‘I haven’t much faith in that porridge regimen, Wilf,’ remarked the master of the house, as he helped himself to chicken and tongue.  ’We are not Highlanders.  It’s dangerous to make diet too much a matter of theory.  Your example is infectious; first the twins; now Miss Hood.  Edith, do you propose to become a pervert to porridge?’

‘I have no taste for it,’ replied his sister, who had become absent-minded.

‘There’s a certain dishonesty about it, moreover,’ Mr. Athel pursued.  ’Porridge should be eaten with salt.  Milk and sugar—­didn’t I hear a suggestion of golden syrup, more honestly called treacle, yesterday?  These things constitute evasion, self-deception at the least.  In your case, Miss Hood, the regimen is clearly fruitful of ill results.’

‘Of what kind, Mr. Athel?’

’Obviously it leads to diminution of appetite.  You were in the habit of eating a satisfactory breakfast; at present some two ounces of that farinaceous mess—­’

‘My dear Philip!’ interposed Mrs. Rossall, still absently.

I hold that I am within my rights,’ asserted her brother.  ’If Miss Hood goes down into Yorkshire in a state of emaciation—­’

Wilfrid and the twins showed amusement.

‘To begin with,’ pursued Mr. Athel, ’I hold that sweet food the first thing in the morning is a mistake; the appetite is checked in an artificial way, and impaired.  Even coffee—­’

‘You would recommend a return to flagons of ale?’ suggested Wilfrid.

‘I am not sure that it wasn’t better dietetically.’

Mrs. Rossall had taken an egg, but, after fruitlessly chipping at the shell throughout this conversation, put down her spoon and appeared to abandon the effort to commence her meal.  Presently she broke silence, speaking with some diffidence.

‘I really think I will go to town with you, Philip,’ she said.  ’I want some things you can’t very well get me, and then I ought to go and see the Redwings.  I might persuade Beatrice to come to us for a day or two.’

‘Do so by all means.  You’re quite sure,’ he added with a smile, ’that I couldn’t save you the trouble of the journey?  I have no objection to visiting the Redwings.’

‘I think it will be better if I go myself,’ replied Mrs. Rossall, with a far-off look.  ‘I might call on one or two other people.’

Having decided this point, she found herself able to crack the egg.  The anticipation of her day in London made her quite gay throughout the meal.

The carriage was at the door by ten o’clock, to drive to Dealing, the nearest station, some four miles away.  The twins had gone upstairs with Miss Hood to their lessons, and Wilfrid was sauntering about the hall.  His father paused by him on the way to the carriage.

‘What do you propose to do with yourself, Wilf?’ lie asked.

‘Ride, I think.’

’Do.  Go over to Hilstead and lunch there.  Capital lunch they give you at the inn; the last time I was there they cooked me one of the best chops I ever ate.  Oberon wants exercise; make a day of it.’