Sir Leicester sits in my Lady's room--that room in which Mr. Tulkinghorn read the affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce--particularly complacent. My Lady, as on that day, sits before the fire with her screen in her hand. Sir Leicester is particularly complacent because he has found in his newspaper some congenial remarks bearing directly on the floodgates and the framework of society. They apply so happily to the late case that Sir Leicester has come from the library to my Lady's room expressly to read them aloud. "The man who wrote this article," he observes by way of preface, nodding at the fire as if he were nodding down at the man from a mount, "has a well-balanced mind."
The man's mind is not so well balanced but that he bores my Lady, who, after a languid effort to listen, or rather a languid resignation of herself to a show of listening, becomes distraught and falls into a contemplation of the fire as if it were her fire at Chesney Wold, and she had never left it. Sir Leicester, quite unconscious, reads on through his double eye-glass, occasionally stopping to remove his glass and express approval, as "Very true indeed," "Very properly put," "I have frequently made the same remark myself," invariably losing his place after each observation, and going up and down the column to find it again.
Sir Leicester is reading with infinite gravity and state when the door opens, and the Mercury in powder makes this strange announcement, "The young man, my Lady, of the name of Guppy."
Sir Leicester pauses, stares, repeats in a killing voice, "The young man of the name of Guppy?"
Looking round, he beholds the young man of the name of Guppy, much discomfited and not presenting a very impressive letter of introduction in his manner and appearance.

Sir Leicester sits in my Lady's room - that room in which Mr. Tulkinghorn read the affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce - particularly complacent. My Lady, as on that day, sits before the fire with her screen in her hand. Sir Leicester is particularly complacent because he has found in his newspaper some congenial remarks bearing directly on the floodgates and the framework of society. He has come from the library to my Lady's room expressly to read them aloud. "The man who wrote this article," he observes, "has a well-balanced mind."
My Lady, after a languid effort to listen, or rather pretend to listen, becomes distracted and falls into a contemplation of the fire. Sir Leicester, quite unconscious, reads on, occasionally stopping to remark "Very true indeed," or "Very properly put," invariably losing his place after each observation, and going up and down the column to find it again.
He is reading with infinite gravity when the door opens, and the footman makes this strange announcement, "The young man, my Lady, of the name of Guppy."
Sir Leicester pauses, and repeats, "The young man of the name of Guppy?"
