“That,” she said, “may be all very well for a man, but women don’t care for that feeling.  They like their food light but stimulating.”

“They do,” I said, “and they prefer it all brought in on one tray and at irregular hours.  Lord DEVONPORT’S scheme is to them a sort of wicked abundance.  To a man it is—­”

“Plenty and to spare,” she said.  “Why, you won’t have to tighten your belt even by one hole.  Now admit, if you hadn’t known you were being rationed you’d never have found it out.”

“I will admit,” I said, “that if the privations we have suffered this last week in the matter of beefsteaks and that kind of food are the worst that can happen to us we shan’t have much to complain of—­but I should like a chop to-night instead of a rissole.”

“You can call it a chop if you like, but it’s going to be a cutlet.”

“Well, anyhow,” I said, “we don’t seem to be doing as much as we might for Lord DEVONPORT.”

“You’re wrong,” she said; “I’m keeping hens in the stable-yard.”

“Hens?  What do you know about hens?”

“For the matter of that, what do you?”

“That’s not the question,” I said, “but I’ll answer it all the same.  I know that most hens are called Buff Orpingtons, and that they never lay any eggs unless you put a china egg in their nest just to coax them along and rouse their ambition.  Francesca, have you put a china egg where our Buff Orpingtons can see it?”

“Frederick is looking after these domestic details.  He seems to think that if he goes to the hen-house every ten minutes or so the laying of eggs will be promoted.  Won’t you go round with him next time?”

“No,” I said, “I’ve never seen a hen lay an egg yet, and I’m not going to begin at my time of life.  Besides, I’ve already said they never lay eggs even when you don’t watch them.”

“Wrong again,” she said.  “We got one egg this morning.”

“Francesca,” I said, “this is exciting.  Did the happy mother announce the event to the world in the usual way?”

“Yes, she screamed and cackled for about a quarter-of-an-hour, and Frederick came along and seized the subject of her rejoicing.  You’re going to have it to-night, boiled, instead of soup and fish.”

“Isn’t that splendid?” I said.  “At this rate we shall soon be self-supporting, and then we can snap our fingers at Lord DEVONPORT.”

“I never snap my fingers,” she said.  “No well-brought-up hen-keeper ever does.  Besides, it’s our duty to help the Government all we can, so that Lord DEVONPORT may have so much more to play with.”

“Why should he want to play with it?” I said.  “He doesn’t strike me as being that kind of man at all.”

“I daresay he plays in his off-hours.”

“A man like that,” I said, “hasn’t any off-hours.  He’s chin-deep in his work.”

“Anyhow,” she said, “I should like him to know that we’re pulling up the herbaceous border and planting it with potatoes, and that we’ve started keeping hens, and that we’ve already got one egg, and that when the time comes we shall not lack for chicken, roast or boiled.”