od this is!" said Popjoy, good-naturedly. "You must have a cordon
bleu in your kitchen."

"O yes," Mrs. Bungay said, thinking he spoke of a jack-chain very
likely.

"I mean a French chef," said the polite guest.

"O yes, your lordship," again said the lady.

"Does your artist say he's a Frenchman, Mrs. B.?" called out Wagg.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," answered the publisher's lady.

"Because, if he does, he's a quizzin yer," cried Mr. Wagg; but nobody
saw the pun, which disconcerted somewhat the bashful punster. "The
dinner is from Griggs, in St. Paul's Churchyard; so is Bacon's," he
whispered Pen. "Bungay writes to give half-a-crown a head more than
Bacon, so does Bacon. They would poison each other's ices if they
could get near them; and as for the made-dishes--they are poison.
This--hum--ha--this Brimborion a la Sevigne is delicious, Mrs. B.," he
said, helping himself to a dish which the undertaker handed to him.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," Mrs. Bungay answered, blushing and not
knowing whether the name of the dish was actually that which Wagg
gave to it, but dimly conscious that that individual was quizzing
her. Accordingly she hated Mr. Wagg with female ardour; and would have
deposed him from his command over Mr. Bungay's periodical, but that
his name was great in the trade, and his reputation in the land
considerable.

By the displacement of persons, Warrington had found himself on the
right hand of Mrs. Shandon, who sate in plain black silk and faded
ornaments by the side of the florid publisher. The sad smile of the lady
moved his rough heart to pity. Nobody seemed to interest himself about
her: she sate looking at her husband, who himself seemed rather abashed
in the presence of some of the company. Wenham and Wagg both knew
him and his circumstances. He had worked with the latter, and was
immeasurably his superior in wit, genius, and acquirement; but Wagg's
star was brilliant in the world, and poor Shandon was unknown there. He
could not speak before the noisy talk of the coarser and more successful
man; but drank his wine in silence, and as much of it as the people
would give him. He was under surveillance. Bungay had warned the
undertaker not to fill the Captain's glass too often or too full. It
was a melancholy precaution that, and the more melancholy that it was
necessary. Mrs. Shandon, too, cast alarmed glances across the table to
see that her husband did not exceed.

Abashed by the fail