Never regale the company with detailed descriptions of similar repasts that you have enjoyed in Pekin, but where puppy-dog roasts, rat-pie and sharks’ fins were the most appetizing features. Though roars of laughter reward your recital, you are not now in the antipodes.
Never give in in a contest over a favorite turkey-bone with a spoiled child of the family. Even if his howls shatter the frescoes, never forget that you are his senior, hence his superior.
Never feed your hostess’s favorite cat or lap-dog at the lunch-table, by setting the pretty creature on your shoulder, and tossing up scraps to him between your own mouthfuls. This may be artless, but is not in the best taste.
Never neglect to quit the table after all the other guests have retired. To continue gorging and guzzling in solitary state is to make a show of yourself to the menials.
Never fail, when you have at last fully decided to give the repast a rest, to quit the room easily, though with a dignified air. To dance away with a hop, skip and a jump, while trolling out “a careless, careless tavern-catch,” or with painful grimaces, while convulsively clutching the pit of the stomach with both hands, is to hint a reflection upon the hospitality you have enjoyed. This might subject you to unflattering comment.
IV.
At Dinner.
Never forget that this is the repast par excellence.
Never, as an invited guest, be more than two hours late. Your host and hostess, as well as the other guests, may have starved themselves for a fortnight for this particular gorge.
Never, in handing in a lady, struggle desperately to pass through the dining-room doorway two abreast, if said aperture admits but one at a time sidewise. Even if it break your proud heart, give the lady precedence always.