“There is a mythical anecdote about a lady starving herself to death on shoulder of mutton.”
“How so?”
“Why, she chose that joint every day and merely made that cut, so that when it left the table it looked as if a meal had been eaten from it, and no one commented on her abstinence from food. Thank you, I will take the dish gravy.”
“I approve of shoulder of lamb decidedly,” said Harry, during dinner.
“I am glad, for, though our English cousins look on it as far more choice than the leg, and pay more for it, it is sold here at a much lower price.”
“But what vegetable may this be?” he asked, looking curiously at the pale green, appetizing cabbage. “Cauliflower, I suppose, that has met with disasters?”
“No, it is cabbage, and I want you to eat and see if it is not good.”
“You don’t mean to tell me cabbage has been cooked in this house to-day?”
“You see it.”
“And we are not choked! Molly, I surrender; you are a magician!”