Being there, is much delighted with the horses and the feats of strength; looks at the weapons with a critical eye; disapproves of the combats as giving evidences of unskilful swordsmanship; but is touched home by the sentiments.

There, he is much delighted with the horses and the feats of strength; looks at the weapons with a critical eye; disapproves of the combats as showing unskilful swordsmanship; but is touched by the sentiments.


In the last scene, when the Emperor of Tartary gets up into a cart and condescends to bless the united lovers by hovering over them with the Union Jack, his eyelashes are moistened with emotion.


The theatre over, Mr. George comes across the water again and makes his way to that curious region lying about the Haymarket and Leicester Square which is a centre of attraction to indifferent foreign hotels and indifferent foreigners, racket-courts, fighting-men, swordsmen, footguards, old china, gaming-houses, exhibitions, and a large medley of shabbiness and shrinking out of sight.

The theatre over, Mr. George crosses the river again and makes his way to that curious region lying about the Haymarket and Leicester Square which is a centre of attraction to indifferent foreign hotels, racket-courts, swordsmen, gaming-houses, exhibitions, and a large medley of shabbiness.


Penetrating to the heart of this region, he arrives by a court and a long whitewashed passage at a great brick building composed of bare walls, floors, roof-rafters, and skylights, on the front of which, if it can be said to have any front, is painted GEORGE'S SHOOTING GALLERY, &c.

At the heart of this region, he arrives at a great brick building with bare walls, floors, and roof-rafters, on the front of which is painted GEORGE'S SHOOTING GALLERY, &c.


Into George's Shooting Gallery, &c., he goes; and in it there are gaslights (partly turned off now), and two whitened targets for rifle-shooting, and archery accommodation, and fencing appliances, and all necessaries for the British art of boxing.

Into George's Shooting Gallery, &c., he goes. Inside there are gaslights and two targets for rifle-shooting, and equipment for archery, fencing and boxing.


None of these sports or exercises being pursued in George's Shooting Gallery to-night, which is so devoid of company that a little grotesque man with a large head has it all to himself and lies asleep upon the floor.

None of these sports is being pursued tonight in the gallery, which is so devoid of company that a little grotesque man with a large head has it all to himself and lies asleep upon the floor.


The little man is dressed something like a gunsmith, in a green-baize apron and cap; and his face and hands are dirty with gunpowder and begrimed with the loading of guns.

The little man is dressed something like a gunsmith, in a green-baize apron and cap; and his face and hands are dirty with gunpowder.


As he lies in the light before a glaring white target, the black upon him shines again.


Not far off is the strong, rough, primitive table with a vice upon it at which he has been working.

Not far off is the strong table with a vice upon it at which he has been working.


He is a little man with a face all crushed together, who appears, from a certain blue and speckled appearance that one of his cheeks presents, to have been blown up, in the way of business, at some odd time or times.

His face is speckled on one side and crushed together: he appears to have been blown up at some odd time or times.


"Flat as ever so much swipes," says Phil.


As Phil moves about to execute this order, it appears that he is lame, though able to move very quickly.

As Phil does so, it appears that he is lame, though able to move very quickly.


On the speckled side of his face he has no eyebrow, and on the other side he has a bushy black one, which want of uniformity gives him a very singular and rather sinister appearance.

On the speckled side of his face he has no eyebrow, and on the other side he has a bushy black one, which gives him a rather sinister appearance.


Everything seems to have happened to his hands that could possibly take place consistently with the retention of all the fingers, for they are notched, and seamed, and crumpled all over.

Everything seems to have happened to his hands that could possibly take place without losing his fingers, for they are notched, seamed, and crumpled all over.


He appears to be very strong and lifts heavy benches about as if he had no idea what weight was.


He has a curious way of limping round the gallery with his shoulder against the wall and tacking off at objects he wants to lay hold of instead of going straight to them, which has left a smear all round the four walls, conventionally called "Phil's mark."

He has a curious way of limping round the gallery with his shoulder against the wall, which has left a smear all round the four walls.


This custodian of George's Gallery in George's absence concludes his proceedings, when he has locked the great doors and turned out all the lights but one, which he leaves to glimmer, by dragging out from a wooden cabin in a corner two mattresses and bedding.

This custodian of George's Gallery, when he has locked the great doors and turned out all the lights but one, drags out from a wooden cabin in a corner two mattresses and bedding.


These being drawn to opposite ends of the gallery, the trooper makes his own bed and Phil makes his.

Once these have been drawn to opposite ends of the gallery, the trooper makes his own bed and Phil makes his.


says the master, walking towards him without his coat and waistcoat, and looking more soldierly than ever in his braces.


"You were found in a doorway, weren't you?"


"Then vagabondizing came natural to YOU from the beginning."

"Then vagabondizing came natural to you from the beginning."


Phil cannot even go straight to bed, but finds it necessary to shoulder round two sides of the gallery and then tack off at his mattress.

Phil cannot go straight to bed, but finds it necessary to shoulder round two sides of the gallery and then veer off at his mattress.


The trooper, after taking a turn or two in the rifle-distance and looking up at the moon now shining through the skylights, strides to his own mattress by a shorter route and goes to bed too.

The trooper strides to his own mattress by a shorter route and goes to bed too.


Mr. Tulkinghorn arrives in his turret-room a little breathed by the journey up, though leisurely performed.

Mr. Tulkinghorn arrives in his turret-room a little breathless, and with a satisfied expression.


There is an expression on his face as if he had discharged his mind of some grave matter and were, in his close way, satisfied.


To say of a man so severely and strictly self-repressed that he is triumphant would be to do him as great an injustice as to suppose him troubled with love or sentiment or any romantic weakness.

To say of a man so strictly self-repressed that he is triumphant would be to do him an injustice.


Perhaps there is a rather increased sense of power upon him as he loosely grasps one of his veinous wrists with his other hand and holding it behind his back walks noiselessly up and down.

Perhaps there is an increased sense of power upon him as he clasps his hands behind his back and walks noiselessly up and down.


There is a capacious writing-table in the room on which is a pretty large accumulation of papers.

There is a large writing-table in the room holding a pile of papers.


The green lamp is lighted, his reading-glasses lie upon the desk, the easy-chair is wheeled up to it, and it would seem as though he had intended to bestow an hour or so upon these claims on his attention before going to bed.

The lamp is lighted, his reading-glasses lie upon the desk, and it would seem as though he had intended to give an hour or so to these documents before going to bed.


But he happens not to be in a business mind.


After a glance at the documents awaiting his notice--with his head bent low over the table, the old man's sight for print or writing being defective at night--he opens the French window and steps out upon the leads.

But after a glance at them, he opens the French window and steps out upon the turret-top.


There he again walks slowly up and down in the same attitude, subsiding, if a man so cool may have any need to subside, from the story he has related downstairs.

There he again walks slowly up and down in the same attitude, subsiding from the story he has related downstairs.


The time was once when men as knowing as Mr. Tulkinghorn would walk on turret-tops in the starlight and look up into the sky to read their fortunes there.


Hosts of stars are visible to-night, though their brilliancy is eclipsed by the splendour of the moon.

Hosts of stars are visible tonight, though their brilliancy is eclipsed by the splendour of the moon.


If he be seeking his own star as he methodically turns and turns upon the leads, it should be but a pale one to be so rustily represented below.


If he be tracing out his destiny, that may be written in other characters nearer to his hand.


As he paces the leads with his eyes most probably as high above his thoughts as they are high above the earth, he is suddenly stopped in passing the window by two eyes that meet his own.

As he paces the roof-leads, he is suddenly stopped in passing his window by two eyes that meet his own across his room.


The ceiling of his room is rather low; and the upper part of the door, which is opposite the window, is of glass.


There is an inner baize door, too, but the night being warm he did not close it when he came upstairs.


These eyes that meet his own are looking in through the glass from the corridor outside.


The blood has not flushed into his face so suddenly and redly for many a long year as when he recognizes Lady Dedlock.

The blood has not flushed into his face so suddenly and redly for many a long year, as when he recognizes Lady Dedlock.


He steps into the room, and she comes in too, closing both the doors behind her.

He steps back into the room, and she comes in too, closing the door behind her.


There is a wild disturbance--is it fear or anger?--in her eyes.

There is a wild disturbance - is it fear or anger? - in her eyes.


In her carriage and all else she looks as she looked downstairs two hours ago.

In all else she looks as she looked downstairs two hours ago.


She does not speak at first, nor even when she has slowly dropped into the easy-chair by the table.

She does not speak at first, not even when she has slowly dropped into the easy-chair.


They look at each other, like two pictures.


"Why have you told my story to so many persons?"


"Lady Dedlock, it was necessary for me to inform you that I knew it."


"I have suspected it a long while--fully known it a little while."

"I have suspected it a long while - fully known it a little while."


He stands before her with one hand on a chair-back and the other in his old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, exactly as he has stood before her at any time since her marriage.


The same formal politeness, the same composed deference that might as well be defiance; the whole man the same dark, cold object, at the same distance, which nothing has ever diminished.


"Is this true concerning the poor girl?"


He slightly inclines and advances his head as not quite understanding the question.

He slightly tilts his head, not quite understanding the question.


Is it chalked upon the walls and cried in the streets?"


What power this woman has to keep these raging passions down!


Mr. Tulkinghorn's thoughts take such form as he looks at her, with his ragged grey eyebrows a hair's breadth more contracted than usual under her gaze.

Mr. Tulkinghorn's thoughts take such form as he looks at her, with his brows a hair's breadth more contracted than usual.


That was a hypothetical case, arising out of Sir Leicester's unconsciously carrying the matter with so high a hand.


But it would be a real case if they knew--what we know."

But it would be a real case if they knew - what we know."


"Can I save the poor girl from injury before they know it?"


"Really, Lady Dedlock," Mr. Tulkinghorn replies, "I cannot give a satisfactory opinion on that point."


