you can get lamb in July if you insist, quite little lamb, done up round, epigrammes d'agneau, that is it. But neat epigrams, you know. Then"
M. Adolph waved his hands in French despair.
"But dinner for the bourgeois, miladi," he said.
"Not at all. Epigrammes d'agneau—yes. Then cold beef, do you understand? Plain cold beef, with horse-radish sauce, and endive salad. Yes, I know what I am saying, endive salad. Then one vegetable. Asparagus is so common. Make something out of cabbage, Adolph. Only cabbage, I charge you. Then—no, no bird at all, absolutely no bird. Then apple-tart, please—plain apple-tart. After that toasted cheese, à paté—no, not either. Apple-tart and the dessert. But please see that the coffee is good. Do not grind it till the apple-tart comes up. And that evening we will have an English menu—soup, herrings, lamb, cold beef, cabbage, apple-tart. Saturday—yes, perhaps you had better put in an extra entrée. Cailles à la Lindsay would do. Mr. Charlie will be down that night. But they must be served in separate little casseroles, and over each you must pour the juice of another quail. And little squares of toast served with it, so that the juice can be eaten. How good!"
"But miladi never eats quail," said Adolph.
"No, but other people do. That is all, Adolph. I want you to take particular pains over this week. You can get extra help if you need it. There will be about thirty for breakfast and lunch every day, and I expect about seventy to dinner. Wait a moment."
Lucia rang a bell, and a male secretary appeared.
"The Brayton week," she said. "The numbers only"
She looked quickly at the list.
"That is all, is it?" she asked. "Very well, Adolph. Monday we shall be fifty-one. Tuesday, Wednesday, about sixty. Thursday—please pay attention—the special will arrive at five, and so you must make preparations for tea as well, they will all stop to dinner, a hundred and forty. They will not leave till quite late—no, no supper, but plenty of sandwiches and ice and fruit. Friday, Saturday, these are the numbers. On Monday you can go back to town. Just leave a marmiton. His lordship and I may not return till Tuesday."
The infinite capacity for attention to details certainly characterized Lucia. She cared not a cheese-straw what she ate, herself alone considered, provided that, however plain, it was
