The following day was very warm, and some half-dozen of the party wandered into the garden after lunch and took their coffee under a big chestnut tree on the lawn. "And this is the 16th of June," said Lady Considine. "Last year, on this very day, I started for Hombourg. I can't say I feel like starting for Hombourg, or any other place, just at present."

"But why should any one of us want to go to Hombourg?" said Sir John. "Nobody can be afraid of gout with the admirable diet we enjoy here."

"I beg you to speak for yourself, Sir John," said Lady Considine. "I have never yet gone to Hombourg on account of gout."

"Of course not, my dear friend, of course not; there are so many reasons for going to Hombourg. There's the early rising, and the band, and the new people one may meet there, and the change of diet—especially the change of diet. But, you see, we have found our change of diet within an hour of London, so why—as I before remarked—should we want to rush off to Hombourg?"

"I am a firm believer in that change of diet," said Mrs. Wilding, "though in the most respectable circles the true-bred Briton still talks about foreign messes, and affirms that anything else than plain British fare ruins the digestion. I must say my own digestion is none the worse for the holiday I am having from the preparations of my own 'treasure.' I think we all look remarkably well; and we don't quarrel or snap at each other, and it would be hard to find a better proof of wholesome diet than that."

"But I fancied Mrs. Gradinger looked a little out of sorts this morning, and I'm sure she was more than a little out of temper when I asked her how soon we were to taste her dish of toadstools," said Miss Macdonnell.

"I expect she had been making a trial of the British fungi in her bedroom," said Van der Roet; "and then, you see, our conversation isn't quite 'high toned' enough for her taste. We aren't sufficiently awake to the claims of the masses. Can any one explain to me why the people who are so full of mercy for the mass, are so merciless to the unit?"

"That is her system of proselytising," said the Colonel, "and if she is content with outward conversion, it isn't a bad one. I often feel inclined to agree to any proposition she likes to put forward, and I would, if I could stop her talking by my submission."

"You wouldn't do that, Colonel, even in your suavest mood," said Van der Roet; "but I hope somebody will succeed in checking her flow of discourse before long. I'm getting worn to a shadow by the grind of that awful voice."

"I thought your clothes were getting a bit loose," said the Colonel, "but I put that phenomenon down to another reason. In spite of Mrs. Wilding's praise of our present style of cooking, I don't believe our friend Vander finds it substantial enough to sustain his manly bulk, and I'll tell you the grounds of my belief. A few mornings ago, when I was shaving, I saw the butcher bring into the house a splendid sirloin, and as no sirloin has appeared at table, I venture to infer that this joint was a private affair of Vander's, and that he, as well as Mrs. Gradinger, has been going in for bedroom cookery. Here comes the Marchesa; we'll ask her to solve the mystery."

"I can account for the missing sirloin," said the Marchesa. "The Colonel is wrong for once. It went duly into the kitchen, and not to Mr. Van der Roet's bedroom; but I must begin with a slight explanation, or rather apology. Next to trial by jury, and the reverence paid to rank, and the horror of all things which, as poor Corney Grain used to say, 'are not nice,' I reckon the Sunday sirloin, cooked and served, one and indivisible as the typical fetish of the great English middle class. With this fact before my eyes, I can assure you I did not lightly lay a hand on its integrity. My friends, you have eaten that sirloin without knowing it. You may remember that yesterday after lunch the Colonel was loud in praise of a dish of beef. Well, that beef was a portion of the same, and not the best portion. The Manzo in insalata, which pleased the Colonel's palate, was that thin piece at the lower end, the chief function of which, when the sirloin is cooked whole, seems to lie in keeping the joint steady on the dish while paterfamilias carves it. It is never eaten in the dining-room hot, because every one justly prefers and goes for the under cut; neither does it find favour at lunch next day, for the reason that, as cold beef, the upper cut is unapproachable. I have never heard that the kitchen hankers after it inordinately; indeed, its ultimate destination is one of the unexplained mysteries of housekeeping. I hold that never, under any circumstances, should it be cooked with the sirloin, but always cut off and marinated and braized as we had it yesterday. Thus you get two hot dishes; our particular sirloin has given us three. The parts of this joint vary greatly in flavour, and in texture as well, and by accentuating this variation by treatment in the kitchen, you escape that monotony which is prone to pervade the table so long as the sirloin remains in the house. Mrs. Sinclair is sufficiently experienced as a housekeeper to know that the dish of fillets we had for dinner last night was not made from the under cut of one sirloin. It was by borrowing a little from the upper part that I managed to fill the dish, and I'm sure that any one who may have got one of the uppercut fillets had no cause to grumble. The Filetto di Bue which we had for lunch to-day was the residue of the upper cut, and, admirable as is a slice of cold beef taken from this part of the joint, I think it is an excellent variation to make a hot dish of it sometimes. On the score of economy, I am sure that a sirloin treated in this fashion goes a long way further."

"The Marchesa demolishes one after another of our venerable institutions with so charming a despatch that we can scarcely grieve for them," said Sir John. "I am not philosopher enough to divine what change may come over the British character when every man sits down every day to a perfectly cooked dinner. It is sometimes said that our barbarian forefathers left their northern solitudes because they hankered after the wine and delicate meats of the south, and perhaps the modern Briton may have been led to overrun the world by the hope of finding a greater variety of diet than he gets at home. It may mean, Marchesa, that this movement of yours for the suppression of English plain cooking will mark the close of our national expansion."

"My dear Sir John, you may rest assured that your national expansion, as well as your national cookery, will continue in spite of anything we may accomplish here, and I say good luck to them both. When have I ever denied the merits of English cookery?" said the Marchesa. "Many of its dishes are unsurpassed. These islands produce materials so fine, that no art or elaboration can improve them. They are best when they are cooked quite plainly, and this is the reason why simplicity is the key-note of English cookery. A fine joint of mutton roasted to a turn, a plain fried sole with anchovy butter a broiled chop or steak or kidney, fowls or game cooked English fashion, potatoes baked in their skins and eaten with butter and salt, a rasher of Wiltshire bacon and a new-laid egg, where will you beat these? I will go so far as to say no country can produce a bourgeoises dish which can be compared with steak and kidney pudding. But the point I want to press home is that Italian cookery comes to the aid of those who cannot well afford to buy those prime qualities of meat and fish which allow of this perfectly plain treatment. It is, as I have already said, the cookery of a nation short of cash and unblessed with such excellent meat and fish and vegetables as you lucky islanders enjoy. But it is rich in clever devices of flavouring, and in combinations, and I am sure that by its help English people of moderate means may fare better and spend less than they spend now, if only they will take a little trouble."