And he thinks, with the interest of attentive curiosity, as he watches the struggle in her breast, "The power and force of this woman are astonishing!"

And he thinks, with attentive curiosity, as he watches the struggle in her breast, "The power and force of this woman are astonishing!"


"Sir," she says, for the moment obliged to set her lips with all the energy she has, that she may speak distinctly, "I will make it plainer.

"Sir," she says, "I will make it plainer.


I do not dispute your hypothetical case.


I anticipated it, and felt its truth as strongly as you can do, when I saw Mr. Rouncewell here.

I anticipated it, when I saw Mr. Rouncewell here.


I knew very well that if he could have had the power of seeing me as I was, he would consider the poor girl tarnished by having for a moment been, although most innocently, the subject of my great and distinguished patronage.

I knew very well that if he could have had the power of seeing me as I was, he would consider the poor girl tarnished by having been the subject of my patronage.


But I have an interest in her, or I should rather say--no longer belonging to this place--I had, and if you can find so much consideration for the woman under your foot as to remember that, she will be very sensible of your mercy."

But I have an interest in her, or I should rather say - no longer belonging to this place - I had, and if you can find so much consideration for me as to remember that, I will be very sensible of your mercy."


Mr. Tulkinghorn, profoundly attentive, throws this off with a shrug of self-depreciation and contracts his eyebrows a little more.

Mr. Tulkinghorn, profoundly attentive, shrugs and contracts his eyebrows a little more.


"You have prepared me for my exposure, and I thank you for that too.


Is there anything that you require of me?


Is there any claim that I can release or any charge or trouble that I can spare my husband in obtaining HIS release by certifying to the exactness of your discovery?

Is there any trouble that I can spare my husband in obtaining his release by certifying to the exactness of your discovery?


I will write anything, here and now, that you will dictate.


And she would do it, thinks the lawyer, watchful of the firm hand with which she takes the pen!


"I have long expected this, as you know.


I neither wish to spare myself nor to be spared.


You can do nothing worse to me than you have done.


"Lady Dedlock, there is nothing to be done.


I will take leave to say a few words when you have finished."


Their need for watching one another should be over now, but they do it all this time, and the stars watch them both through the opened window.

They watch each other all this time, and the stars watch them both through the opened window.


Away in the moonlight lie the woodland fields at rest, and the wide house is as quiet as the narrow one.

Away in the moonlight lie the woodland fields at rest, and the wide house is as quiet as the narrow grave.


Where are the digger and the spade, this peaceful night, destined to add the last great secret to the many secrets of the Tulkinghorn existence?


Is the man born yet, is the spade wrought yet?


Curious questions to consider, more curious perhaps not to consider, under the watching stars upon a summer night.


"Of repentance or remorse or any feeling of mine," Lady Dedlock presently proceeds, "I say not a word.

"Of repentance or remorse or any feeling of mine," Lady Dedlock proceeds, "I say not a word.


He makes a feint of offering a protest, but she sweeps it away with her disdainful hand.


"Of other and very different things I come to speak to you.


My jewels are all in their proper places of keeping.


Some ready money I had with me, please to say, but no large amount.


I did not wear my own dress, in order that I might avoid observation.


"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, quite unmoved.

"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, unmoved.


She rises, but he, without moving hand from chair-back or from old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, shakes his head.


"No, Lady Dedlock," he very calmly replies.


"Do you know the relief that my disappearance will be?


Have you forgotten the stain and blot upon this place, and where it is, and who it is?"

Have you forgotten the stain upon this place?"


Without deigning to rejoin, she moves to the inner door and has it in her hand when he says to her, without himself stirring hand or foot or raising his voice, "Lady Dedlock, have the goodness to stop and hear me, or before you reach the staircase I shall ring the alarm-bell and rouse the house.

Without deigning to reply, she moves to the door when he says to her, without raising his voice, "Lady Dedlock, have the goodness to stop and hear me, or I shall ring the alarm-bell and rouse the house.


And then I must speak out before every guest and servant, every man and woman, in it."


She falters, trembles, and puts her hand confusedly to her head.


Slight tokens these in any one else, but when so practised an eye as Mr. Tulkinghorn's sees indecision for a moment in such a subject, he thoroughly knows its value.


He promptly says again, "Have the goodness to hear me, Lady Dedlock," and motions to the chair from which she has risen.


She hesitates, but he motions again, and she sits down.


"The relations between us are of an unfortunate description, Lady Dedlock; but as they are not of my making, I will not apologize for them.


The position I hold in reference to Sir Leicester is so well known to you that I can hardly imagine but that I must long have appeared in your eyes the natural person to make this discovery."

position, I must long have appeared in your eyes the natural person to make this discovery."


"Sir," she returns without looking up from the ground on which her eyes are now fixed, "I had better have gone.

"Sir," she returns without looking up, "I had better have gone.


It would have been far better not to have detained me.


"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock, if I add a little more to hear."

"Excuse me, Lady Dedlock, but there is a little more to hear."


His jealous glance as she walks that way betrays an instant's misgiving that she may have it in her thoughts to leap over, and dashing against ledge and cornice, strike her life out upon the terrace below.

As she walks that way he has an instant's misgiving that she may intend to leap over and strike her life out upon the terrace below.


But a moment's observation of her figure as she stands in the window without any support, looking out at the stars--not up--gloomily out at those stars which are low in the heavens, reassures him.

But a moment's observation of her figure as she stands in the window looking out at the stars reassures him.


By facing round as she has moved, he stands a little behind her.


"Lady Dedlock, I have not yet been able to come to a decision satisfactory to myself on the course before me.

"Lady Dedlock, I have not yet been able to come to a decision about the course before me.


I am not clear what to do or how to act next.


I must request you, in the meantime, to keep your secret as you have kept it so long and not to wonder that I keep it too."


"You are honouring me with your attention?"


I might have known it from what I have seen of your strength of character.


I ought not to have asked the question, but I have the habit of making sure of my ground, step by step, as I go on.


The sole consideration in this unhappy case is Sir Leicester."


"Then why," she asks in a low voice and without removing her gloomy look from those distant stars, "do you detain me in his house?"

"Then why," she asks in a low voice, "do you detain me in his house?"


Lady Dedlock, I have no occasion to tell you that Sir Leicester is a very proud man, that his reliance upon you is implicit, that the fall of that moon out of the sky would not amaze him more than your fall from your high position as his wife."

Lady Dedlock, I need not tell you that Sir Leicester is a very proud man, that his reliance upon you is implicit, that the fall of that moon out of the sky would not amaze him more than your fall from your high position as his wife."


She breathes quickly and heavily, but she stands as unflinchingly as ever he has seen her in the midst of her grandest company.

She breathes quickly, but stands as unflinchingly as ever.


"I declare to you, Lady Dedlock, that with anything short of this case that I have, I would as soon have hoped to root up by means of my own strength and my own hands the oldest tree on this estate as to shake your hold upon Sir Leicester and Sir Leicester's trust and confidence in you.

"I declare to you, Lady Dedlock, that with anything short of this case, I would as soon have rooted up the oldest tree on this estate as have shaken Sir Leicester's trust and confidence in you.


And even now, with this case, I hesitate.


Not that he could doubt (that, even with him, is impossible), but that nothing can prepare him for the blow."

; because nothing can prepare him for the blow."


"Your flight, Lady Dedlock, would spread the whole truth, and a hundred times the whole truth, far and wide.

"Your flight, Lady Dedlock, would spread the whole truth far and wide.


It would be impossible to save the family credit for a day.


There is a quiet decision in his reply which admits of no remonstrance.


"When I speak of Sir Leicester being the sole consideration, he and the family credit are one.


Sir Leicester and the baronetcy, Sir Leicester and Chesney Wold, Sir Leicester and his ancestors and his patrimony"--Mr. Tulkinghorn very dry here--"are, I need not say to you, Lady Dedlock, inseparable."


"Therefore," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, pursuing his case in his jog-trot style, "I have much to consider.

"Therefore," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "I have much to consider.


How can it be, if Sir Leicester is driven out of his wits or laid upon a death-bed?

How can it be, if Sir Leicester is driven out of his wits?


If I inflicted this shock upon him to-morrow morning, how could the immediate change in him be accounted for?

If I inflicted this shock upon him tomorrow morning, how could the change in him be accounted for?


Lady Dedlock, the wall-chalking and the street-crying would come on directly, and you are to remember that it would not affect you merely (whom I cannot at all consider in this business) but your husband, Lady Dedlock, your husband."

Lady Dedlock, the street-talk would start directly, and it would not affect you merely (whom I cannot at all consider in this business) but your husband."


He gets plainer as he gets on, but not an atom more emphatic or animated.

He gets plainer as he goes on, but not an atom more animated.


"There is another point of view," he continues, "in which the case presents itself.

"There is another point of view," he continues.


"Sir Leicester is devoted to you almost to infatuation.


He might not be able to overcome that infatuation, even knowing what we know.


I am putting an extreme case, but it might be so.


If so, it were better that he knew nothing.


Better for common sense, better for him, better for me.


I must take all this into account, and it combines to render a decision very difficult."

I must take all this into account, and it makes a decision very difficult."


She stands looking out at the same stars without a word.


They are beginning to pale, and she looks as if their coldness froze her.


"My experience teaches me," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who has by this time got his hands in his pockets and is going on in his business consideration of the matter like a machine.

"My experience teaches me," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, going on in his business consideration of the matter like a machine


"My experience teaches me, Lady Dedlock, that most of the people I know would do far better to leave marriage alone.

, "that most people would do far better to leave marriage alone.


It is at the bottom of three fourths of their troubles.


So I thought when Sir Leicester married, and so I always have thought since.


In the meanwhile I must beg you to keep your own counsel, and I will keep mine."

In the meanwhile I must ask you to keep your own counsel, and I will keep mine."


"I am to drag my present life on, holding its pains at your pleasure, day by day?"

"I am to drag my present life on, at your pleasure, day by day?"


she asks, still looking at the distant sky.


