“Sir,” I said. “I will lay the cards of my fortune on the table for you, in spite of the compliments of my honorable friend. I am a master spinner, a mediocre seamstress, and a passable cook, but only if your pleasures run to simpler things such as bread and cheese. My aunt Beatrice has mastered the art, and my mother was no small talent, but I despair that anyone will sing delights about the dishes that come from my kitchen, save the kindest and most polite of friends.”
