"And finger bowls, too," said Martine, laughing, "that will finish the dinner. But how shall we begin? If we begin dinner well, it won't matter how it ends."
"Well, there's no trouble about oysters, now, is there? And the soup—well, instead of the potage something or other that we were going to have, it'll be bouillon with croûtons, and a sprig of parsley on top; that always looks foreign, and with my Spanish seasoning, Mrs. Tilworth will never know it's plain extract of beef. It won't take me a minute to prepare the minced fish, and you can put it in these little shells to bake when the oven is hot. The salad won't be any trouble, just tomato on a leaf of lettuce. The chickens can be broiled, and there's only one vegetable to boil besides the potatoes. The other things like celery and radishes only need to be put on attractively."
"But what about these lobsters?"
"Oh, yes, that's an idea of my own. They were meant for salad. But if I were you, as long as you've got such a big chafing-dish, I'd have a lobster Neuberg. Mrs. Tilworth will expect something out of the ordinary, and a lobster Neuberg at dinner is very unexpected."
"And very good to eat, and I'll let Robert Pringle cook it at the table."
"Yes, Miss Martine, only I'll prepare the sauce first, so much depends on that."
"You're a genius," said Martine; "but who'll wait on table?"
"Why, I will, Miss Martine, if you'll set it now. I'll have my hands full until dinner is served, and don't tell your mother about the cook until dinner's over. She'll be surprised that the dinner is different from what she ordered. But she won't find anything to be ashamed of."
Seldom, indeed, had Martine worked harder than in the hour succeeding her discovery of the cook's departure. In setting the table she made many little mistakes that Angelina gently but firmly corrected. But at half-past five, just before her mother came home, she surveyed the finished whole with pride, and then hurried away to her room to change her dress as she heard some one opening the door.
"Oh, Lucian," she cried, "if mother asks for Angelina, please say she's busy just now; keep Mrs. Tilworth amused until dinner. I wonder why Prissie's so late."