"It is necessary, you think, that I should be so tied to the stake?"


"I am sure that what I recommend is necessary."


"I am to remain on this gaudy platform on which my miserable deception has been so long acted, and it is to fall beneath me when you give the signal?"


I shall take no step without forewarning you."


She asks all her questions as if she were repeating them from memory or calling them over in her sleep.


"And I am to hide my guilt, as I have done so many years?"


I should not have made that reference myself, Lady Dedlock, but I may now remind you that your secret can be no heavier to you than it was, and is no worse and no better than it was.

Your secret can be no heavier to you than it was, and is no worse and no better than it was."


I know it certainly, but I believe we have never wholly trusted each other."


She stands absorbed in the same frozen way for some little time before asking, "Is there anything more to be said to-night?"

She stands absorbed in the same frozen way for some little time before asking, "Is there anything more to be said tonight?"


"Why," Mr. Tulkinghorn returns methodically as he softly rubs his hands, "I should like to be assured of your acquiescence in my arrangements, Lady Dedlock."


And I would wish in conclusion to remind you, as a business precaution, in case it should be necessary to recall the fact in any communication with Sir Leicester, that throughout our interview I have expressly stated my sole consideration to be Sir Leicester's feelings and honour and the family reputation.

And I would wish in conclusion to remind you, as a business precaution, that I have expressly stated my sole consideration to be Sir Leicester's feelings and honour and the family reputation.


I should have been happy to have made Lady Dedlock a prominent consideration, too, if the case had admitted of it; but unfortunately it does not."

I should have been happy to have made Lady Dedlock a consideration, too, if the case had admitted of it; but unfortunately it does not."


Both before and after saying it she remains absorbed, but at length moves, and turns, unshaken in her natural and acquired presence, towards the door.


Mr. Tulkinghorn opens both the doors exactly as he would have done yesterday, or as he would have done ten years ago, and makes his old-fashioned bow as she passes out.

Mr. Tulkinghorn makes his old-fashioned bow as she passes out.


It is not an ordinary look that he receives from the handsome face as it goes into the darkness, and it is not an ordinary movement, though a very slight one, that acknowledges his courtesy.


But as he reflects when he is left alone, the woman has been putting no common constraint upon herself.


He would know it all the better if he saw the woman pacing her own rooms with her hair wildly thrown from her flung-back face, her hands clasped behind her head, her figure twisted as if by pain.

He would know it all the better if he saw the woman pacing her own rooms with her hair wildly thrown back, her hands clasped behind her head, her figure twisted as if by pain.


He would think so all the more if he saw the woman thus hurrying up and down for hours, without fatigue, without intermission, followed by the faithful step upon the Ghost's Walk.

He would think so all the more if he saw the woman thus hurrying up and down for hours, without pause, followed by the faithful step upon the Ghost's Walk.


But he shuts out the now chilled air, draws the window-curtain, goes to bed, and falls asleep.

But he shuts out the chilly air, draws the curtain, goes to bed, and falls asleep.


And truly when the stars go out and the wan day peeps into the turret-chamber, finding him at his oldest, he looks as if the digger and the spade were both commissioned and would soon be digging.


The same wan day peeps in at Sir Leicester pardoning the repentant country in a majestically condescending dream; and at the cousins entering on various public employments, principally receipt of salary; and at the chaste Volumnia, bestowing a dower of fifty thousand pounds upon a hideous old general with a mouth of false teeth like a pianoforte too full of keys, long the admiration of Bath and the terror of every other community.

wan day peeps in at Sir Leicester pardoning the repentant country in a majestically condescending dream; and at the cousins, and at the chaste Volumnia, dreaming of a hideous old general in Bath.


Also into rooms high in the roof, and into offices in court-yards, and over stables, where humbler ambition dreams of bliss, in keepers' lodges, and in holy matrimony with Will or Sally.

Also into rooms high in the roof, and into offices in court-yards, and over stables, where humbler ambition dreams of bliss.


Up comes the bright sun, drawing everything up with it--the Wills and Sallys, the latent vapour in the earth, the drooping leaves and flowers, the birds and beasts and creeping things, the gardeners to sweep the dewy turf and unfold emerald velvet where the roller passes, the smoke of the great kitchen fire wreathing itself straight and high into the lightsome air.

Up comes the bright sun, drawing everything up with it - the drooping leaves and flowers, the birds and beasts, the gardeners to sweep the dewy turf, the smoke of the great kitchen fire wreathing itself high into the air.


Lastly, up comes the flag over Mr. Tulkinghorn's unconscious head cheerfully proclaiming that Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock are in their happy home and that there is hospitality at the place in Lincolnshire.

Lastly, up comes the flag over Mr. Tulkinghorn's unconscious head cheerfully proclaiming that Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock are in their happy home in Lincolnshire.


The days when I frequented that miserable corner which my dear girl brightened can never fade in my remembrance.

The days when I visited that miserable corner which my dear girl brightened can never fade in my remembrance.


I never see it, and I never wish to see it now; I have been there only once since, but in my memory there is a mournful glory shining on the place which will shine for ever.


Not a day passed without my going there, of course.

Not a day passed without my going there.


At first I found Mr. Skimpole there, on two or three occasions, idly playing the piano and talking in his usual vivacious strain.


Now, besides my very much mistrusting the probability of his being there without making Richard poorer, I felt as if there were something in his careless gaiety too inconsistent with what I knew of the depths of Ada's life.

Now, besides my fear of his making Richard poorer, I felt as if his careless gaiety was inconsistent with what I knew of the depths of Ada's life.


I clearly perceived, too, that Ada shared my feelings.

I clearly perceived that Ada shared my feelings.


I therefore resolved, after much thinking of it, to make a private visit to Mr. Skimpole and try delicately to explain myself.

I therefore resolved to make a private visit to Mr. Skimpole and try delicately to explain myself.


My dear girl was the great consideration that made me bold.


I set off one morning, accompanied by Charley, for Somers Town.

I set off one morning, accompanied by Charley.


As I approached the house, I was strongly inclined to turn back, for I felt what a desperate attempt it was to make an impression on Mr. Skimpole and how extremely likely it was that he would signally defeat me.

As I approached the Skimpole house, I was strongly inclined to turn back, for I felt what a desperate attempt it was to make an impression on Mr. Skimpole and how extremely likely it was that he would defeat me.


However, I thought that being there, I would go through with it.


I knocked with a trembling hand at Mr. Skimpole's door--literally with a hand, for the knocker was gone--and after a long parley gained admission from an Irishwoman, who was in the area when I knocked, breaking up the lid of a water-butt with a poker to light the fire with.

I knocked with a trembling hand at Mr. Skimpole's door - literally with a hand, for the knocker was gone - and after a while gained admission from an Irishwoman who was in the yard.


Mr. Skimpole, lying on the sofa in his room, playing the flute a little, was enchanted to see me.

Mr. Skimpole, lying on the sofa in his room, playing the flute, was enchanted to see me.


Who would I prefer for mistress of the ceremonies?


he asked. Would I have his Comedy daughter, his Beauty daughter, or his Sentiment daughter?


Or would I have all the daughters at once in a perfect nosegay?

Or all three at once in a perfect nosegay?


I replied, half defeated already, that I wished to speak to himself only if he would give me leave.

I replied, half defeated already, that I wished to speak to himself only.


Of course," he said, bringing his chair nearer mine and breaking into his fascinating smile, "of course it's not business.


I said it certainly was not business that I came upon, but it was not quite a pleasant matter.


"Then, my dear Miss Summerson," said he with the frankest gaiety, "don't allude to it.


Why should you allude to anything that is NOT a pleasant matter?

Why should you allude to anything that is not a pleasant matter?


And you are a much pleasanter creature, in every point of view, than I.


You are perfectly pleasant; I am imperfectly pleasant; then, if I never allude to an unpleasant matter, how much less should you!


So that's disposed of, and we will talk of something else."


Although I was embarrassed, I took courage to intimate that I still wished to pursue the subject.

Although I was embarrassed, I took courage to say that I still wished to pursue the subject.


"I should think it a mistake," said Mr. Skimpole with his airy laugh, "if I thought Miss Summerson capable of making one.


"Mr. Skimpole," said I, raising my eyes to his, "I have so often heard you say that you are unacquainted with the common affairs of life--"


"Meaning our three banking-house friends, L, S, and who's the junior partner?


"--That perhaps," I went on, "you will excuse my boldness on that account.


I think you ought most seriously to know that Richard is poorer than he was."


"And in very embarrassed circumstances."


said Mr. Skimpole with a delighted countenance.

said Mr. Skimpole with a delighted face.


"This at present naturally causes Ada much secret anxiety, and as I think she is less anxious when no claims are made upon her by visitors, and as Richard has one uneasiness always heavy on his mind, it has occurred to me to take the liberty of saying that--if you would--not--"

"This naturally causes Ada much anxiety, and as I think she is less anxious when no claims are made upon her by visitors, it has occurred to me to take the liberty of saying that - if you would - not-"


I was coming to the point with great difficulty when he took me by both hands and with a radiant face and in the liveliest way anticipated it.

I was coming to the point with great difficulty when he took me by both hands with a radiant face and anticipated it.


Certainly not, my dear Miss Summerson, most assuredly not.


I don't go anywhere for pain, because I was made for pleasure.


Now, I have had very little pleasure at our dear Richard's lately, and your practical sagacity demonstrates why.

Now, I have had very little pleasure at our dear Richard's lately, and your wisdom shows why.


Our young friends, losing the youthful poetry which was once so captivating in them, begin to think, 'This is a man who wants pounds.'


So I am; I always want pounds; not for myself, but because tradespeople always want them of me.

So I am; I always want pounds, because tradespeople always want them from me.


Next, our young friends begin to think, becoming mercenary, 'This is the man who HAD pounds, who borrowed them,' which I did.

