Our soup was excellent. There was in it a savour of the sea which reminded me of the birds'-nest soup of China, and by that alone I should have judged M. Baptiste Commaille, the chef, to be an artist.
Before the fish arrived my cross-examination was continued. "Had I been to a Levee?" I was asked; and when I said I had not, and that the reason of the not having done so was that my practical study of the art of dining had made my tunic too tight for me, and that I was not sufficiently wealthy just at present to buy another to use for one occasion only in the year, I was told that I should learn to bike, and that if I did I might come sometimes and take Miss Brighteyes to the Park in the morning. Was I going to the big charity fancy ball at the Empress Rooms, and if so, as what? I was not, I regretted to say, my tunic not suiting better for balls than for levees, and my figure not being quite in keeping with a Romeo costume from Nathan's; but I learned that Miss Brighteyes was, and that she was going in a copy of a costume of one of her ancestresses, all light blue with the front laced across with pearls. The ancestress had real pearls, but Miss Brighteyes was only to have imitation ones.
The fish I did not care for much, a _merlan_ being rather a tasteless denizen of the sea, but Miss Brighteyes admired the cream and pink of the _plat_ immensely, and thought that there was a suggestion for a dress in it. Then I heard all about the recent balls, how charming the pink peonies were at one house, and the lilies and palms at another, and so on; and was given a disquisition on the dresses at the Drawing-Room, of which all that I can recall is that one lady wore muslin with roses painted on it, and ropes of wonderful pearls.
The _tournedos_, with their accompanying quarters of artichokes in batter and scarlet tomatoes, were excellent, very excellent indeed, and so was the chicken, delightfully brown, and done to a turn. The _soufflé glacé Victoria_, which was brought in triumph by M. Garin, the _maître d'hôtel_, was encased in a little summer-house of sugar, with the names of various papers blazoned on it--that of the _Pall Mall_ being over the door, I had finished my pint of excellent champagne and Miss Brighteyes had sipped her lemon squash, a sinful drink, even for a girl in her first season. I was selfish enough to take my coffee and liqueur before I told Miss Brighteyes that it was ten minutes to eight, which put her in a flutter, for she was anxious not to lose the overture.