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I lunch or dine with a party, generally, because it happens so. I lunch alone with you because it pleases me." "And for this material side of our entertainment?" he enquired, smiling, as he handed her the menu card. "A grapefruit, a quail with white grapes, and some asparagus," she replied promptly. "You see, in one respect I am an easy companion. I know exactly what I want.
Once she went to her room and studied the cookbook during an entire evening, finally writing out a menu for the week, which left her harassed with a feeling that, after all, she had accomplished no good that was worth the name. But that evening Edna finished her dinner alone, with forced deliberation. Her face was flushed and her eyes flamed with some inward fire that lighted them.
"Join us, by all means," Selingman invited. "On condition that you dine with me," Norgate insisted, as he took up the menu. "Impossible!" Selingman declared firmly. "Oh! it matters nothing," Mademoiselle Henriette exclaimed, "so long as we dine." "So long," Mademoiselle Alice intervened, "as we have this brief glimpse of Mr. Selingman, let us make the best of it.
To read, as a man, the menu that I ate through as a boy, the love-story that I was actor in, the tragedy that I brought about, the debt that I have never paid how could it profit me? To keep a diary has always seemed to me merely an addition to the ills of life. Yet now I have a hidden book, like the rest of the world, and I am scrawling in it to-day. Yes, but for a reason.
Your clothes look neat and respectable. Excuse personalities. I think mine will pass the scrutiny of a head waiter, also. Suppose we go over to that hotel and dine together. We will choose from the menu like millionaires or, if you prefer, like gentlemen in moderate circumstances dining extravagantly for once.
"But, pay the debt now. "And then, when next in Paris you sit at your favorite table and your favorite waiter hands you the menu, will you not the more enjoy your dinner if you know that while he was fighting on the Aisne, it was your privilege to help a little in keeping his wife and child alive."
"And now," said Trent gravely, when everybody was seated, "listen!" and he read the menu. Beef Soup a la Siege de Paris. Fish. Sardines a la pere Lachaise. Fresh Beef a la sortie. Vegetables. Canned Beans a la chasse-pot, Canned Peas Gravelotte, Potatoes Irlandaises, Miscellaneous. Cold Corned Beef a la Thieis, Stewed Prunes a la Garibaldi. Dessert.
"Bismarck has called for the menu; his cannon are hungry," he sneered; "there goes the bill of fare." "That's very funny," said a fierce little man with a gray mustache, "but the bill of fare isn't complete the class of '71 has just been called out!" and he pointed to a placard freshly pasted on the side of the station. "The the class of '71?" muttered the furtive-eyed peasant, turning livid.
"What is the name of these roses, d'you know?" he asked the waiter. The waiter was ready at all times to conceal his ignorance concerning items of the wine-list or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific name of the roses. "Amy Sylvester Partinglon," said a voice at Jerton's elbow.
You perceive? this is a Radical house and a Radical banquet?" He pushed the menu towards her significantly. Then his eye travelled with its usual keen rapidity over the room, over the splendid dinner-table, with its display of flowers and plate, and over the assembled guests.
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