Next, our young friends begin to think, becoming mercenary, 'This is the man who borrowed pounds,' which I did.


So our young friends, reduced to prose (which is much to be regretted), degenerate in their power of imparting pleasure to me.


Through the beaming smile with which he regarded me as he reasoned thus, there now broke forth a look of disinterested benevolence quite astonishing.

This he said with a smile of disinterested benevolence quite astonishing.


"Besides," he said, pursuing his argument in his tone of light-hearted conviction, "if I don't go anywhere for pain--which would be a perversion of the intention of my being, and a monstrous thing to do--why should I go anywhere to be the cause of pain?

"Besides," he went on in his light-hearted tone, "if I don't go anywhere for pain, why should I go anywhere to be the cause of pain?


If I went to see our young friends in their present ill-regulated state of mind, I should give them pain.


The associations with me would be disagreeable.


They might say, 'This is the man who had pounds and who can't pay pounds,' which I can't, of course; nothing could be more out of the question!

They might say, 'This is the man who had pounds and who can't pay pounds,' which I can't, of course!


Then kindness requires that I shouldn't go near them--and I won't."

Then kindness requires that I shouldn't go near them - and I won't."


He finished by genially kissing my hand and thanking me.


Nothing but Miss Summerson's fine tact, he said, would have found this out for him.


I was much disconcerted, but I reflected that if the main point were gained, it mattered little how strangely he perverted everything leading to it.

I was much disconcerted, but I reflected that if the main point were gained, it mattered little how.


I had determined to mention something else, however, and I thought I was not to be put off in that.

I had determined to mention something else, however.


"Mr. Skimpole," said I, "I must take the liberty of saying before I conclude my visit that I was much surprised to learn, on the best authority, some little time ago, that you knew with whom that poor boy left Bleak House and that you accepted a present on that occasion.

"Mr. Skimpole," said I, "I must take the liberty of saying before I go that I was much surprised to learn recently that you knew with whom that poor boy left Bleak House, and that you accepted money on that occasion.


I have not mentioned it to my guardian, for I fear it would hurt him unnecessarily; but I may say to you that I was much surprised."

I have not mentioned it to my guardian, for I fear it would hurt him; but I may say to you that I was much surprised."


Really surprised, my dear Miss Summerson?"


he returned inquiringly, raising his pleasant eyebrows.


He thought about it for a little while with a highly agreeable and whimsical expression of face, then quite gave it up and said in his most engaging manner, "You know what a child I am.

He thought about it with a whimsical expression, then said in his most engaging manner, "You know what a child I am.


I was reluctant to enter minutely into that question, but as he begged I would, for he was really curious to know, I gave him to understand in the gentlest words I could use that his conduct seemed to involve a disregard of several moral obligations.

I gave him to understand in the gentlest words I could use that he seemed to have disregarded several moral obligations.


He was much amused and interested when he heard this and said, "No, really?"


"You know I don't intend to be responsible.


Responsibility is a thing that has always been above me--or below me," said Mr. Skimpole.

that responsibility is a thing that has always been above me - or below me," said Mr. Skimpole.


"I don't even know which; but as I understand the way in which my dear Miss Summerson (always remarkable for her practical good sense and clearness) puts this case, I should imagine it was chiefly a question of money, do you know?"

"I don't even know which; but as I understand the way in which my dear Miss Summerson puts this case, I should imagine it was chiefly a question of money?"


I incautiously gave a qualified assent to this.


Then you see," said Mr. Skimpole, shaking his head, "I am hopeless of understanding it."


I suggested, as I rose to go, that it was not right to betray my guardian's confidence for a bribe.


"My dear Miss Summerson," he returned with a candid hilarity that was all his own, "I can't be bribed."

"My dear Miss Summerson, I can't be bribed.


I don't care about it, I don't know about it, I don't want it, I don't keep it--it goes away from me directly.


I showed that I was of a different opinion, though I had not the capacity for arguing the question.

I showed that I was of a different opinion, though I was not able to argue.


"On the contrary," said Mr. Skimpole, "I am exactly the man to be placed in a superior position in such a case as that.


I am above the rest of mankind in such a case as that.


I can act with philosophy in such a case as that.


I am not warped by prejudices, as an Italian baby is by bandages.


I feel myself as far above suspicion as Caesar's wife."


Anything to equal the lightness of his manner and the playful impartiality with which he seemed to convince himself, as he tossed the matter about like a ball of feathers, was surely never seen in anybody else!


"Observe the case, my dear Miss Summerson.


Here is a boy received into the house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.


The boy being in bed, a man arrives--like the house that Jack built.

A man arrives - like the house that Jack built.


Here is the man who demands the boy who is received into the house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.


Here is a bank-note produced by the man who demands the boy who is received into the house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.


Here is the Skimpole who accepts the bank-note produced by the man who demands the boy who is received into the house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.


Should the Skimpole have refused the note?


WHY should the Skimpole have refused the note?


Skimpole protests to Bucket, 'What's this for?


I don't understand it, it is of no use to me, take it away.'


Bucket still entreats Skimpole to accept it.


Are there reasons why Skimpole, not being warped by prejudices, should accept it?


Skimpole reasons with himself, this is a tamed lynx, an active police-officer, an intelligent man, a person of a peculiarly directed energy and great subtlety both of conception and execution, who discovers our friends and enemies for us when they run away, recovers our property for us when we are robbed, avenges us comfortably when we are murdered.

Skimpole reasons with himself, this is a police-officer, an intelligent man,


This active police-officer and intelligent man has acquired, in the exercise of his art, a strong faith in money; he finds it very useful to him, and he makes it very useful to society.


Shall I shake that faith in Bucket because I want it myself; shall I deliberately blunt one of Bucket's weapons; shall I positively paralyse Bucket in his next detective operation?


If it is blameable in Skimpole to take the note, it is blameable in Bucket to offer the note--much more blameable in Bucket, because he is the knowing man.

If it is blameable in Skimpole to take the note, it is blameable in Bucket to offer the note - much more blameable, because he is the knowing man.


Now, Skimpole wishes to think well of Bucket; Skimpole deems it essential, in its little place, to the general cohesion of things, that he SHOULD think well of Bucket.

Now, Skimpole wishes to think well of Bucket.


The state expressly asks him to trust to Bucket.


I had nothing to offer in reply to this exposition and therefore took my leave.

I had nothing to offer in reply and therefore took my leave.


Mr. Skimpole, however, who was in excellent spirits, would not hear of my returning home attended only by "Little Coavinses," and accompanied me himself.


He entertained me on the way with a variety of delightful conversation and assured me, at parting, that he should never forget the fine tact with which I had found that out for him about our young friends.


As it so happened that I never saw Mr. Skimpole again, I may at once finish what I know of his history.


A coolness arose between him and my guardian, based principally on the foregoing grounds and on his having heartlessly disregarded my guardian's entreaties (as we afterwards learned from Ada) in reference to Richard.

A coolness arose between him and my guardian, based principally on his having heartlessly disregarded my guardian's entreaties (as we afterwards learned from Ada) in reference to Richard.


His being heavily in my guardian's debt had nothing to do with their separation.


He died some five years afterwards and left a diary behind him, with letters and other materials towards his life, which was published and which showed him to have been the victim of a combination on the part of mankind against an amiable child.

He died some five years afterwards and left a diary behind him, which was published and which showed him to have been the victim of a part of mankind combining against an amiable child.


It was considered very pleasant reading, but I never read more of it myself than the sentence on which I chanced to light on opening the book.


It was this: "Jarndyce, in common with most other men I have known, is the incarnation of selfishness."


And now I come to a part of my story touching myself very nearly indeed, and for which I was quite unprepared when the circumstance occurred.

And now I come to a part of my story touching myself, and for which I was quite unprepared.


Whatever little lingerings may have now and then revived in my mind associated with my poor old face had only revived as belonging to a part of my life that was gone--gone like my infancy or my childhood.

Whatever little lingerings may have now and then revived in my mind associated with my poor old face had only revived as a part of my life that was gone, like my childhood.


I have suppressed none of my many weaknesses on that subject, but have written them as faithfully as my memory has recalled them.


And I hope to do, and mean to do, the same down to the last words of these pages, which I see now not so very far before me.


The months were gliding away, and my dear girl, sustained by the hopes she had confided in me, was the same beautiful star in the miserable corner.

The months were gliding away, and my dear girl was the same beautiful star in the miserable corner.


Richard, more worn and haggard, haunted the court day after day, listlessly sat there the whole day long when he knew there was no remote chance of the suit being mentioned, and became one of the stock sights of the place.

Richard, more worn and haggard, haunted the court day after day, listlessly sitting there even when he knew there was no remote chance of the suit being mentioned.


I wonder whether any of the gentlemen remembered him as he was when he first went there.


So completely was he absorbed in his fixed idea that he used to avow in his cheerful moments that he should never have breathed the fresh air now "but for Woodcourt."


It was only Mr. Woodcourt who could occasionally divert his attention for a few hours at a time and rouse him, even when he sunk into a lethargy of mind and body that alarmed us greatly, and the returns of which became more frequent as the months went on.

It was only Mr. Woodcourt who could occasionally divert his attention for a few hours at a time and rouse him, even when he sunk into a lethargy that alarmed us greatly, and that returned more frequently as the months went on.


My dear girl was right in saying that he only pursued his errors the more desperately for her sake.

My dear girl was right in saying that he pursued his errors the more desperately for her sake.


I have no doubt that his desire to retrieve what he had lost was rendered the more intense by his grief for his young wife, and became like the madness of a gamester.

I have no doubt that his desire to retrieve what he had lost was made the more intense by his grief for his young wife, and became like the madness of a gamester.


I was there, as I have mentioned, at all hours.

I was at their lodgings, as I have mentioned, at all hours.


When I was there at night, I generally went home with Charley in a coach; sometimes my guardian would meet me in the neighbourhood, and we would walk home together.

