“It was to a less extent so downstairs. She had her breakfast alone in the big dining-room, and she came to know that room—to feel at home in that room just because it was helping to make her ready for the tasks ahead. Breakfast itself ceased to be merely a concession to nature. She enjoyed her toast and coffee and eggs. She ate with a relish that caused Jeffrey to temper in his own mind the verdict of madness with which in the kitchen his mistress was being accused. To be sure, it was most unusual for a young lady to rise at seven and dress herself unassisted; it was most unusual for a young lady, not starting on a journey, to leave the house shortly after half-past seven; it was most unusual for a young lady to remain at home after dinner night after night. But if such a strange procedure not only improved the young lady’s appetite and color, but her spirits as well, it was going a bit far to hint that she was losing her mind. Stranger methods than this were resorted to in search of just such results. He had heard of barefoot walking at dawn in the parks, to mention only one.”
A cook of roughly the same moment, setting down the same dish.
Prepare some oysters, as shown in No. 54, and when poured upon the toast in their dish, strew all over their surface equal quantities of bread raspings and grated cheese; hold a red-hot shovel over the top until it becomes slightly coloured, and eat this little delicacy while hot.
Sources: The passage is from Frederick Orin Bartlett, Joan and Co., free to read in full at Project Gutenberg. The recipe is from Francatelli, A Plain Cookery Book for the Working Classes of 1852, also free in full. Both are in the public domain in the United States. The binding above is ours — ochre cloth, teapot stamp.