“You see, Marta, I don’t drop these into deep fat, because veal is a meat that requires long cooking, and is one of the few things I think better fried, or rather ‘_sauté_,’ in this way, with only enough fat to cook them, but it is much more trouble to do than the frying in boiling fat.” The cutlets took nearly ten minutes to fry a nice brown on one side, because, although the pan was kept at a good heat, she had to guard against burning. Then each piece was turned, and, when quite brown (it took nearly ten minutes more to get so), taken up and put on the dish, and the bacon round it. Molly took the pan to the table, poured off the fat, which was dark, and put in the pan a dessert-spoonful of butter and a scant one of flour, set them on the stove and let them melt and brown a little; then she drew the pan aside, and poured a small cup of the hot soup they were going to have for dinner into it, and stirred till smooth, mashing all the brown clinging gravy with the back of her spoon. She explained to Marta that, if the soup had not been at hand, water and pepper and salt would have been used; or, if there was oyster liquor in the house, she should have used that and water in equal parts. “Now take in the soup, Marta,—and while that is on the table, let this gravy boil a few seconds, then pour it through the strainer into the dish with the cutlets; don’t let it boil longer, or it will get too thick.” After dinner, Harry told Molly that one of the gentlemen on the cars, a friend of the Winfields’, had spoken to him about joining a dramatic reading-club, of which he was president, and said his wife was coming to invite Molly. “But I don’t think we can afford it, dear.” “Would you like it?” asked Molly quickly. “Oh, I don’t know! Yes, I think it might brighten the winter a bit.” “Well, we will see after my accounts are audited. First, I want to ask you how you consider you have fared this week?” “Admirably,—so well that I’m afraid of the accounts.” “You need not be. Now I want you to listen while I read over the bills of fare for the week.” Harry nodded in amused good humor, and smoked on comfortably. “On MONDAY we had chicken salad, etc., for lunch. _Dinner_—Roast shoulder of lamb, potatoes, cabbage, macaroni, tomato salad, and peaches and cream. “TUESDAY. _Breakfast_—Breaded chops, baked potatoes, corn muffins.” Harry nodded assent to each item as Molly turned her bright eyes on him to make sure he was giving attention. “TUESDAY. _Dinner_—Oysters, steak, ragout of lamb, stuffed potatoes, Lima beans, cheese canapées, and lemon pie. “WEDNESDAY. _Breakfast_—Hashed lamb, poached eggs, and soufflé bread. _Dinner_—Tomato cream soup, roast breast of lamb, chicken croquettes, stewed onions and potatoes, peach pudding. “THURSDAY. _Breakfast_—Lamb chops broiled, eggs, tomato salad, stewed potatoes, muffins. _Dinner_—Fried smelts, beef _à la mode_, cones of carrots and turnips, mashed potatoes, lettuce salad, cheese fritters, amber pudding.