When I was there at night, I generally went home with Charley in a coach; sometimes my guardian would meet me, and we would walk home together.


One evening he had arranged to meet me at eight o'clock.


I could not leave, as I usually did, quite punctually at the time, for I was working for my dear girl and had a few stitches more to do to finish what I was about; but it was within a few minutes of the hour when I bundled up my little work-basket, gave my darling my last kiss for the night, and hurried downstairs.

I could not leave quite punctually, for I was working for my dear girl and had a few stitches to finish; but within a few minutes of the hour I bundled up my little work-basket, gave my darling my last kiss for the night, and hurried downstairs.


Mr. Woodcourt went with me, as it was dusk.


When we came to the usual place of meeting--it was close by, and Mr. Woodcourt had often accompanied me before--my guardian was not there.

When we came to the usual place of meeting, my guardian was not there.


We waited half an hour, walking up and down, but there were no signs of him.


We agreed that he was either prevented from coming or that he had come and gone away, and Mr. Woodcourt proposed to walk home with me.


It was the first walk we had ever taken together, except that very short one to the usual place of meeting.

It was the first walk we had ever taken together.


We spoke of Richard and Ada the whole way.


I did not thank him in words for what he had done--my appreciation of it had risen above all words then--but I hoped he might not be without some understanding of what I felt so strongly.

I did not thank him in words for what he had done, but I hoped he might understand what I felt so strongly.


Arriving at home and going upstairs, we found that my guardian was out and that Mrs. Woodcourt was out too.


We were in the very same room into which I had brought my blushing girl when her youthful lover, now her so altered husband, was the choice of her young heart, the very same room from which my guardian and I had watched them going away through the sunlight in the fresh bloom of their hope and promise.


We were standing by the opened window looking down into the street when Mr. Woodcourt spoke to me.

We were standing by the open window looking down into the street when Mr. Woodcourt spoke to me.


I learned in a moment that my scarred face was all unchanged to him.


I learned in a moment that what I had thought was pity and compassion was devoted, generous, faithful love.


Oh, too late to know it now, too late, too late.


That was the first ungrateful thought I had.


"When I returned," he told me, "when I came back, no richer than when I went away, and found you newly risen from a sick bed, yet so inspired by sweet consideration for others and so free from a selfish thought--"

"When I returned," he told me, "when I came back, no richer than when I went away, and found you newly risen from a sick bed, yet so inspired by sweet consideration for others and so free from a selfish thought-"


"I had many selfish thoughts at that time, many!"


"Heaven knows, beloved of my life," said he, "that my praise is not a lover's praise, but the truth.


You do not know what all around you see in Esther Summerson, how many hearts she touches and awakens, what sacred admiration and what love she wins."

You do not know how many hearts Esther touches and awakens, what sacred admiration and what love she wins."


"Oh, Mr. Woodcourt," cried I, "it is a great thing to win love, it is a great thing to win love!

"Oh, Mr. Woodcourt," cried I, "it is a great thing to win love!


I am proud of it, and honoured by it; and the hearing of it causes me to shed these tears of mingled joy and sorrow--joy that I have won it, sorrow that I have not deserved it better; but I am not free to think of yours."

I am proud of it, and honoured by it; and the hearing of it causes me to shed these tears of mingled joy and sorrow - joy that I have won it, sorrow that I have not deserved it better; but I am not free to think of yours."


I said it with a stronger heart, for when he praised me thus and when I heard his voice thrill with his belief that what he said was true, I aspired to be more worthy of it.

I said it with a stronger heart, for when I heard his praise I aspired to be more worthy of it.


Although I closed this unforeseen page in my life to-night, I could be worthier of it all through my life.

Although I closed this unforeseen page in my life tonight, I felt I could be worthier of it all through my life.


And it was a comfort to me, and an impulse to me, and I felt a dignity rise up within me that was derived from him when I thought so.

And it was a comfort to me, and an impulse to me, and I felt a dignity rise up within me that was gained from him.


"I should poorly show the trust that I have in the dear one who will evermore be as dear to me as now"--and the deep earnestness with which he said it at once strengthened me and made me weep--"if, after her assurance that she is not free to think of my love, I urged it.

"Dear Esther, if you are not free to think of my love, I will not urge it.


Dear Esther, let me only tell you that the fond idea of you which I took abroad was exalted to the heavens when I came home.

Let me only tell you that the fond idea of you which I took abroad was exalted to the heavens when I came home.


I have always hoped, in the first hour when I seemed to stand in any ray of good fortune, to tell you this.


I have always feared that I should tell it you in vain.


My hopes and fears are both fulfilled to-night.

My hopes and fears are both fulfilled tonight.


Something seemed to pass into my place that was like the angel he thought me, and I felt so sorrowful for the loss he had sustained!


I wished to help him in his trouble, as I had wished to do when he showed that first commiseration for me.


"Dear Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "before we part to-night, something is left for me to say.

"Dear Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "before we part tonight, something is left for me to say.


I never could say it as I wish--I never shall--but--"


I had to think again of being more deserving of his love and his affliction before I could go on.


"--I am deeply sensible of your generosity, and I shall treasure its remembrance to my dying hour.

- but I shall treasure the memory of your generosity to my dying hour.


I know full well how changed I am, I know you are not unacquainted with my history, and I know what a noble love that is which is so faithful.

I know full well how changed I am. I know what a noble love that is which is so faithful.


What you have said to me could have affected me so much from no other lips, for there are none that could give it such a value to me.


He covered his eyes with his hand and turned away his head.


How could I ever be worthy of those tears?


"If, in the unchanged intercourse we shall have together--in tending Richard and Ada, and I hope in many happier scenes of life--you ever find anything in me which you can honestly think is better than it used to be, believe that it will have sprung up from to-night and that I shall owe it to you.

"If I am ever better than I used to be," I said, "believe that it will have sprung up from tonight and that I owe it to you.


And never believe, dear dear Mr. Woodcourt, never believe that I forget this night or that while my heart beats it can be insensible to the pride and joy of having been beloved by you."


He was like himself again, and I felt still more encouraged.


"I am induced by what you said just now," said I, "to hope that you have succeeded in your endeavour."


"With such help from Mr. Jarndyce as you who know him so well can imagine him to have rendered me, I have succeeded."

"With help from Mr. Jarndyce, I have succeeded."


"Heaven bless him for it," said I, giving him my hand; "and heaven bless you in all you do!"


"I shall do it better for the wish," he answered; "it will make me enter on these new duties as on another sacred trust from you."


I exclaimed involuntarily, "What will he do when you are gone!"


"I am not required to go yet; I would not desert him, dear Miss Summerson, even if I were."


One other thing I felt it needful to touch upon before he left me.

One other thing I needed to touch upon before he left me.


I knew that I should not be worthier of the love I could not take if I reserved it.


"Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "you will be glad to know from my lips before I say good night that in the future, which is clear and bright before me, I am most happy, most fortunate, have nothing to regret or desire."

"Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "you will be glad to know before I say good night that in the future, which is clear and bright before me, I am most happy, most fortunate, have nothing to regret or desire."


It was indeed a glad hearing to him, he replied.

It was indeed a gladness to him, he replied.


"From my childhood I have been," said I, "the object of the untiring goodness of the best of human beings, to whom I am so bound by every tie of attachment, gratitude, and love, that nothing I could do in the compass of a life could express the feelings of a single day."

"From my childhood I have been," said I, "the object of the untiring goodness of the best of human beings, to whom I am bound by every tie of attachment, gratitude, and love."


"You know his virtues well," said I, "but few can know the greatness of his character as I know it.


All its highest and best qualities have been revealed to me in nothing more brightly than in the shaping out of that future in which I am so happy.

All its highest and best qualities have been revealed to me in the shaping out of that future in which I am so happy.


And if your highest homage and respect had not been his already--which I know they are--they would have been his, I think, on this assurance and in the feeling it would have awakened in you towards him for my sake."

And if your highest homage and respect had not been his already, they would have been his, I think, on this assurance, for my sake."


He fervently replied that indeed indeed they would have been.

He fervently replied that indeed they would have been.


"The first until we meet to-morrow, the second as a farewell to this theme between us for ever."

"The first until we meet tomorrow, the second as a farewell to this theme between us for ever."


He left me, and I stood at the dark window watching the street.


His love, in all its constancy and generosity, had come so suddenly upon me that he had not left me a minute when my fortitude gave way again and the street was blotted out by my rushing tears.

His love, in all its constancy and generosity, had come so suddenly upon me that he had not left me a minute before my fortitude gave way and the street was blotted out by my rushing tears.


But they were not tears of regret and sorrow.


He had called me the beloved of his life and had said I would be evermore as dear to him as I was then, and I felt as if my heart would not hold the triumph of having heard those words.

He had called me the beloved of his life and had said I would evermore be dear to him, and I felt as if my heart would not hold the triumph of having heard those words.


It was not too late to hear them, for it was not too late to be animated by them to be good, true, grateful, and contented.


How easy my path, how much easier than his!


My guardian called me into his room next morning, and then I told him what had been left untold on the previous night.


There was nothing to be done, he said, but to keep the secret and to avoid another such encounter as that of yesterday.


He understood my feeling and entirely shared it.


He charged himself even with restraining Mr. Skimpole from improving his opportunity.


One person whom he need not name to me, it was not now possible for him to advise or help.


He wished it were, but no such thing could be.


If her mistrust of the lawyer whom she had mentioned were well-founded, which he scarcely doubted, he dreaded discovery.


He knew something of him, both by sight and by reputation, and it was certain that he was a dangerous man.

He knew something of Mr. Tulkinghorn, both by sight and reputation, and it was certain that he was a dangerous man.


Whatever happened, he repeatedly impressed upon me with anxious affection and kindness, I was as innocent of as himself and as unable to influence.

Whatever happened, he repeatedly impressed upon me with anxious affection and kindness, I was innocent.


"Nor do I understand," said he, "that any doubts tend towards you, my dear."


Much suspicion may exist without that connexion."


