"I am sure of it."
On consideration, I thought it as well to mention the matter to the cook, a strange, reserved woman, not given to talking, who did her work admirably, but whom, for some inexplicable reason, I did not like. If I had considered a little further as to how to broach the subject, I should perhaps have proved more successful; but by not doing so I rushed the question and obtained no satisfaction.
I had gone down to the kitchen to order dinner, and the difficult question had arisen how to dispose of the scraps from yesterday's joint.
"Rissoles, ma'am?"
"No," said I, "not rissoles. Your master objects to them."
"Then perhaps croquettes?"
"They are only rissoles in disguise."
"Perhaps cottage pie?"
"No; that is inorganic rissole, a sort of protoplasm out of which rissoles are developed."
"Then, ma'am, I might make a hash."