"I do," replied the matron ponderously, nodding her head, upon which was perched a cheerful-looking cap of black lace and glittering bugles, "people should always eat and drink well at meal times, but no nibblin's in between. It isn't nature to despise good food well-cooked. I've no patience with those gells who starve themselves and pinch their waists to look pretty. Wasps I call them."
"Without the sting," suggested Sir Guy.
"That depends on their tempers, and their tempers," continued Mrs. Trubbles impressively, "depend on their eating. Give them good meals and plenty of exercise, and there's the makin' of good wives about them. Let them starve themselves and lace tight, and it makes their noses red and their tempers cross."
"The whole duty of woman then," murmured Eustace demurely, "is to appreciate her cook and disobey her dressmaker. They might do the first, but never the second."
Mrs. Trubbles, not understanding irony, looked doubtfully at Eustace to see if he was smiling, but so grave was the expression of his face that she did not know whether he spoke in jest or earnest, so without making any reply, she continued her meal while the conversation became frivolous and general.
"I think Italy a very over-rated place."
"Really! In what respect--morals, scenery, manners?"
"No, as regards music. It's a very barrel-organy country."
"Not more so than the London streets. And after all, `Ah che la Morte,' is more musical than 'Tommy make room for your uncle."
"Both out of date."