"But two other persons have come into my mind since I have been anxious.

"But I am anxious about two other people."


Then I told him all about Mr. Guppy, who I feared might have had his vague surmises when I little understood his meaning, but in whose silence after our last interview I expressed perfect confidence.

Then I told him about Mr. Guppy, who I feared might have guessed, but in whose silence after our last interview I expressed perfect confidence.


"Then we may dismiss him for the present.


I called to his recollection the French maid and the eager offer of herself she had made to me.

I called to his recollection the French maid and the eager offer of service she had made to me.


"That is a more alarming person than the clerk.


But after all, my dear, it was but seeking for a new service.


She had seen you and Ada a little while before, and it was natural that you should come into her head.


She merely proposed herself for your maid, you know.

she merely proposed herself for your maid, you know.


"Yes, and her manner was strange when she took her shoes off and showed that cool relish for a walk that might have ended in her death-bed," said my guardian.

"Yes, and her manner was strange when she took her shoes off and walked through the grass," said my guardian.


"It would be useless self-distress and torment to reckon up such chances and possibilities.

"It would be useless self-distress to reckon up such chances and possibilities.


There are very few harmless circumstances that would not seem full of perilous meaning, so considered.


You can be nothing better than yourself; be that, through this knowledge, as you were before you had it.

You can be nothing better than yourself; be that, as you were before you had this knowledge.


It is the best you can do for everybody's sake.


"And lightening it, guardian, so much," said I.


"--will be attentive to what passes in that family, so far as I can observe it from my distance.

"-will be attentive to what passes in that family, so far as I can.


And if the time should come when I can stretch out a hand to render the least service to one whom it is better not to name even here, I will not fail to do it for her dear daughter's sake."


I was going out at the door when he asked me to stay a moment.


Quickly turning round, I saw that same expression on his face again; and all at once, I don't know how, it flashed upon me as a new and far-off possibility that I understood it.

Quickly turning round, I saw that same expression on his face again; and all at once, I don't know how, I understood it.


"My dear Esther," said my guardian, "I have long had something in my thoughts that I have wished to say to you."


"I have had some difficulty in approaching it, and I still have.

"I have had some difficulty in approaching it.


I should wish it to be so deliberately said, and so deliberately considered.


"Dear guardian, how could I object to your writing anything for ME to read?"

"Dear guardian, how could I object to your writing anything for me to read?"


"Then see, my love," said he with his cheery smile, "am I at this moment quite as plain and easy--do I seem as open, as honest and old-fashioned--as I am at any time?"

"Then see, my love," said he with his cheery smile, "do I seem at this moment as open, honest and old-fashioned as usual?"


With the strictest truth, for his momentary hesitation was gone (it had not lasted a minute), and his fine, sensible, cordial, sterling manner was restored.

With truth, for his momentary hesitation was gone.


"Do I look as if I suppressed anything, meant anything but what I said, had any reservation at all, no matter what?"


said he with his bright clear eyes on mine.


"Can you fully trust me, and thoroughly rely on what I profess, Esther?"

"Can you fully trust me, and thoroughly rely on me, Esther?"


"Most thoroughly," said I with my whole heart.


"My dear girl," returned my guardian, "give me your hand."


He took it in his, holding me lightly with his arm, and looking down into my face with the same genuine freshness and faithfulness of manner--the old protecting manner which had made that house my home in a moment--said, "You have wrought changes in me, little woman, since the winter day in the stage-coach.

He took it in his, holding me lightly with his arm, and looking down into my face with the protecting manner which had made that house my home - said, "You have wrought changes in me, little woman, since the winter day in the stage-coach.


First and last you have done me a world of good since that time."

You have done me a world of good since that time."


"Ah, guardian, what have you done for me since that time!"


"But," said he, "that is not to be remembered now."


"Yes, Esther," said he with a gentle seriousness, "it is to be forgotten now, to be forgotten for a while.

"Yes, Esther," said he with a gentle seriousness, "it is to be forgotten now, for a while.


You are only to remember now that nothing can change me as you know me.


Can you feel quite assured of that, my dear?"


All the same, I will not write this something in my thoughts until you have quite resolved within yourself that nothing can change me as you know me.


If you doubt that in the least degree, I will never write it.


If you are sure of that, on good consideration, send Charley to me this night week--'for the letter.'

If you are sure of that, send Charley to me in one week - 'for the letter.'


But if you are not quite certain, never send.

But if you are not quite certain, never send for it."


Mind, I trust to your truth, in this thing as in everything.


If you are not quite certain on that one point, never send!"


"Guardian," said I, "I am already certain, I can no more be changed in that conviction than you can be changed towards me.

"Guardian," said I, "I am already certain.


Nor was any more said in reference to this conversation, either by him or me, through the whole week.

Nor was any more said about this conversation all week.


When the appointed night came, I said to Charley as soon as I was alone, "Go and knock at Mr. Jarndyce's door, Charley, and say you have come from me--'for the letter.'"

When the appointed night came, I said to Charley, "Go and knock at Mr. Jarndyce's door, Charley, and say you have come from me for the letter."


Charley went up the stairs, and down the stairs, and along the passages--the zig-zag way about the old-fashioned house seemed very long in my listening ears that night--and so came back, along the passages, and down the stairs, and up the stairs, and brought the letter.

Charley went up the stairs and along the passages. The zig-zag way about the old house seemed very long in my listening ears that night. She came back with the letter and


So Charley laid it on the table and went to bed, and I sat looking at it without taking it up, thinking of many things.


I began with my overshadowed childhood, and passed through those timid days to the heavy time when my aunt lay dead, with her resolute face so cold and set, and when I was more solitary with Mrs. Rachael than if I had had no one in the world to speak to or to look at.

I began with my overshadowed childhood, and passed through those timid days to the heavy time when my aunt lay dead, with her resolute face so cold and set.


I passed to the altered days when I was so blest as to find friends in all around me, and to be beloved.

I passed to the altered days when I was so blest as to find friends around me, and to be beloved.


I came to the time when I first saw my dear girl and was received into that sisterly affection which was the grace and beauty of my life.


I recalled the first bright gleam of welcome which had shone out of those very windows upon our expectant faces on that cold bright night, and which had never paled.


I lived my happy life there over again, I went through my illness and recovery, I thought of myself so altered and of those around me so unchanged; and all this happiness shone like a light from one central figure, represented before me by the letter on the table.


It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the unselfish caution it gave me, and the consideration it showed for me in every word, that my eyes were too often blinded to read much at a time.

It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the unselfish consideration it showed for me in every word, that my eyes were too often blinded to read much at a time.


But I read it through three times before I laid it down.


I had thought beforehand that I knew its purport, and I did.


It asked me, would I be the mistress of Bleak House.


It was not a love letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as he would at any time have spoken to me.


I saw his face, and heard his voice, and felt the influence of his kind protecting manner in every line.

I saw his face, and heard his voice, and felt his kind manner in every line.


It addressed me as if our places were reversed, as if all the good deeds had been mine and all the feelings they had awakened his.


It dwelt on my being young, and he past the prime of life; on his having attained a ripe age, while I was a child; on his writing to me with a silvered head, and knowing all this so well as to set it in full before me for mature deliberation.

It dwelt on my being young, and he past the prime of life; on his writing to me with a silvered head.


It told me that I would gain nothing by such a marriage and lose nothing by rejecting it, for no new relation could enhance the tenderness in which he held me, and whatever my decision was, he was certain it would be right.


But he had considered this step anew since our late confidence and had decided on taking it, if it only served to show me through one poor instance that the whole world would readily unite to falsify the stern prediction of my childhood.

But he had considered this step anew since our late confidence and had decided on taking it.


I was the last to know what happiness I could bestow upon him, but of that he said no more, for I was always to remember that I owed him nothing and that he was my debtor, and for very much.

I was always to remember that I owed him nothing and that he was my debtor.


He had often thought of our future, and foreseeing that the time must come, and fearing that it might come soon, when Ada (now very nearly of age) would leave us, and when our present mode of life must be broken up, had become accustomed to reflect on this proposal.

He had often thought of our future, and foreseeing that the time must come, perhaps very soon, when Ada (now nearly of age) would leave us, and when our present mode of life must be broken up, had reflected on this proposal.


If I felt that I could ever give him the best right he could have to be my protector, and if I felt that I could happily and justly become the dear companion of his remaining life, superior to all lighter chances and changes than death, even then he could not have me bind myself irrevocably while this letter was yet so new to me, but even then I must have ample time for reconsideration.

If I felt that I could happily become the dear companion of his remaining life, even then he could not have me bind myself irrevocably while this letter was yet so new to me, but I must have ample time for reconsideration.


In that case, or in the opposite case, let him be unchanged in his old relation, in his old manner, in the old name by which I called him.

Meanwhile, let him be unchanged in his old relation, in his old manner, in the old name by which I called him.


And as to his bright Dame Durden and little housekeeper, she would ever be the same, he knew.


This was the substance of the letter, written throughout with a justice and a dignity as if he were indeed my responsible guardian impartially representing the proposal of a friend against whom in his integrity he stated the full case.


But he did not hint to me that when I had been better looking he had had this same proceeding in his thoughts and had refrained from it.

But he did not hint that when I had been better looking he had had this same step in his thoughts and had refrained from it.


That when my old face was gone from me, and I had no attractions, he could love me just as well as in my fairer days.


That the discovery of my birth gave him no shock.


That his generosity rose above my disfigurement and my inheritance of shame.


That the more I stood in need of such fidelity, the more firmly I might trust in him to the last.


It came upon me as the close of the benignant history I had been pursuing, and I felt that I had but one thing to do.

It came upon me as the close of the history I had been remembering, and I felt that I had but one thing to do.


To devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly, and what had I wished for the other night but some new means of thanking him?


Still I cried very much, not only in the fullness of my heart after reading the letter, not only in the strangeness of the prospect--for it was strange though I had expected the contents--but as if something for which there was no name or distinct idea were indefinitely lost to me.

