affair like this. Ours is a democratic age, and the wants and
desires of the many, who find delight in this woman's singing, override
the whims of the pampered few, the employers of such costly luxuries as
men cooks."

"You see you are a mere worm, Sir John," laughed Miss Macdonnell, "and
you had better lay out your length to be trampled on."

"Yes, I have long foreseen our fate, we who happen to possess what our
poor brother hankers after. Well, perhaps I may take up the worm's role
at once and 'turn', that is, burn the recipe of Narcisse."

"O Sir John, Sir John," cried Mrs. Sinclair "any such burning would
remind me irresistibly of Mr. Mantalini's attempts at suicide. There
would be an accurate copy in your pocket-book, and besides this you
would probably have learnt off the recipe by heart."

"Yes, we know our Sir John better than that, don't we?" said the
Marchesa; "but, joking apart, Sir John, you might let me have the
recipe at once. It would go admirably with one of our lunch dishes for
to-morrow."

But on the subject of the sauce, Sir John--like the younger Mr.
Smallweed on the subject of gravy--was adamant. The wound caused by the
loss of Narcisse was, he declared, yet too recent: the very odour of the
sauce would provoke a thousand agonising regrets. And then the hideous
injustice of it all: Narcisse the artist, comparatively innocent (for
to artists a certain latitude must be allowed), to moulder in quicklime,
and this greedy, sordid murderess to go on ogling and posturing with
superadded popularity before an idiot crowd unable to distinguish a
Remoulade from a Ravigotte! "No, my dear Marchesa," he said, "the secret
of Narcisse must be kept a little longer, for, to tell the truth, I have
an idea. I remember that ere this fortunes have been made out of sauces,
and if this sauce be properly handled and put before the public, it may
counteract my falling, or rather disappearing rents. If only I could
hit upon a fetching name, and find twenty thousand pounds to spend in
advertising, I might be able once more to live on my acres."

"Oh, surely we shall be able to find you a name between us," said Mrs.
Wilding; "money, and things of that sort are to be procured in the city,
I believe; and I daresay Mr. Van der Roet will design a pretty label for
the sauce bottles."

Menu--Lunch.

Pollo all'olive. Fowl with olives.
Scaloppine di rive. Veal cutlets with rice.
S