He learns later that no stigma. Food is almost sacred in a land of scarcity, and none is wasted. When the household has been fed, what is left is carefully given to the poor. Conversation is slow. The memory of the feast is almost visibly present.
Coffee is served, and tea, and coffee, as before.
After this, the guest notices an air of expectancy, a half-felt stir. The host calls something to the servant standing just outside the majlis door, and the cry is repeated across the courtyard. Almost immediately, two men come in, one with a bottle of perfume, which he hands to his master, who shakes a few drops into his own hands and then passes on to his neighbor. The guest, uncertain what this is all about, watches closely and sees man after man accept a few drops, rub his hands together, then sniff the perfumed fingers appreciatively. This is placed in front of each guest in turn.