"And what," I said, "did you do during the Great War, Francesca?"
"In the first place I fine you a sum not exceeding one hundred pounds for asking me such a question. In the second place I retort upon you by telling you that one of the things you're going to do during the Great War is to give up marmalade."
"What! Give up the thing which lends to breakfast its one and only distinction? Never."
"That," she said, "sounds very brave; but what are you going to do if there isn't any marmalade to be obtained for love or money?"
"Mine," I said, "has always been the sort you get for money. I have not hitherto met the amatory variety; but if it's really marmalade I'm prepared to have a go at it."
"And that," she said, "is very kind of you, but it's quite useless. For the moment there's no marmalade of any kind to be had."
"None of the dark-brown variety?"
"No."
"Or the sort that looks like golden jelly?"
"Not a scrap."