And now the bell of Saint Paul’s tolled half an hour later than that for which Mr. Bungay had invited his party, and it was complete with the exception of two guests, who at last made their appearance, and in whom Pen was pleased to recognise Captain and Mrs. Shandon.
When these two had made their greetings to the master and mistress of the house, and exchanged nods of more or less recognition with most of the people present, Pen and Warrington went up, and shook hands very warmly with Mrs. Shandon, who, perhaps, was affected to meet them, and think where it was she had seen them but a few days before. Shandon was brushed up, and looked pretty smart, in a red velvet waistcoat, and a frill, into which his wife had stuck her best brooch. In spite of Mrs. Bungay’s kindness, perhaps in consequence of it, Mrs. Shandon felt great terror and timidity in approaching her: indeed, she was more awful than ever in her red satin and bird of paradise, and it was not until she had asked in her great voice about the dear little gurl, that the latter was somewhat encouraged, and ventured to speak.
“Nice-looking woman,” Popjoy whispered to Warrington. “Do introduce me to Captain Shandon, Warrington. I’m told he’s a tremendous clever fellow; and, dammy, I adore intellect, by Jove I do!” This was the truth: Heaven had not endowed young Mr. Popjoy with much intellect of his own, but had given him a generous faculty for admiring, if not for appreciating, the intellect of others. “And introduce me to Miss Bunion. I’m told she’s very clever too. She’s rum to look at, certainly, but that don’t matter. Dammy, I consider myself a literary man, and I wish to know all the clever fellows.” So Mr. Popjoy and Mr. Shandon had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with one another; and now the doors of the adjoining dining-room being flung open, the party entered and took their seats at table. Pen found himself next to Bunion on one side, and to Mr. Wagg—the truth is, Wagg fled alarmed from the vacant place by the poetess, and Pen was compelled to take it.
The gifted being did not talk much during dinner, but Pen remarked that she ate with a vast appetite, and never refused any of the supplies of wine which were offered to her by the butler. Indeed, Miss Bunion having considered Mr. Pendennis for a minute, who gave himself rather grand airs, and who was attired in an extremely fashionable style, with his very best chains, shirt studs, and cambric fronts, he was set down, and not without reason, as a prig by the poetess; who thought it was much better to attend to 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.”