“A gentleman may starve without loss of caste,” he added. “He forfeits his right to the name in becoming a pauper, or a beggar.”
The outward appearance was the sign of the inward grace, inbred and invincible.
True refinement—the kind that does not shrink or go to pieces under the roughest processes of the mangle we know as daily living—is “even-threaded” and consistent throughout.
I called the other day upon a woman who has never been rich, but always refined. She is now poor. She can never be common. Her lunch hour was earlier than I had supposed, and my call infringed upon it. She and her daughter were at table.
“You shall not go,” she insisted; “I can give you a cup of hot tea and little else besides ‘bread and cheese and kisses.’ The welcome must make up the rest.”
A BRIDESMAIDS’ TABLE WITH PINK ROSES
TABLE FOR AN ENGAGEMENT DINNER
SUGGESTION FOR A SUNFLOWER LUNCHEON
The cheese had been melted upon buttered toast, cut by a tin “shape” into scalloped ovals; it was golden brown in color, crisp to the teeth, savory to the palate. The tea was scalding and fresh and fragrant; for meat we had three Hamburg steaks, garnished with celery-tops. They were accompanied by an apple-and-celery salad, treated on the table to a French dressing; wafery slices of brown bread and butter went with it. Afterwards we had Albert biscuits and a second cup of tea—and nothing else. Beyond the laughing remark prefacing the frugal meal, the hostess offered no apology. She lived in this style every day, affecting nothing and hiding nothing. A gentlewoman in grain, if she had sat down to three meals a day alone, she would have breakfasted, lunched and dined—not merely “fed.” Luxury was beyond her reach—elegance never.
Simplicity need not be homely. Neatness is not a synonym for bareness. A certain degree of beauty and grace is almost a Christian duty.
The best cooks can not afford to despise the recommendation of the eye to the palate. The difference between plain and dainty housekeeping depends so much upon it that the professional caterer plays cunningly upon the desire of the eye, often bringing a good thing into disrepute. Because his garnishes and fanciful devices conceal cheap materials and indifferent manufactures is no reason why the housekeeper should not make the substantial “home fare” provided by her honest hands goodly to sight, as well as to taste.