"No, I don't seem to care for it, and I was very hungry at seven o'clock. Don't you remember, Aubrey, I said coming up in the elevator how hungry I was?" "I remember," said my husband. "But you are just like me. If you don't have your meals at a certain time your appetite goes." At that Mary lifted her head and looked at us through her spectacles. Never were four more innocent eyes to be met with than ours. We looked at her calmly until she lowered her gaze. It was not an impudent nor a defiant look she gave us. It was a trial of wills. Our two against her one. She removed the soup without more ado, and brought in a broiled chicken. Oh, oh! Shall I ever forget it! I was so hungry by that time that I could have bitten a piece out of my plate. Mary stood by with a face as anxious as if she were standing by the death-bed of her child. Aubrey lifted it with the carving-fork, looked at me, and said: "Do you feel as if you could eat a little bit of this?" A little bit! I felt as if I could have snatched it in my paws and run growling to a corner to devour the whole of it and to bury the bones for the next day. "No," I said, wearily, leaning my head on my hand to hide my countenance. "But you eat some, dear." Aubrey laid down the carving-fork. "No, I don't care for any." "What time did you have your luncheon, dear?" I asked, anxiously. "At half-past twelve. I had an appointment with Squires at one." "And what did you have?" I continued, for Mary's face was expressive of the liveliest horror. "A club sandwich and a glass of beer." Mary looked at the clock. It was half-past eight. "Oh, my dear!" I said, mournfully. "It is no wonder you can't eat. Your stomach is too exhausted to feel hunger." Mary ran around the table for no reason at all. She took the cover off the best silver dish. It was a dish of fresh peas cooked with onions and lettuce. Petits pois a la paysanne! I had taught her myself! I simply glared at it. To this day I can smell those onions! "If I could have had those at seven o'clock," said Aubrey, sadly, "I could have eaten every one of them. They look delicious, Mary, but I really--no, don't urge me! Take the dinner off." "Oh, boss dear, if you'd just take a lick at them!" implored Mary. "Just one lick--there's a handsome man!" Aubrey bit his lips. I was trembling on the verge of hysterical laughter. Mary implored in vain. With our famished eyes on the peas and chicken we saw them disappear through the swinging door. Mary in her agony was talking aloud. "Keep it up!" whispered the Angel. "This will fetch her! She's ready to cry." "Oh, but Aubrey," I moaned. "I'm ready to gnaw the napkin and eat my slippers. Please come and tighten my belt!" "I know now how explorers and castaways feel," murmured the Angel. "For heaven's sake, what comes next?" "Asparagus!" I wailed. "Fresh asparagus. I paid ninety cents for it! And she's cooked it with her white sauce--oh!"