“Ah,” said Ruth, “yes’m, we shall want a nice frying-pan. The one I have isn’t near large enough to do a nice bit of fish and it’s not the right shape. A nice enamel one the next time you are going into town if you can be troubled to remember.”
Now in these days if I wanted the meals I have described I should begin:
“How about the mutton, Ruth? What are you going to do with that?”
“Well, I think, m’m, a haricot would be as nice as anything.”
“Quite so. And I suppose we shall be obliged to have fish for dinner.”
“Yes’m—fried fish I suppose?” (Ruth’s strong point is frying.)
“Some nice little fillets I think master likes, m’m.”
“Yes, Ruth, fish, cutlets, and a pudding. I suppose a batter pudding would take too many eggs?”
“Oh, no, m’m, not at all. I could manage with two nicely.”
“Very well then; that will do beautifully. We always like your batter puddings so much better than those they have at Buckingham Palace; they are so much lighter, and that jam sauce you make is a dream. And, by the way” (this is just as I am leaving the kitchen), “we must have another curry some day; Admiral Tobasco said he had never met one to touch yours that night.”