o the unit?"

"That is her system of proselytising," said the Colonel, "and if she
is content with outward conversion, it isn't a bad one. I often feel
inclined to agree to any proposition she likes to put forward, and I
would, if I could stop her talking by my submission."

"You wouldn't do that, Colonel, even in your suavest mood," said Van
der Roet; "but I hope somebody will succeed in checking her flow of
discourse before long. I'm getting worn to a shadow by the grind of that
awful voice."

"I thought your clothes were getting a bit loose," said the Colonel,
"but I put that phenomenon down to another reason. In spite of Mrs.
Wilding's praise of our present style of cooking, I don't believe our
friend Vander finds it substantial enough to sustain his manly bulk, and
I'll tell you the grounds of my belief. A few mornings ago, when I was
shaving, I saw the butcher bring into the house a splendid sirloin, and
as no sirloin has appeared at table, I venture to infer that this
joint was a private affair of Vander's, and that he, as well as Mrs.
Gradinger, has been going in for bedroom cookery. Here comes the
Marchesa; we'll ask her to solve the mystery."

"I can account for the missing sirloin," said the Marchesa. "The Colonel
is wrong for once. It went duly into the kitchen, and not to Mr. Van der
Roet's bedroom; but I must begin with a slight explanation, or rather
apology. Next to trial by jury, and the reverence paid to rank, and the
horror of all things which, as poor Corney Grain used to say, 'are
not nice,' I reckon the Sunday sirloin, cooked and served, one and
indivisible as the typical fetish of the great English middle class.
With this fact before my eyes, I can assure you I did not lightly lay a
hand on its integrity. My friends, you have eaten that sirloin without
knowing it. You may remember that yesterday after lunch the Colonel was
loud in praise of a dish of beef. Well, that beef was a portion of the
same, and not the best portion. The Manzo in insalata, which pleased
the Colonel's palate, was that thin piece at the lower end, the chief
function of which, when the sirloin is cooked whole, seems to lie in
keeping the joint steady on the dish while paterfamilias carves it. It
is never eaten in the dining-room hot, because every one justly prefers
and goes for the under cut; neither does it find favour at lunch next
day, for the reason that, as cold beef, the upper cut is unapproachable.
I have never hea