"There ith thomething the matter with thith thoup," she declared in a loud voice.
"That's what I say," answered a voice.
"And I, and I, and I," cried other voices.
"Yes, I agree with you," answered Miss Partridge gravely. "Harriet what did you put in the soup?"
"The usual ingredients."
Mrs. Livingston at this juncture sampled the soup. Her face darkened. She swallowed a spoonful, then quickly laid the spoon on the soup plate.
Harriet had shrunk back into her chair. A deep flush rose to her face. To cover her confusion she essayed to take some more soup, but the effort was a failure. She simply could not eat the consommé.
"It tathteth to me like thoap," declared Tommy.
"I believe it is soap," spoke up Patricia Scott. "How perfectly frightful!"
"I am afraid, Miss Burrell," said Mrs. Livingston, "that you have lost the 'honor' for this season. This consommé seems to be a dismal failure. This of course does not preclude you from taking up some other branch of cookery and winning an 'honor'."