"They've learned how to do
it at last. It's a problem of weight, you see, and breakage. Aluminum
isn't pretty, glass and silver are heavy, but we all love silver, and
there's a pleasant sense of gorgeousness in this outfit."
It did look rather impressive; silver tumblers, silver dishes, the whole
dainty service--and so surprisingly light.
"You see she knows that it is very important to please the eye as well
as the palate," said Mr. Porne. "Now speaking of palates, let us all
keep silent and taste this soup." They did keep silent in supreme
contentment while the soup lasted. Mrs. Ree laid down her spoon with
the air of one roused from a lovely dream.
"Why--why--it's like Paris," she said in an awed tone.
"Isn't it?" Mr. Porne agreed, "and not twice alike in a month, I think."
"Why, there aren't thirty kinds of soup, are there?" she urged.
"I never thought there were when we kept servants," said he. "Three was
about their limit, and greasy, at that."
Mrs. Porne slipped the soup plates back in their place and served the
meat.
"She does not give a fish course, does she?" Mrs. Ree observed.
"Not at the table d'hote price," Mrs. Porne answered. "We never
pretended to have a fish course ourselves--do you?" Mrs. Ree did not,
and eagerly disclaimed any desire for fish. The meat was roast beef,
thinly sliced, hot and juicy.
"Don't you miss the carving, Mr.
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