantly.

"She spoke quite kindly," resumed Letitia. "Of course, she said, we must understand that she never left her kitchen. As for doing anything else but cooking and decorating the table in case of dinner parties—that would be impossible. She insisted that she was an artist; that she had real temperament; that she was occasionally inspired, and then again depressed."

"That means a depressed dinner from time to time," I muttered gloomily.

"No," said Letitia firmly, "not if surrounding conditions are auspicious. I quite understood her sentiments, Archie. They were not at all unreasonable. The artistic temperament does not lurk merely with third-rate actors or fourth-rate novelists. A French cook may assuredly possess it. She told me that in moments of mental exaltation she has given to the world dishes of wonderful import. For instance, on one occasion when her mood was dreamy and mystic, she made a salmi of black game that the editor of the Paris Figaro said was worthy of being dramatized. Oh, she talked a good deal, and in a high-falutin' strain, and I liked her, but—"

"Did you engage her?"

"I am coming to that question. Finally, she told me that as we hadn't a maid, and as she positively refused to appear in the dining-room herself, she could merely suggest that if I engaged her, I also engage a bright young girl, now living with her, a niece—"

"She seems to have quite a family!"

"I saw the girl, who was named Leonie. She was as pretty as a picture. One could imagine her as the French maid in comedy—one of those dainty little things that wear fluffy white aprons, and occasionally do a dance. You know, Archie. The girl seemed quite willing to join her aunt, but she asked a large salary—more than we paid any of our cooks. So, you see, I didn't like to engage Madame de Lyrolle without first consulting you. It will be much more expensive than we thought. In addition to Madame's exorbitant salary, there will be Leonie, and—and—do you think we could afford it?"

It is horrid for a young husband to admit to a young wife that there is anything in the world he can't afford. At least I felt that way. Letitia waited almost piteously for my reply, and I detested the idea of doing the poor. She looked unusually pretty, with her flushed face and her red, emotional lips. Moreover, the dinner was hateful, the cooking immoral, and the surroundings impossible. I was tempted, and—I fell.

"We might try it, Letitia," I said. "You know my book is nearly finished, and in a home that is a home, I fancy I can do so much more."

"Oh, thank you, Archie, thank you. You are a good, brave, noble boy. I am convinced that you won't regret it, and we shall be so cozy and happy. I think you are right. We might as well enjoy life while we are young. I dare say that when we are old we shan't mind bread pudding, and baked apples, and mutton stew, and—and—hash."

"I shall always loathe hash," I asserted vehemently.

Our dinner ended delightfully. We could not eat the food, but the meal was intellectual rather than material. We chatted affably, and no outsider could possibly have imagined that we were married. Our manner was that of the newly engaged.

"Of course, Madame de Lyrolle is Americanized," said Letitia. "I could see that. In Paris, cooks, chambermaids and nurses receive just about half the wages they get here. Servants in France are quite oppressed. They don't know the meaning of a 'Sunday out.' They are dependent upon the caprices of Monsieur and Madame. And I dare say you know, Archie, that even in the most luxurious French households the most rigid economies are practised. Somewhere I read that the refuse that leaves a French kitchen would starve a small family of rats; which is perhaps the reason why there are so few rats in Paris."

"It seems almost a pity that she is Americanized, don't you think, dear?"

"Oh, she could never quite lose her French training, Archie. Perhaps she is Americanized only in the matters of salary and privileges."

"At any rate," I said, "she won't bathe in the kitchen—or anywhere else. French people rarely do."

"They have been brought up to dislike water," remarked Letitia reflectively. "In Paris, even little children are taught that it is impure and are coaxed to drink claret. Probably by dint of harping on the impurity of water, they come to the conclusion that it is rather silly to wash in it. Don't you think so, Archie? It seems to be a trait of the national character. Yet they are a cleanly race. They don't advertise their ablutions as we do. In England and America we talk so much about cold tubs, and the latest improvements in bathroom apparatus! It is quite indelicate when you come to think of it."

