"After that, a solid dish," Letitia declared. "You see, Archie, Mr. Tamworth is American, and we don't want to worry him with quail, or squab or little unsatisfactory game. I've thought it carefully over and it seems to me that a tiny, dainty bifsteck aux pommes de terre will be energetic without being squalid. What say you, boy? Don't you agree with me?"
"Beefsteak with potatoes," I wrote glibly, but even as my pencil framed the words, I shuddered. After our recent heavy dinner the thought of it seemed so arduous.
Letitia understood. "You see, it's all due to the coarseness of the English language," she insisted, "and you must remember that you are Englishing it for Anna only. I wonder," she added pensively, "if Anna would make us some of those soufflé potatoes—you know, Archie, those things that are all blown out, and that seem like eating fried air. They are most delicate. We used to have them every Sunday at the pension, in the Avenue du Roule. However, I won't tax the girl. Perhaps she may give us the potatoes in that style without being told. I fancy, dear, that she is going to surprise us. I dare say it will be a relief to her to see that we really know what good living is. I shall leave the potatoes to her."
"We may as well give her a chance," I agreed. "Personally, I would just as soon have the potatoes maître d'hôtel. It is very likely that Anna will prefer that method, as it is more usual."
"And after that," Letitia cried gaily, "nothing, but glaces aux fraises—"
"Strawberry ices," I wrote.
"And a demi-tasse."
"Coffee. It is very convenient in New York, dear," I said, "Anna will not have the worry of making the ices. All she will have to do will be to order a quart and they will send it over in a cardboard box."
Letitia shivered. "Yes, I know, Archie. It is very coarse, isn't it? Imagine thinking of ices by the quart! Picture them in a cardboard box!"