to make her his bow, and told Mrs.
Bungay who was on the course. Yonder was the Prime Minister: his
lordship had just told him to back Borax for the race; but Archer
thought Munmeer the better horse. He pointed out countless dukes and
grandees to the delighted Mrs. Bungay. "Look yonder in the Grand Stand,"
he said. "There sits the Chinese Ambassador with the Mandarins of his
suite, Fou-choo-foo brought me over letters of introduction from the
Governor-General of India, my most intimate friend, and I was for some
time very kind to him, and he had his chopsticks laid for him at my
table whenever he chose to come and dine. But he brought his own cook
with him, and--would you believe it, Mrs. Bungay?--one day, when I
was out, and the Ambassador was with Mrs. Archer in our garden eating
gooseberries, of which the Chinese are passionately fond, the beast of
a cook, seeing my wife's dear little Blenheim spaniel (that we had from
the Duke of Marlborough himself, whose ancestor's life Mrs. Archer's
great-great-grandfather saved at the battle of Malplaquet), seized upon
the poor little devil, cut his throat, and skinned him, and served him
up stuffed with forced-meat in the second course."

"Law!" said Mrs. Bungay.

"You may fancy my wife's agony when she knew what had happened! The cook
came screaming upstairs, and told us that she had found poor Fido's skin
in the area, just after we had all of us tasted of the dish! She never
would speak to the Ambassador again--never; and, upon my word, he has
never been to dine with us since. The Lord Mayor, who did me the honour
to dine, liked the dish very much; and, eaten with green peas, it tastes
rather like duck."

"You don't say so, now!" cried the astonished publisher's lady.

"Fact, upon my word. Look at that lady in blue, seated by the
Ambassador: that is Lady Flamingo, and they say she is going to be
married to him, and return to Pekin with his Excellency. She is getting
her feet squeezed down on purpose. But she'll only cripple herself, and
will never be able to do it--never. My wife has the smallest foot in
England, and wears shoes for a six-years-old child; but what is that to
a Chinese lady's foot, Mrs. Bungay?"

"Who is that carriage as Mr. Pendennis is with, Mr. Archer?" Mrs. Bungay
presently asked. "He and Mr. Warrington was here jest now. He's 'aughty
in his manners, that Mr. Pendennis, and well he may be, for I'm told he
keeps tip-top company. 'As he 'ad a large fort