Of the fish, the soles were a la Rowena, the salmon a l'amour. Emily
flirted with the wing of a chicken saute au supreme, coquetted with
perdrix perdu masque a la Montmorenci, and tasted a boudin a la
Diebitsch. The wines were excellent--the Geisenheim delicious--the
Champagne sparkling like a pun of Jekyll's. But nothing aroused the
attention of the Viscount Chambery so much as a liqueur, which Mr.
Graeme assured him was new, and had just been sent him by the Conte de
Desir. The dessert had been some time on the table, when the Viscount
addressed his host.

"Graeme! I am delighted to find that you at length agree with me as to
the monstrous superiority of a French repast. Your omelette imaginaire
was faultless, and as for your liqueur, I shall certainly order a supply
on my return to Paris."

"That liqueur, my dear lord," replied Mr. Graeme, "is good old cowslip
mead, with a flask of Maraschino di Zara infused in it. For the rest,
the dinner has been almost as imaginaire as the omelet. The greater part
of the recipes are in an old English volume in my library, or perhaps
some owe their origin to the fertile invention of my housekeeper. Let
us style them a la Dorothee."

"Capital! I thank you, Graeme!" said his Grace of Gatten, as he shook
his host by the hand, till the tears stood in his eyes.

The prescient Chambery had made a good dinner, and bore the joke
philosophically. Coffee awaited the gentlemen in a small octagonal
chamber, adjoining the music room. There stood Mr. Graeme's three
favourite modern statues:--a Venus, by Canova--a Discobole, by