"Here's one," I said, bringing my index finger to a sudden standstill in its chute down the advertising columns; "'elegant pastries; table decorations a specialty; French dishes, jellies.' You see, she ends at jellies, but does not begin with them. She has been 'with the finest families in the Faubourg St. Germain, Paris.' She is 'reliable'--and odiously expensive." "That doesn't matter, we have decided," chirped Letitia. "We may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I rather fancy that advertisement, dear. Let me see: 'Address, Madame Hyacinthe de Lyrolle." "We could call her Cynthie," I ventured in a light mood. "Please don't jest. We can be frivolous, later on--when we are not hungry. The advertisement reads very well, and in a case like this, even if she can't do all that she announces, it won't matter at all. For instance, we may find that 'table decorations a specialty' is just a pure ghost story. I shouldn't care a bit; should you? As long as the table is neatly set, with a pretty plant, a table-center, and delicately folded serviettes, the other decorations wouldn't matter in the least." "There you are right, Letitia," I assented. "I don't suppose that she would place a bottle of Worcestershire sauce in the middle of the table as a decoration, like--" "You are always dragging up those detestable women whom we are trying to forget," asserted Letitia petulantly. "Do, for goodness' sake, forget the past. We are going to place things on a different footing. We are going to engage the best and be satisfied with the merely--better. I think I shall go and see Madame Hyacinthe de Lyrolle. The 'elegant pastries' capture me. I'm so sick of bread pudding and baked apples. Her name, too, is reassuring. Of course, you know--or should know--that a French cook is the most economical person on earth. It is a science with her. What other people throw away, she makes into _ragoût_, or _croquettes_, or _blanquette_, and other delightful things all ending in 'ette'." "I believe they call it hash, here," I interrupted. "What they call hash here," said Letitia spitefully, "is just a horrid resurrection, not fit for plow-boys. The French housewife cooks very differently. Why, even the _pot au feu_ is delicious, and what could be cheaper? She serves an exquisite soup, and she offers the meat with which it was made in an appetizing way. We shall certainly save money in one direction, Archie, even if we spend it in another." "You seem thoroughly to understand the art of cooking, Letitia," I said admiringly. "I wonder that you never went in for it."