You perceive at once that you would always put your idol _pro tem_, down for the sweets, which would become as fertile a source of flirtation as "love" in tennis. Of course the same tact and discretion would be needed in filling your menu as in filling your programme. Some ladies who are excellent at the entrée may be inadvisable for the joint, which they may sit out, expecting to monopolise your attention to the detriment of your meal. Others who are dull at the soup may be agreeably vivacious towards the later items. A new series of formulae would be added to the language: "May I have the pleasure of seeing your menu?" "Will you give me one sweet?" "Can you spare me the joint?" "I am so sorry: I have just given it away." "See me eat the poisson, as Grossmith says." "Will you put me down for a fish?" "This is our entrée, I think." "May I have my dessert, Minnie?" "Are you engaged for the cheese?" "Yes; but you can have the second entrée." "Don't forget to keep the soup for me!" "If you don't mind sitting it out!" "Are you open for the extra joint?" "Thank you: I am full up." For hostesses who shrink from such a revolution, a beginning might be made by an automatic change of seats by the gentlemen, say one to the right as in the _chassé-croisé_ of the Caledonians. Failing this, the only remaining method of avoiding monotony and the chilling separation of the extremes of the board is to follow the example of King Arthur and employ a round table. The round dinner-table is the only way of making both ends meet.