"Right, and that's why we enjoyed the play so much. We were not overfed in those days."
"We were not," seconded Philip.
"You cannot enjoy, even appreciate anything intellectual after a dinner of six or eight courses: you are only fit for a pantomime or a music-hall. And that's why those pathetic forms of entertainment are so successful now. Why, look at the people in the boxes—indifferent, half sulky, lifting their eyebrows and staring their eyes out—like that—awful!"
"Yes," said Philip, "all the response, all the appreciation, all the warmth comes from the pit and gallery."
"And do you also remember when, two years after we were married, our general suddenly gave notice, and left us alone to manage housekeeping as best we could while Hobbs was temporarily absent? And how I cooked all the meals, and how you never enjoyed them better? Now, say it's true."
"Perfectly true. And I peeled the potatoes."
"The less you speak of that, the better. You wasted half of them. But what fun! The house was gay, happy, ringing with our laughter all day long; so much so that, in a month, baby put on six pounds of flesh."
"And how I cleaned the knives!" said Philip, who was enjoying the reminiscences.
"Which helped your appetite for breakfast."
"And the boots—now, I did not like cleaning the boots."