her dinner than to take any notice of him. She told
him as much in after days with her usual candour. "I took you for one of
the little Mayfair dandies," she said to Pen. "You looked as solemn as
a little undertaker; and as I disliked, beyond measure, the odious
creature who was on the other side of me, I thought it was best to eat
my dinner and hold my tongue."

"And you did both very well, my dear Miss Bunion," Pen said with a
laugh.

"Well, so I do, but I intend to talk to you the next time a great deal:
for you are neither so solemn, nor so stupid, nor so pert as you look."

"Ah, Miss Bunion, how I pine for that 'next time' to come," Pen said
with an air of comical gallantry:--But we must return to the day, and
the dinner at Paternoster Row.

The repast was of the richest description--"What I call of the florid
Gothic style," Wagg whispered to Penn, who sate beside the humourist,
in his side-wing voice. The men in creaking shoes and Berlin gloves were
numerous and solemn, carrying on rapid conversations behind the guests,
as they moved to and fro with the dishes. Doolan called out, "Waither,"
to one of them, and blushed when he thought of his blunder. Mrs.
Bungay's footboy was lost amidst those large and black-coated
attendants.

"Look at that very bow-windowed man," Wagg said. "He's an undertaker in
Amen Corner, and attends funerals and dinners. Cold meat and hot, don't
you perceive? He's the sham butler here, and I observe, my dear Mr.
Pendennis, as you will through life, that wherever there is a sham
butler at a London dinner there is sham wine--this sherry is filthy.
Bungay, my boy, where did you get this delicious brown sherry?"

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Wagg; glass with you," said the publisher.
"It's some I got from Alderman Benning's store, and gave a good figure
for it, I can tell you. Mr. Pendennis, will you join us? Your 'ealth,
gentlemen."

"The old rogue, where does he expect to go to? It came from the
public-house," Wagg said. "It requires two men to carry off that sherry,
'tis so uncommonly strong. I wish I had a bottle of old Steyne's wine
here, Pendennis: your uncle and I have had many a one. He sends it about
to people where he is in the habit of dining. I remember at poor Rawdon
Crawley's, Sir Pitt Crawley's brother--he was Governor of Coventry
Island--Steyne's chef always came in the morning, and the butler arrived
wit the champagne from Gaunt House, in the ice-pails ready."

"How go