"Will you lunch à la carte or table d'hôte, sir?" inquired the waiter, much as an executioner might say—"Will you be drawn or quartered?"
The flustered Stiffy gazed helplessly at his sister.
"He means, will you pay for what you eat or eat what you pay for, dear," explained that experienced and resourceful young person. "You must excuse him," she added, turning her round and trustful orbs upon the waiter. "He is not accustomed to being given a choice of dishes."
The waiter, realising that here was a worthy opponent, maintained a countenance of wood and repeated the question.
"You had better give me the menu," said Miss Vereker. "How much is the table d'hôte lunch?"
"Four shillings, madam."
Madam mused.
"Let me see," she said thoughtfully. "Can we run to it, dear?"
"Of course!" said Stiffy in an undertone, reddening with shame. "You know Daphne gave me——"
Nicky smiled joyfully.