Still I cried very much, not only in the fullness of my heart after reading the letter, not only in the strangeness of the prospect - but as if something for which there was no name or distinct idea were indefinitely lost to me.


I was very happy, very thankful, very hopeful; but I cried very much.


My eyes were red and swollen, and I said, "Oh, Esther, Esther, can that be you!"

My eyes were red and swollen, and I said, "Oh, Esther, can that be you!"


I am afraid the face in the glass was going to cry again at this reproach, but I held up my finger at it, and it stopped.


"That is more like the composed look you comforted me with, my dear, when you showed me such a change!"


"When you are mistress of Bleak House, you are to be as cheerful as a bird.


In fact, you are always to be cheerful; so let us begin for once and for all."


I went on with my hair now, quite comfortably.


I sobbed a little still, but that was because I had been crying, not because I was crying then.


"And so Esther, my dear, you are happy for life.


Happy with your best friends, happy in your old home, happy in the power of doing a great deal of good, and happy in the undeserved love of the best of men."


I thought, all at once, if my guardian had married some one else, how should I have felt, and what should I have done!


It presented my life in such a new and blank form that I rang my housekeeping keys and gave them a kiss before I laid them down in their basket again.

It presented my life in such a new and blank form that I gave my housekeeping keys a kiss before I laid them down in their basket again.


Then I went on to think, as I dressed my hair before the glass, how often had I considered within myself that the deep traces of my illness and the circumstances of my birth were only new reasons why I should be busy, busy, busy--useful, amiable, serviceable, in all honest, unpretending ways.

Then I went on to think how often had I considered within myself that the deep traces of my illness and the circumstances of my birth were only new reasons why I should be busy and useful.


This was a good time, to be sure, to sit down morbidly and cry!


As to its seeming at all strange to me at first (if that were any excuse for crying, which it was not) that I was one day to be the mistress of Bleak House, why should it seem strange?

As to its seeming at all strange to me at first, why should it seem strange?


Other people had thought of such things, if I had not.


"Don't you remember, my plain dear," I asked myself, looking at the glass, "what Mrs. Woodcourt said before those scars were there about your marrying--"

"Don't you remember, my plain dear," I asked myself, "what Mrs. Woodcourt said, before those scars were there, about your marrying-"


Perhaps the name brought them to my remembrance.


It would be better not to keep them now.


They had only been preserved in memory of something wholly past and gone, but it would be better not to keep them now.


They were in a book, and it happened to be in the next room--our sitting-room, dividing Ada's chamber from mine.

They were in a book, which was in the next room - our sitting-room, dividing Ada's chamber from mine.


I took a candle and went softly in to fetch it from its shelf.


After I had it in my hand, I saw my beautiful darling, through the open door, lying asleep, and I stole in to kiss her.


It was weak in me, I know, and I could have no reason for crying; but I dropped a tear upon her dear face, and another, and another.

It was weak in me, I know; but I dropped a tear upon her dear face, and another.


Weaker than that, I took the withered flowers out and put them for a moment to her lips.


I thought about her love for Richard, though, indeed, the flowers had nothing to do with that.


Then I took them into my own room and burned them at the candle, and they were dust in an instant.


On entering the breakfast-room next morning, I found my guardian just as usual, quite as frank, as open, and free.

On entering the breakfast-room next morning, I found my guardian just as usual, quite as frank, open and free.


There being not the least constraint in his manner, there was none (or I think there was none) in mine.

There being not the least constraint in his manner, there was none (I think) in mine.


I was with him several times in the course of the morning, in and out, when there was no one there, and I thought it not unlikely that he might speak to me about the letter, but he did not say a word.


So, on the next morning, and the next, and for at least a week, over which time Mr. Skimpole prolonged his stay.


I expected, every day, that my guardian might speak to me about the letter, but he never did.


I thought then, growing uneasy, that I ought to write an answer.


I tried over and over again in my own room at night, but I could not write an answer that at all began like a good answer, so I thought each night I would wait one more day.

I tried over and over again in my own room at night, but I could not write an answer that began like a good answer, so I thought each night I would wait one more day.


And I waited seven more days, and he never said a word.


At last, Mr. Skimpole having departed, we three were one afternoon going out for a ride; and I, being dressed before Ada and going down, came upon my guardian, with his back towards me, standing at the drawing-room window looking out.

At last, Mr. Skimpole having departed, we three were one afternoon going out for a ride; and I, being ready before Ada, came upon my guardian, standing at the drawing-room window looking out.


He turned on my coming in and said, smiling, "Aye, it's you, little woman, is it?"

He turned and said, smiling, "Aye, it's you, little woman, is it?"


I had made up my mind to speak to him now.


"Guardian," I said, rather hesitating and trembling, "when would you like to have the answer to the letter Charley came for?"


I have brought it myself, guardian," I returned.


I put my two arms round his neck and kissed him, and he said was this the mistress of Bleak House, and I said yes; and it made no difference presently, and we all went out together, and I said nothing to my precious pet about it.


It was not so easy as it had appeared at first to arrange for Richard's making a trial of Mr. Kenge's office.

It was not so easy as it had appeared to arrange for Richard's making a trial at Mr. Kenge's office.


Richard himself was the chief impediment.


As soon as he had it in his power to leave Mr. Badger at any moment, he began to doubt whether he wanted to leave him at all.

As soon as he had it in his power to leave Mr. Badger, he began to doubt whether he wanted to.


It wasn't a bad profession; he couldn't assert that he disliked it; perhaps he liked it as well as he liked any other--suppose he gave it one more chance!

It wasn't a bad profession; perhaps he liked it as well as any other - suppose he gave it one more chance!


Upon that, he shut himself up for a few weeks with some books and some bones and seemed to acquire a considerable fund of information with great rapidity.

Upon that, he shut himself up for a few weeks with some books and bones and seemed to acquire a great deal of information very quickly.


His fervour, after lasting about a month, began to cool, and when it was quite cooled, began to grow warm again.

After about a month his fervour began to cool, and when it was quite cooled, began to grow warm again.


His vacillations between law and medicine lasted so long that midsummer arrived before he finally separated from Mr. Badger and entered on an experimental course of Messrs. Kenge and Carboy.

His vacillations between law and medicine lasted so long that midsummer arrived before he finally left Mr. Badger for Messrs. Kenge and Carboy.


For all his waywardness, he took great credit to himself as being determined to be in earnest "this time."

He took great credit for being determined to be in earnest "this time."


And he was so good-natured throughout, and in such high spirits, and so fond of Ada, that it was very difficult indeed to be otherwise than pleased with him.

And he was so good-natured, and so fond of Ada, that it was very difficult to be displeased with him.


"As to Mr. Jarndyce," who, I may mention, found the wind much given, during this period, to stick in the east; "As to Mr. Jarndyce," Richard would say to me, "he is the finest fellow in the world, Esther!

"As to Mr. Jarndyce," (who found the wind sticking much in the east during this time,) "he is the finest fellow in the world," Richard would say to me.


I must be particularly careful, if it were only for his satisfaction, to take myself well to task and have a regular wind-up of this business now."

"I must be careful to take myself well to task."


The idea of his taking himself well to task, with that laughing face and heedless manner and with a fancy that everything could catch and nothing could hold, was ludicrously anomalous.

The idea of his taking himself well to task, with that laughing face and heedless manner and with a fancy that everything could catch and nothing could hold, was ludicrous.


However, he told us between-whiles that he was doing it to such an extent that he wondered his hair didn't turn grey.

However, he told us sometimes that he was taking himself to task so well that he wondered his hair didn't turn grey.


His regular wind-up of the business was (as I have said) that he went to Mr. Kenge's about midsummer to try how he liked it.


All this time he was, in money affairs, what I have described him in a former illustration--generous, profuse, wildly careless, but fully persuaded that he was rather calculating and prudent.


I happened to say to Ada, in his presence, half jestingly, half seriously, about the time of his going to Mr. Kenge's, that he needed to have Fortunatus' purse, he made so light of money, which he answered in this way, "My jewel of a dear cousin, you hear this old woman!


Because I gave eight pounds odd (or whatever it was) for a certain neat waistcoat and buttons a few days ago.


Now, if I had stayed at Badger's I should have been obliged to spend twelve pounds at a blow for some heart-breaking lecture-fees.


So I make four pounds--in a lump--by the transaction!"


It was a question much discussed between him and my guardian what arrangements should be made for his living in London while he experimented on the law, for we had long since gone back to Bleak House, and it was too far off to admit of his coming there oftener than once a week.

It was a question much discussed where he should live in London while he studied the law, for we had now gone back to Bleak House, which was too far off to allow his coming oftener than once a week.


My guardian told me that if Richard were to settle down at Mr. Kenge's he would take some apartments or chambers where we too could occasionally stay for a few days at a time; "but, little woman," he added, rubbing his head very significantly, "he hasn't settled down there yet!"

My guardian told me that if Richard were to settle down at Mr. Kenge's he would take some apartments where we too could occasionally stay for a few days at a time; "but, little woman," he added, "he hasn't settled down there yet!"


The discussions ended in our hiring for him, by the month, a neat little furnished lodging in a quiet old house near Queen Square.


He immediately began to spend all the money he had in buying the oddest little ornaments and luxuries for this lodging; and so often as Ada and I dissuaded him from making any purchase that he had in contemplation which was particularly unnecessary and expensive, he took credit for what it would have cost and made out that to spend anything less on something else was to save the difference.

He immediately began to spend all his money in buying little ornaments and luxuries for this lodging; and so often as Ada and I dissuaded him from making any unnecessary purchase, he took credit for what it would have cost and spent it on something else.


While these affairs were in abeyance, our visit to Mr. Boythorn's was postponed.

Meanwhile our visit to Mr. Boythorn's was postponed.


At length, Richard having taken possession of his lodging, there was nothing to prevent our departure.

