And Clovis and the odious Bertie van Tahn
were coming to dinner. Surely, thought Eleanor, if
Arlington knew how much she had had that day to try her, he
would refrain from joke-making.
At dinner that night it was Eleanor herself who mentioned
the name of a certain statesman, who may be decently covered
under the disguise of X.
``X.,'' said Arlington Stringham, ``has the soul of a
meringue.''
It was a useful remark to have on hand, because it applied
equally well to four prominent statesmen of the day, which
quadrupled the opportunities for using it.
``Meringues haven't got souls,'' said Eleanor's mother.
``It's a mercy that they haven't,'' said Clovis; ``they
would be always losing them, and people like my aunt would
get up missions to meringues, and say it was wonderful how
much one could teach them and how much more one could learn
from them.''
``What could you learn from a meringue?'' asked Eleanor's
mother.
``My aunt has been known to learn humility from an
ex-Viceroy,'' said Clovis.
``I wish cook would learn to make curry, or have the sense
to leave it alone,'' said Arlington, suddenly and savagely.
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