and that other thing last night, that's what I mean by good eating."

The thought even of good food always calmed Robert's savage breast; it
blew upon him as the wind on an AEolian harp hung in the trees, evoking
faint sweet sounds.

"I'm sure, my dear," he said, "that I shall be willing to fall in with
any pleasant arrangement about your Guru, but it really isn't
unreasonable in me to ask what sort of arrangement you propose. I
haven't a word to say against him, especially when he goes to the
kitchen; I only want to know if he is going to stop here a night or two
or a year or two. Talk to him about it tomorrow with my love. I wonder
if he can make bisque soup."

Daisy Quantock carried quite a quantity of material for reflection
upstairs with her, then she went to bed, pausing a moment opposite the
Guru's door, from inside of which came sounds of breathing so deep that
it sounded almost like snoring. But she seemed to detect a timbre of
spirituality about it which convinced her that he was holding high
communion with the Guides. It was round him that her thoughts centred,
he was the tree through the branches of which they scampered
chattering.

Her first and main interest in him was sheer Guruism, for she was one
of those intensely happy people who pass through life in ecstatic
pursuit of some idea which those who do not share it call a fad. Well
might poor Robert remember the devastation of his home when Daisy,
after the perusal of a little pamphlet which she picked up on a
book-stall called "The Uric Acid Monthly," came to the shattering
conclusion that her buxom frame consisted almost entirely of