“What are they? I never tasted them.”
“Very good mutton cutlets en papillotte, the envelopes being billets de banque of a thousand francs each.”
“Is it permitted to help one's self twice, my Lord?”
“I called for the dish again, but found it had been too successful. De Brigues did a neat thing that way, in a little supper he gave to the artistes of the Opéra-Comique; the jellies were all served with rings in them,—turquoise, diamond, emerald, pearl, and so on,—so that the fair guests had all the excitement of a lottery as the plat came round to them.”
“The kick-shaws required something o' that kind to make them endurable,” said Sir Andrew, gruffly; “gie me a haggis, or a cockie-leekie.”
“What is that?” said Miss Kennyfeck, who saw with a sharp malice how angrily Lady Janet looked at the notion of the coming explanation.
“I 'll tell ye wi' pleasure, Miss Kannyfack, hoo to mak' a cockie-leekie!”
“Cockie-leekie, unde derivator cockie-leekie?” cried the Dean, who, having taken a breathing canter through Homer and Horace, was quite ready for the moderns.
“What, sir?” asked Sir Andrew, not understanding the question.
“I say, what 's the derivation of your cockie-leekie,—the etymology of the phrase?”