So Letitia went down next morning to secure the Gallic prize with its Gallic appendage. Madame de Lyrolle had laughed at the idea of references. She had lived with a Wall Street broker, she told Letitia, with an air of such importance that it was clear she regarded him in about the same class as the president of the French Republic. She had cooked for the French embassy in Washington, and for various people who had honored places in "Who's Who?"—to say nothing of "What's What." Most of her references were traveling in Europe. They summered in England; autumned in France; wintered in Egypt; and sprung—I mean springed—in Germany. They were Americans, but there never seemed to be any part of the year that they dedicated to their own country. They had European resorts for the four seasons of the year. Had there been a fifth, they might possibly have deigned to spend it in America, but in default of a supplementary season, they could not be reached in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

The arrival of Madame de Lyrolle in our modest homestead seemed to be somewhat revolutionary. At any rate, immediate joy was lacking. The first view I obtained of Letitia, after the advent of the lady from France, convinced me that something had crushed her. Her feathers were ruffled, so to speak. She was sitting pensively in the drawing-room, in an evening gown, and although her heart's desire, and her heart's desire's niece, were in the kitchen, there was no exultant satisfaction visible upon Letitia's mobile features.

"My girl!" I cried, astonished. "I certainly expected to find you in the seventh heaven!"

"It's nothing, Archie," she said, with an evident effort, as I sat down beside her; "I am just depressed. I spent the afternoon in the kitchen with Madame de Lyrolle, at her request, and—and—I feel about an inch high. I feel cheap, common, and—if you don't mind my being colloquial—like thirty cents."

She really looked the part. My little wife seemed to have shrunk most positively.

"Madame de Lyrolle and Leonie," she began, "are both so impressive that they awed me. The former begged me courteously to explain things to her in the kitchen before she assumed the reins of management, as she called it. Naturally I complied with her request, although it seemed to me a bit unnecessary. The first thing we did was to go through the table appointments, and—and—you can't imagine how—how humiliating it was."

"Humiliating!" I exclaimed indignantly. "And why, pray?"

"Well, Archie, Madame de Lyrolle appeared to think them inadequate. There are so many things that we lack. One of her first demands was for the asparagus tongs, and—and—when I told her that we had never used any, I saw her smile and—glance at Leonie. And Leonie smiled, too, and—and then they both smiled together. She asked me if we had individual asparagus holders, and—and—then there were more smiles."

Letitia's face was burning, and she was apparently re-sampling her humiliation.

"After that," she continued, "she asked me where we kept the grape-scissors, and again I had to admit that we had none. 'Oh,' she remarked quite scornfully, 'and how do you separate grapes? You don't pull them apart?' Of course we do, Archie, but I dreaded to say so. I think I stammered, and once more I saw her exchange glances with Leonie. I could have burst into tears when she asked for the orange cups. It was absolutely galling. Honestly, I thought they would have left the house immediately when I confessed to the absence of orange cups. I might have committed a crime, Madame de Lyrolle looked black, and Leonie pursed her lips. Madame said that never—never during her artistic career (those were her words) had she affiliated (her word) with people who failed in the matter of orange cups."

"I wouldn't use them," I interrupted angrily. "Thank goodness, while I have my health and strength, I can peel an orange with my good old fingers and a knife."

"Hush, dear. After the orange-cup episode, she seemed to regard me with a sort of tender pity. I'm sure she considered me a Goth, and—and—nobody has ever done that before. To be pitied by one's cook! Oh, it was horrible. When it came to the silver, which as you know, dear, is mostly quadruple plate—silver in name only—I was reduced to a sort of pulp. She and Leonie examined it critically, positively looking for marks on it, and I should have hated to hear their comments in my absence. 'I have never served food in anything but sterling silver before,' said Madame. 'Just imagine my salmi of black game, in an entrÉe dish of quadruple plate! Why, the delicacy of the flavor would be ruined. I'm afraid I shall not be able to achieve a salmi."

I began to experience a slight symptom of Letitia's humiliation, as I realized that while I might one day be a successful author, I could never—never—be a Wall Street broker!