At length Richard moved into his lodging,


He could have gone with us at that time of the year very well, but he was in the full novelty of his new position and was making most energetic attempts to unravel the mysteries of the fatal suit.

and was soon making energetic attempts to unravel the mysteries of the fatal lawsuit.


Consequently we went without him, and my darling was delighted to praise him for being so busy.

Consequently we went on our visit without him, and my darling was delighted to praise him for being so busy.


We made a pleasant journey down into Lincolnshire by the coach and had an entertaining companion in Mr. Skimpole.

We made a pleasant journey into Lincolnshire by the coach and had an entertaining companion in Mr. Skimpole.


His furniture had been all cleared off, it appeared, by the person who took possession of it on his blue-eyed daughter's birthday, but he seemed quite relieved to think that it was gone.

His furniture had been all removed, it appeared, by the person who took possession of it on his blue-eyed daughter's birthday, but he seemed quite relieved that it was gone.


Chairs and table, he said, were wearisome objects; they were monotonous ideas, they had no variety of expression, they looked you out of countenance, and you looked them out of countenance.

Chairs and tables, he said, were wearisome and monotonous objects.


How pleasant, then, to be bound to no particular chairs and tables, but to sport like a butterfly among all the furniture on hire, and to flit from rosewood to mahogany, and from mahogany to walnut, and from this shape to that, as the humour took one!

How pleasant, then, to be bound to no particular chairs and tables, but to sport like a butterfly among all the furniture on hire, and to flit from rosewood to mahogany, as the humour took one!


"The oddity of the thing is," said Mr. Skimpole with a quickened sense of the ludicrous, "that my chairs and tables were not paid for, and yet my landlord walks off with them as composedly as possible.

"The oddity of the thing is," said Mr. Skimpole, "that my chairs and tables were not paid for, and yet my landlord walks off with them as composedly as possible.


The chair and table merchant never engaged to pay my landlord my rent.

The chair merchant never engaged to pay my landlord my rent!"


Why should my landlord quarrel with HIM?


If I have a pimple on my nose which is disagreeable to my landlord's peculiar ideas of beauty, my landlord has no business to scratch my chair and table merchant's nose, which has no pimple on it.


"Well," said my guardian good-humouredly, "it's pretty clear that whoever became security for those chairs and tables will have to pay for them."


"That's the crowning point of unreason in the business!


I said to my landlord, 'My good man, you are not aware that my excellent friend Jarndyce will have to pay for those things that you are sweeping off in that indelicate manner.

what I said to my landlord. 'My good man, are you not aware that my excellent friend Jarndyce will have to pay for those things that you are sweeping off?


Have you no consideration for HIS property?'

Have you no consideration for his property?'


"And refused all proposals," said my guardian.


"Refused all proposals," returned Mr. Skimpole.


I said, 'You are a man of business, I believe?'


He replied, 'I am,' 'Very well,' said I, 'now let us be business-like.


Here is an inkstand, here are pens and paper, here are wafers.

Here is an inkstand, here are pens and paper.


I have occupied your house for a considerable period, I believe to our mutual satisfaction until this unpleasant misunderstanding arose; let us be at once friendly and business-like.

I have occupied your house to our mutual satisfaction until now; let us be friendly and business-like.'


In reply to this, he made use of the figurative expression--which has something Eastern about it--that he had never seen the colour of my money.

He replied that he had never seen the colour of my money.


'My amiable friend,' said I, 'I never have any money.


'Well, sir,' said he, 'what do you offer if I give you time?'


'My good fellow,' said I, 'I have no idea of time; but you say you are a man of business, and whatever you can suggest to be done in a business-like way with pen, and ink, and paper--and wafers--I am ready to do.

'My good fellow,' said I, 'I have no idea of time; but you say you are a man of business, and whatever you can suggest to be done in a business-like way, I am ready to do.


Don't pay yourself at another man's expense (which is foolish), but be business-like!'


However, he wouldn't be, and there was an end of it."


If these were some of the inconveniences of Mr. Skimpole's childhood, it assuredly possessed its advantages too.


On the journey he had a very good appetite for such refreshment as came in our way (including a basket of choice hothouse peaches), but never thought of paying for anything.

On the journey Mr. Skimpole had a very good, child-like appetite for such refreshment as came in our way (including some choice hothouse peaches), but never thought of paying for anything.


So when the coachman came round for his fee, he pleasantly asked him what he considered a very good fee indeed, now--a liberal one--and on his replying half a crown for a single passenger, said it was little enough too, all things considered, and left Mr. Jarndyce to give it him.

When the coachman came round for his fee, he pleasantly asked him what he considered a liberal one - and on his replying half a crown for a single passenger, said it was little enough too, and left Mr. Jarndyce to give it him.


The green corn waved so beautifully, the larks sang so joyfully, the hedges were so full of wild flowers, the trees were so thickly out in leaf, the bean-fields, with a light wind blowing over them, filled the air with such a delicious fragrance!

The green corn waved so beautifully, the larks sang so joyfully, the hedges were so full of wild flowers, the trees were so thickly out in leaf, the bean-fields filled the air with such a delicious fragrance!


Late in the afternoon we came to the market-town where we were to alight from the coach--a dull little town with a church-spire, and a marketplace, and a market-cross, and one intensely sunny street, and a pond with an old horse cooling his legs in it, and a very few men sleepily lying and standing about in narrow little bits of shade.

Late in the afternoon we came to the market-town where we alighted from the coach - a dull little town with a church-spire, a market-cross, one intensely sunny street, and a pond with an old horse cooling his legs in it.


After the rustling of the leaves and the waving of the corn all along the road, it looked as still, as hot, as motionless a little town as England could produce.


At the inn we found Mr. Boythorn on horseback, waiting with an open carriage to take us to his house, which was a few miles off.

At the inn we found Mr. Boythorn, on horseback, waiting with an open carriage to take us to his house a few miles off.


He was overjoyed to see us and dismounted with great alacrity.


said he after giving us a courteous greeting.


It is the most flagrant example of an abominable public vehicle that ever encumbered the face of the earth.

It is the most abominable public vehicle that ever encumbered the face of the earth.


It is twenty-five minutes after its time this afternoon.


said Mr. Skimpole, to whom he happened to address himself.


replied Mr. Boythorn, referring to his watch.


"With two ladies in the coach, this scoundrel has deliberately delayed his arrival six and twenty minutes.

With two ladies in the coach, this scoundrel of a coachman has deliberately delayed his arrival six and twenty minutes


It is impossible that it can be accidental!


But his father--and his uncle--were the most profligate coachmen that ever sat upon a box."


While he said this in tones of the greatest indignation, he handed us into the little phaeton with the utmost gentleness and was all smiles and pleasure.

He ought to be put to death!"
While he said this, he handed us into the little phaeton with the utmost gentleness.


"I am sorry, ladies," he said, standing bare-headed at the carriage-door when all was ready, "that I am obliged to conduct you nearly two miles out of the way.

"I am sorry, ladies," he said, "that I am obliged to conduct you nearly two miles out of the way.


But our direct road lies through Sir Leicester Dedlock's park, and in that fellow's property I have sworn never to set foot of mine, or horse's foot of mine, pending the present relations between us, while I breathe the breath of life!"

But our direct road lies through Sir Leicester Dedlock's park, and in that fellow's property I have sworn never to set foot, while I breathe!"


And here, catching my guardian's eye, he broke into one of his tremendous laughs, which seemed to shake even the motionless little market-town.

And he broke into one of his tremendous laughs, which seemed to shake even the motionless little market-town.


said my guardian as we drove along and Mr. Boythorn trotted on the green turf by the roadside.

said my guardian as we drove along and Mr. Boythorn trotted alongside.


"Sir Arrogant Numskull is here," replied Mr. Boythorn.


Sir Arrogant is here, and I am glad to say, has been laid by the heels here.

I am glad to say, he has been laid by the heels here.


My Lady," in naming whom he always made a courtly gesture as if particularly to exclude her from any part in the quarrel, "is expected, I believe, daily.

My Lady," - he made a courtly gesture as if to exclude her from any part in the quarrel - "is expected daily.


I am not in the least surprised that she postpones her appearance as long as possible.


Whatever can have induced that transcendent woman to marry that effigy and figure-head of a baronet is one of the most impenetrable mysteries that ever baffled human inquiry.

Whatever can have induced that transcendent woman to marry him is an impenetrable mystery.


"I suppose," said my guardian, laughing, "WE may set foot in the park while we are here?

"I suppose," said my guardian, laughing, "We may set foot in the park while we are here?


The prohibition does not extend to us, does it?"


"I can lay no prohibition on my guests," he said, bending his head to Ada and me with the smiling politeness which sat so gracefully upon him, "except in the matter of their departure.

"I can lay no prohibition on my guests," said Boythorn with smiling politeness.


I am only sorry that I cannot have the happiness of being their escort about Chesney Wold, which is a very fine place!

"I am only sorry that I cannot be their escort about Chesney Wold, which is a very fine place!


But by the light of this summer day, Jarndyce, if you call upon the owner while you stay with me, you are likely to have but a cool reception.

But, Jarndyce, if you call upon the owner while you stay with me, you are likely to have a cool reception.


He carries himself like an eight-day clock at all times, like one of a race of eight-day clocks in gorgeous cases that never go and never went--Ha ha ha!--but he will have some extra stiffness, I can promise you, for the friends of his friend and neighbour Boythorn!"

He carries himself as stiffly as a grandfather clock at all times - Ha ha ha! - but he will have some extra stiffness, I can promise you, for the friends of his neighbour Boythorn!"


"I shall not put him to the proof," said my guardian.

"I shall not test it by seeing him," said my guardian.


"He is as indifferent to the honour of knowing me, I dare say, as I am to the honour of knowing him.


The air of the grounds and perhaps such a view of the house as any other sightseer might get are quite enough for me."

"A sight of the grounds and perhaps a view of the house are quite enough for me."