the rules. You see, in Fleet Street--

MRS. CULVER (_very pleasantly_). As you please. I don't pretend to be
intellectual. But I confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in
Hildegarde's cookery articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I
put it next to the Christian religion--and far in front of mere
cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor Metchnikoff's
wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It only confirms me in my
lifelong belief that until the nature of man is completely altered good
cooking is the chief thing that women ought to understand. Now I taught
Hildegarde some cookery myself. She was not what I should call a
brilliant pupil, but she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet
I find her writing (_with charm and benevolence_) stuff like her last
article--'The Everlasting Boiled Potato,' I think she called it.
Hildegarde, it was really very naughty of you to say what you said in
that article. (_Drawing down_ Hildegarde's _head and kissing her_.)

TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so clever.

MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and chip
potatoes and sauté potatoes as a change from the everlasting boiled. I
daresay it's what you call journalism. But how can you fry potatoes
without fat?

TRANTO. Ah! How?

MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? _I_ can't obtain fat. I
stand in queues for hours because my servants won't--it's the latest
form of democracy--but _I_ can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is
at Stratford-on-Avon.