Katy had no chance to
answer the bell when it rang. Eileen was in the hall. Linda
could not tell what was happening from the murmur of voices.
Presently John and Eileen entered the room, and as Linda greeted
him she did have the impression that he appeared unusually
thoughtful and worried. She sat for half an hour, taking slight
part in the conversation. Then she excused herself and went to
her room, and as she went she knew that she could not honestly
write Marian what she had hoped, for in thirty minutes by the
clock Eileen's blandishments had worked, and John Gilman was
looking at her as if she were the most exquisite and desirable
creature in existence.
Slowly Linda climbed the stairs and entered her room. She slid
the bolt of her door behind her, turned on the lights, unlocked a
drawer, and taking from it a heap of materials she scattered them
over a small table, and picking up her pencil, she sat gazing at
the sheet before her for some time. Then slowly she began
writing:
It appeals to me that, far as modern civilization has gone in
culinary efforts, we have not nearly reached the limits available
to us as I pointed out last month. We consider ourselves capable
of preparing and producing elaborate banquets, yet at no time are
we approaching anything even to compare in lavishness and
delicacy with the days of Lucullus. We are not feasting on baked
swans, peacock tongues and drinking our pearls. I am not
recommending that we should revive the indulgence of such lavish
and useless expenditure, but I would suggest that if we tire with
the sameness of our culinary efforts, we at least try some of the
new dishes described in this department, established for the sole
purpose of their introduction.
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