“Not poison,” he said, “but I do not like it.” “Is yours made very differently?” I asked. “Quite,” he replied. “Will you show me some day?” “With pleasure, but I must send you a Chinese cup, for I cannot make Chinese tea in your cups. In our cups the saucer is on the top, not at the bottom.” Accordingly, this was arranged, and the following day the teacup duly arrived. It was about the size of a breakfast cup, with a ring of china instead of a saucer; the cup itself fitted into the hole, and was covered with a lid, which again fitted inside the bowl instead of outside. Five o’clock was the hour named for our tea ceremony. I was sitting in the drawing-room with my ordinary English tea arrangements, and a special spirit lamp for His Excellency. At ten minutes past five he was announced, laughing merrily. “What do you think I have done?” he said. “I have been so stupid. It was fine, so I walked from Portland Place, and thinking I knew your house well I did not look up at the number. I arrived and was shown upstairs by the parlourmaid, who seemed quite pleased to see me. At the door I gave my name as the ‘Chinese Minister,’ and was duly ushered into a drawing-room, which I at once saw was not like your room. A lady who was sitting there rose and said, ‘How do you do?’ I bowed and repeated the remark, at once feeling I had made a mistake. “‘Do you speak English?’ she asked. “‘Yes, madam,’ I replied, with my best bow, now quite certain of my mistake. “‘Shall I tell the lady?’ I thought. ‘It will make me look a fool, and make her feel uncomfortable,’ and as she at once told me she had been in China, and expressed pleasure at seeing me, we chatted for a few minutes, and I waited for an opportunity which would allow me to get up and go gracefully. The opportunity soon came, and I said good-bye. She thanked me very much for calling, and I left.” Again the merry little man chuckled at his intrusion. “Ah,” said I; “but it won’t end there. If you _will_ call upon a strange lady, she will think she met you somewhere and return the call.” “I did not really know her, so I need not repeat my visit,” he said quietly. “But I shall not forget I have done something stupid.” I thought it so nice of him not to tell her of his mistake, and thus give a very diplomatic ending to an awkward situation. Then came the tea. Our tea-party. He boiled the spirit lamp, and when I took off the lid, thinking it was ready, he shook his head. “No, no,” he said, “the water must actually boil three minutes; that is the main point.” Into the cup, really the size of a breakfast-cup, he put a small half-teaspoonful of Chinese tea. “What a small amount,” I remarked; “we put one fat teaspoonful for each person, and one for the pot.” “No wonder your tea is so bad, madam,” he laughed; “my arrangement is tea, yours is stew,” he continued with a wicked little twinkle.