"I told her," Letitia resumed, bitterly mortified, "that we would try to do without the salmi. We would endeavor to drag on a wretched existence without black game. I meant this for sarcasm, but it didn't take. Her lip curled. 'As Madame wishes,' she said contemptuously. Of course, some of our silver is not quadruple plate—the salt-cellars and the cruets. I longed for her to reach them. Would you believe it, Archie, she was not interested? Artists, she said, did not sanction the appearance on table of salt-cellars or cruets. Food should be properly seasoned before it left the kitchen. Salt-cellars and cruets belonged to the barbarous table notions of uneducated English and Americans."

"Really, Letitia, I don't think we can—"

"Don't, please. It is all right now. I'm just telling you what did happen, so that you can sympathize with me. I've been through it all—alone. She then told me that while salt-cellars on a dinner table were unnecessary, bonbonniÈres filled with dainty candy were rigidly called for. When she saw our bonbonniÈres, she and Leonie turned quietly aside. You remember, Archie, they were theater souvenirs that Aunt Julia gave us. One celebrated the one hundredth performance of The Masqueraders, the other the fiftieth performance of The Girl With the Green Eyes. I really felt quite abject. I—I—positively longed for—for Mrs. Potzenheimer."

Poor Letitia! It was cruel. Gladly would I have spared her such chagrin.

"I don't think she meant to cause me pain," she went on. "She is merely swell, and she seemed to wonder why we, who lacked these luxuries, had engaged so expensive a culinary artist. Perhaps it was natural, but—I really couldn't put myself in her place, though it must have been much more comfortable than mine! I was glad when the silver inspection was over. It wouldn't have been so bad if I had been alone with Madame, but Leonie was there, like a hateful echo, and that made it so fearfully trying. Next, I had to introduce her to the glass. Oh!"

I dreaded to hear about the glass. What would she think of my tumblers, at ninety-six cents a dozen, bought to replace the wedding present that Potzenheimer and Birdie had smashed between them!

"She asked to see the cut-glass," said Letitia, and this time there was a wan smile on her lips. "I felt that she would indeed be extraordinarily clever—in fact, clairvoyante—if she could see the cut-glass, for I couldn't. There was the decanter, that was cut-glass only as to the stopper, and there was the salad-bowl, that is merely near-cut-glass. When she saw the tumblers"—I winced—"I really thought that she would throw them out of the window. 'Even vin ordinaire would be tasteless in them,' she said. 'I should like to see the best tumblers, those that you use for dinner parties, and on state occasions.'"

Letitia came to a standstill, as though she had at last reached the meeting of the waters and was pausing before tackling the conflict.

"Just then, Archie, it occurred to me," she said slowly, "that nothing—nothing could save us but a good, big, carefully conceived, well-directed, artistic, whopping lie!"

"That's right!" I cried viciously. "I forgive you beforehand."

"Why should we be intimidated by a cook?" she asked oratorically. "I asked myself that, and I could find no answer. Here we were about to ruin ourselves to give this woman employment, being cross-examined by her, as though we were prisoners at the bar. Moreover, it was a case of two to one—she and Leonie against me! So I remained quiet for a few moments, as I came to the conclusion that nobody could cope with all this but a really beautiful, unabashed liar!"

"I can't bear to hear you talk like that, Letitia," I said, my viciousness vanishing, as I realized the full force of Letitia's irreligious resolution.

"I suddenly turned upon her," said Letitia, not heeding my plaintiveness, "in a well-assumed fury. It was a condition that I found no difficulty in simulating. 'I have listened to your impertinent catechism for a long time, Madame,' I said, 'and now it's my turn. No doubt you are surprised to find our appointments so meager. The fact is, that as we don't know you, and as your references are all at the antipodes, we have sent all our valuables to my aunt's country seat in Tarrytown. The gold dinner set, that we use every day; the antique silver table ornaments, the priceless salad-bowl, punch-bowl, and tumblers; the wonderful knives, and the marvelous forks—all have gone to Tarrytown, because we don't know you, there to stay until we do! You see, we have been victimized by cooks, and though an artist, you are yet a cook.'"

"Good!" I exclaimed triumphantly. "Bravo! You're a genius, Letitia. It was a masterpiece."

