its nail, while Grizel made a mental note. "Lard.--Its Use
and Abuse.--Differentiate from dripping.--Why darker? Under what
circumstances should it be forbidden or allowed?"

"Soles," said the cook firmly. "And soup?"

"Oh, certainly. Certainly soup. Mr Beverley likes quite a simple
dinner--soup, fish, an entree, one solid course, sweets--lots of cream,
please! and dessert. See that there is always plenty of fruit. And of
course, salad. Did I say savories? Of course you'll arrange all that.
That is all for to-day? I think. To-morrow you will have the menu
ready."

The cook, who was a superior plain cook, reflected that she would
require a "rise," if they expected a party dinner every night. If
Grizel had been attired in an ordinary coat and skirt she would have
rebelled forthwith, but the sheer glamour of pink and white kept her
dumb.

"Soles," she repeated stolidly. "And soup. What kind of soup?"

"_Clear_!" said Grizel, and felt a glow of triumph. Really and truly
she had done better than she had expected. So well that it seemed
diplomatic to beat a retreat before she fell from grace. She hitched
her skirts still further, and stepped daintily towards the door, but
cook cut short her retreat.

"Entree, you said, Ma'am. What kind of entree? And there's lunch. And
breakfast. To-morrow's breakfast. Would it be bacon?"

Grizel waved an impatient hand.

"Bacon certainly. And er--omelette! Kidneys. Cold dishes. The usual
things one _does_ have for breakfast. And lunch at one. A hot dish,
please, and several cold, and some sweets. And always fruit. Plenty of
fruit. That will do nicely for to-day, Mrs Mason. We've discussed
everything, I think." She turned a beneficent smile upon the bewildered
face. "And I'm sure," she added daringly, "you'll manage splendidly
with dripping!"

In the dining-room Parsons was still busy clearing away. Upstairs Marie
the maid was unpacking endless boxes of clothes, and hanging them up in
a spare room fitted to do duty as an immense wardrobe. At the end of a
passage stood the baize door which gave entrance to Martin's sanctum.
Grizel approached it stealthily, and pressed her lips to the keyhole.

"Martin!"

A voice from within answered with would-be sternness:

"Go away!"

"Martin... I'm sorry! Just _one_ moment... Something I _must_ ask
you.--Most important..."

"Go on, then... What is it?"

"_What--Is--Lard_?"

The door flew open, a