Penelopes English Experiences | Page 7

expected; for at table, where most of our time was passed, Francesca
had for a neighbour a scientist, who asked her plump whether the
religion of the American Indian was or was not a pure theism;
Salemina's partner objected to the word 'politics' in the mouth of a
woman; while my attendant squire adored a good bright-coloured
chromo. But this is anticipating.)
Three days before our departure, I remarked at the breakfast-table,
Dawson being absent: "My dear girls, you are aware that we have
ordered fried eggs, scrambled eggs, buttered eggs, and poached eggs
ever since we came to Dovermarle Street, simply because we do not
know how to eat boiled eggs prettily from the shell, English fashion,
and cannot break them into a cup or a glass, American fashion, on
account of the effect upon Dawson. Now there will certainly be boiled
eggs at Marjorimallow Hall, and we cannot refuse them morning after
morning; it will be cowardly (which is unpleasant), and it will be
remarked (which is worse). Eating them minced in an egg-cup, in a
baronial hall, with the remains of a drawbridge in the grounds, is
equally impossible; if we do that, Lady Marjorimallow will be having
our luggage examined, to see if we carry wigwams and war-whoops
about with us. No, it is clearly necessary that we master the gentle art
of eating eggs tidily and daintily from the shell. I have seen English
women--very dull ones, too--do it without apparent effort; I have even
seen an English infant do it, and that without soiling her apron, or, as
Salemina would say, 'messing her pinafore.' I propose, therefore, that

we order soft-boiled eggs daily; that we send Dawson from the room
directly breakfast is served; and that then and there we have a class for
opening eggs, lowest grade, object method. Any person who cuts the
shell badly, or permits the egg to leak over the rim, or allows yellow
dabs on the plate, or upsets the cup, or stains her fingers, shall be fined
'tuppence' and locked into her bedroom for five minutes."
The first morning we were all in the bedroom together, and, there being
no blameless person to collect fines, the wildest civil disorder
prevailed.
On the second day Salemina and I improved slightly, but Francesca had
passed a sleepless night, and her hand trembled (the love-letter mail
had come in from America). We were obliged to tell her, as we
collected 'tuppence' twice on the same egg, that she must either remain
at home, or take an oilcloth pinafore to Marjorimallow Hall.
But 'ease is the lovely result of forgotten toil,' and it is only a question
of time and desire with Americans, we are so clever. Other nations
have to be trained from birth; but as we need only an ounce of training
where they need a pound, we can afford to procrastinate. Sometimes we
procrastinate too long, but that is a trifle. On the third morning success
crowned our efforts. Salemina smiled, and I told an anecdote, during
the operation, although my egg was cracked in the boiling, and I
question if the Queen's favourite maid-of- honour could have managed
it prettily. Accordingly, when eggs were brought to the breakfast-table
at Marjorimallow Hall, we were only slightly nervous. Francesca was
at the far end of the long table, and I do not know how she fared, but
from various Anglicisms that Salemina dropped, as she chatted with the
Queen's Counsel on her left, I could see that her nerve was steady and
circulation free. We exchanged glances (there was the mistake!), and
with an embarrassed laugh she struck her egg a hasty blow.
Her egg-cup slipped and lurched; a top fraction of the egg flew in the
direction of the Q.C., and the remaining portion oozed, in yellow
confusion, rapidly into her plate. Alas for that past mistress of elegant
dignity, Salemina! If I had been at Her Majesty's table, I should have
smiled, even if I had gone to the Tower the next moment; but as it was,

I became hysterical. My neighbour, a portly member of Parliament,
looked amazed, Salemina grew scarlet, the situation was charged with
danger; and, rapidly viewing the various exits, I chose the humorous
one, and told as picturesquely as possible the whole story of our school
of egg- opening in Dovermarle Street, the highly arduous and
encouraging rehearsals conducted there, and the stupendous failure
incident to our first public appearance. Sir Owen led the good-natured
laughter and applause; lords and ladies, Q.C.'s and M.P.'s joined in with
a will; poor Salemina raised her drooping head, opened and ate a
second egg with the repose of a Vere de Vere--and the footman smiled!
Chapter IV.
The English sense of humour.

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