"I must confess that after my brave words, I felt terribly frightened. I experienced a sort of reaction that made me quite weak. I thought that this would end all the roseate allurements of Madame de Lyrolle, and that she would instantly quit. I felt positively harrowed, as it occurred to me that we should have to begin over again, and that all our efforts had gone for nothing. Would you believe it, Archie? She was as meek as Moses, while Leonie absolutely fawned!"

"You clever girl!"

"As for instantly quitting, she seemed to fear that I should request her to do so. 'I meant no impertinence,' she said quite humbly, 'and I think you were right about the gold dishes. One can't be too careful.' The gold dishes caught her, Archie. I felt almost sorry that I hadn't studded them with a few diamonds. But one can't think of everything! Aunt Julia's country seat, in Tarrytown, also made a hit. It seemed to shed a reflected luster upon us. She asked several questions—oh, very deferentially—about it, and I could see that we had gone up in her estimation. As I am really anxious to keep her, Archie, and to be comfortable for a little while, I thought it advisable to be vulgarly ostentatious on the subject of Aunt Julia. I told her that my aunt was fabulously wealthy, and hated the idea of our living so unpretentiously in New York, in a small apartment. I put it all down to you, dear. I cooked up a story of a mÉsalliance. I had married you against Aunt Julia's wishes. You were poor and of rather common parentage, but I loved you, I said."

"You needn't have lied quite so artistically, Letitia," I said, rather hurt.

"Isn't it quite true that I love you?" she asked lightly. "What an ungrateful boy! So long as we have a good cook, what matters anything? I began quite to enjoy my own romance. I felt like the Lady of Lyons, and nearly told her about the horrid home to which you took me. I said that the idea of a French cook was all mine. You had literally starved me, because you have been brought up to think corned-beef and cabbage the truest luxury."

"I think it most unnecessary, Letitia," I said emphatically, "to make me out a boor—to paint me in such colors to a cook. I should never have believed—"

"I had to put finishing touches," she declared. "Don't you see, Archie, that it was important to follow up the gold plates with something dramatic? What does it matter to you how she regards you? As long as she is a good cook and behaves herself, surely you don't care what she thinks of you. Moreover, though she may look upon you as low, she considers me as a sort of Lady Clara Vere de Vere, most aristocratic and well worth working for. Isn't that enough, Archie? Oh, dear, I wish I could induce you to be awfully coarse and disgusting, before her! It would be such a help."

I rose, and walked away, thoroughly put out. "You are carrying the joke too far!" I said sullenly.

"Oh, what a silly, sensitive boy it is!" she sighed. "And oh, how it cares what even its cook thinks of it! I did all this for your sake, Archie. You can imagine that I shouldn't select a low husband from choice. I merely thought that it made the whole story hang together. That's all. Of course, you can be yourself if you prefer it. Madame de Lyrolle can always think that I am refining you, and that you are gradually acquiring decency."

"I won't have it, Letitia," I interrupted furiously; "I don't see the fun. I positively refuse to be belittled in my own house."

"Archie, you're almost too silly to kiss," she said, kissing me, "and I don't think you deserve to be kissed, either. Here have I been cudgeling my brains all day to devise means to retain a cook that will please you! I have been bullied, and humiliated, and forced to lie, and falsify, and perjure my soul. And, after I have been through it all, and emerged safely on the other side, weak, but victorious, you sulk, because—because—you don't see the fun! There is no fun to see. Nobody knows that better than I do. Come, sir, apologize at once, to your lawful wife, or I shall immediately go and tell Madame that you are of noble birth, and that I've been guying her—that you are really quite obstreperously decent. Come, Archie, your apology, please."

I was slightly mollified, but—"Remember, Letitia," I insisted, "I decline to be low."

She laughed tantalizingly. "You needn't be too low," she said, "just a little bit 'off' will do. Even if you only promise to tuck your table-napkin under your chin and look greedy, I shall be satisfied. Apologize to me, or off I trot to Madame—" and she rose to go.

"Come back, Letitia," I cried. "You are really intolerable. I apologize. I apologize. You're a martyr, and I—I—"

"You're a respectable coal-heaver, dear," she said with malice and a kiss.