"There, that’s the complete _menu_," said Marjorie. She laid down her pencil, took up the writing pad, and began to read: "_Oysters!_" She took up her pencil again. "By the way, we can’t have oysters." "Why not?" "You can only have oysters when there’s an R in the month." "Well, it’s August!" said Liss. "And as they aren’t going to be there anyhow, they may as well stay in!" "No," said Marjorie. "This dinner is going to be things we would order here and now—just supposing we could. So don’t let us spoil it by putting down impossible things." Liss at once recognised the logical consistency of this view. "All right!" she said. "No oysters! _Hors d’oeuvres_, instead. Then nice hot soup!" "Yes—_Potage à la reine_." "It sounds a bit watery; but I don’t mind, so long as it’s hot. Oh, how _lovely_ it would be!" "_Sole meunière_. That’s Roy’s favourite." "Oh—Roy’s to be there? That’s your pretend, is it?" Marjorie nodded over her hypothetical menu. "That’s a good idea. Who shall I pretend my man is? Toby?" "All right." "In that case, we shall want more than one bottle of champagne. You know what that child is! But never mind that just now! Read out some more food." "_Duckling—_" "And green peas, of course?" "Of course!" "What then?" "That brings us to the _méringues_." "Good! That should be enough. We will have coffee and _crème de menthe_ afterwards, of course?" "We will have cognac as well. You see, Roy—Oh, Liss!" For a moment Marjorie’s fortitude forsook her. Her face sank into her friend’s fluffy hair. "Liss, dear," she murmured, "if _only_ I knew!" "It’s Friday afternoon now," said Liss cheerfully. "We’ll get lots to eat to-morrow, when the boys come up to town." "I wasn’t thinking of food," said Marjorie—"just then!" "Well, I was! Oh, my _dear_, I’m hungry! I didn’t know it was possible to be so hungry. What time is it?" "About five, I think." "Well, let’s have a nice drink of water, and eat a couple of biscuits, and go to bed. It’s the best way." "Very well," said Marjorie listlessly. She was the more exhausted of the two; for Liss was of the ethereal type that seems to thrive on a diet of next-to-nothing. Neither girl had touched food, except a few biscuits, since the previous evening. This afternoon they had endeavoured to maintain _morale_ by indulging in one of the oldest pastimes known to children of the world—the game of "Let’s pretend!"—sturdily endeavouring to hold a fire in their hands by thinking on the frosty Caucasus. Suddenly there came a tapping on the outer door. Both girls started up. "Who on earth can that be?" said Marjorie, hurrying automatically to the mirror above the mantelpiece. "I wonder if it is anybody with any money!" remarked Liss, hastily removing herself from the couch, where she had been stifling the pangs of hunger by lying on her front. "Go and see!" commanded Marjorie, busy at the mirror.