"Oh, I don't know," she replied, after some hesitation. "I suppose people like to be thought romantic, and thinking about what you eat and drink isn't romantic." "It's very sensible at all events," said Lady Errington; "do you not agree with me Mrs. Trubbles?" "I do," replied the matron ponderously, nodding her head, upon which was perched a cheerful-looking cap of black lace and glittering bugles, "people should always eat and drink well at meal times, but no nibblin's in between. It isn't nature to despise good food well-cooked. I've no patience with those gells who starve themselves and pinch their waists to look pretty. Wasps I call them." "Without the sting," suggested Sir Guy. "That depends on their tempers, and their tempers," continued Mrs. Trubbles impressively, "depend on their eating. Give them good meals and plenty of exercise, and there's the makin' of good wives about them. Let them starve themselves and lace tight, and it makes their noses red and their tempers cross." "The whole duty of woman then," murmured Eustace demurely, "is to appreciate her cook and disobey her dressmaker. They might do the first, but never the second." Mrs. Trubbles, not understanding irony, looked doubtfully at Eustace to see if he was smiling, but so grave was the expression of his face that she did not know whether he spoke in jest or earnest, so without making any reply, she continued her meal while the conversation became frivolous and general. "I think Italy a very over-rated place." "Really! In what respect--morals, scenery, manners?" "No, as regards music. It's a very barrel-organy country." "Not more so than the London streets. And after all, `Ah che la Morte,' is more musical than 'Tommy make room for your uncle." "Both out of date." "Well, say Gounod's 'Romeo and Juliet' and the 'Boulanger March." "Yes, it's much jollier than the Op. 42 _andante adagio con fuoco prestissimo_ sort of things they give you at the Richter Concerts." "Maclean," observed Eustace, gravely regarding his glass, "you are a Philistine, and classical music of the advanced school is thrown away on your uncultivated ear." "No doubt! I prefer 'Auld Lang Syne' to Beethoven." "Naturally, being a Scotchman. You're like the man who knew two tunes. One was 'God save the Queen,' the other--wasn't." "I remember," observed Mrs. Trubbles, whose ideas of music were primitive in the extreme, "that I went to a concert at St. James' Hall, where they played something called a fuggy." "A fugue," translated Victoria for the benefit of the company. "I know! One tune starts, a second catches it up. Then a third joins in, and just as it successfully muddles up the other two, a fourth and a fifth have their say in the matter." "Sounds dreadfully mixed." "Then it sounds exactly what it is," said Miss Sheldon promptly. "But what about this particular fugue, Mrs. Trubbles?"