This made me, I dare say, more timid and retiring than I naturally was and cast me upon Dolly as the only friend with whom I felt at ease. But something happened when I was still quite a little thing that helped it very much.
I had never heard my mama spoken of. I had never heard of my papa either, but I felt more interested about my mama. I had never worn a black frock, that I could recollect. I had never been shown my mama's grave. I had never been told where it was. Yet I had never been taught to pray for any relation but my godmother. I had more than once approached this subject of my thoughts with Mrs. Rachael, our only servant, who took my light away when I was in bed (another very good woman, but austere to me), and she had only said, "Esther, good night!" and gone away and left me.

This made me, I dare say, more timid and retiring than I naturally was. But something happened when I was still quite small that helped it very much.
I had never heard my mama spoken of. I had never been shown my mama's grave, nor told where it was. Yet I had never been taught to pray for any relation but my godmother. I had more than once approached this subject of my thoughts with Mrs. Rachael, our only servant, who took my light away when I was in bed (another very good woman), and she had only said, "Esther, good night!" and gone away.


Although there were seven girls at the neighbouring school where I was a day boarder, and although they called me little Esther Summerson, I knew none of them at home. All of them were older than I, to be sure (I was the youngest there by a good deal), but there seemed to be some other separation between us besides that, and besides their being far more clever than I was and knowing much more than I did. One of them in the first week of my going to the school (I remember it very well) invited me home to a little party, to my great joy. But my godmother wrote a stiff letter declining for me, and I never went. I never went out at all.
It was my birthday. There were holidays at school on other birthdays--none on mine. There were rejoicings at home on other birthdays, as I knew from what I heard the girls relate to one another--there were none on mine. My birthday was the most melancholy day at home in the whole year.

Although there were seven girls at the neighbouring school where I was a pupil, and although they called me little Esther Summerson, there seemed to be some other separation between us besides their being older and far more clever than I was. One of them did invite me home to a little party, to my great joy. But my godmother wrote a stiff letter declining, and I never went. I never went out at all.
It was my birthday. There were rejoicings at home on other birthdays, I knew - there were none on mine. My birthday was the most melancholy day at home in the whole year.


I have mentioned that unless my vanity should deceive me (as I know it may, for I may be very vain without suspecting it, though indeed I don't), my comprehension is quickened when my affection is. My disposition is very affectionate, and perhaps I might still feel such a wound if such a wound could be received more than once with the quickness of that birthday.
Dinner was over, and my godmother and I were sitting at the table before the fire. The clock ticked, the fire clicked; not another sound had been heard in the room or in the house for I don't know how long. I happened to look timidly up from my stitching, across the table at my godmother, and I saw in her face, looking gloomily at me, "It would have been far better, little Esther, that you had had no birthday, that you had never been born!"
I broke out crying and sobbing, and I said, "Oh, dear godmother, tell me, pray do tell me, did Mama die on my birthday?"
"No," she returned. "Ask me no more, child!"

Dinner was over, and my godmother and I were sitting at the table before the fire. The clock ticked; not another sound was heard in the house. I happened to look timidly up from my stitching, across the table at my godmother, and I saw her looking gloomily at me as if to say, "It would have been far better that you had no birthday, that you had never been born!"
I broke out crying and said, "Oh, dear godmother, pray do tell me, did Mama die on my birthday?"
"No," she returned. "Ask me no more, child!"


"Oh, do pray tell me something of her. Do now, at last, dear godmother, if you please! What did I do to her? How did I lose her? Why am I so different from other children, and why is it my fault, dear godmother? No, no, no, don't go away. Oh, speak to me!"
I was in a kind of fright beyond my grief, and I caught hold of her dress and was kneeling to her. She had been saying all the while, "Let me go!" But now she stood still.

"Oh, do pray tell me something of her, dear godmother, please! What did I do to her? How did I lose her? Why am I so different from other children, and why is it my fault, dear godmother? No, no, don't go away. Oh, speak to me!"
I caught hold of her dress and was kneeling, while she said, "Let me go!" But now she stood still.


Her darkened face had such power over me that it stopped me in the midst of my vehemence. I put up my trembling little hand to clasp hers or to beg her pardon with what earnestness I might, but withdrew it as she looked at me, and laid it on my fluttering heart. She raised me, sat in her chair, and standing me before her, said slowly in a cold, low voice--I see her knitted brow and pointed finger--"Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come--and soon enough--when you will understand this better and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can. I have forgiven her"--but her face did not relent--"the wrong she did to me, and I say no more of it, though it was greater than you will ever know--than any one will ever know but I, the sufferer. For yourself, unfortunate girl, orphaned and degraded from the first of these evil anniversaries, pray daily that the sins of others be not visited upon your head, according to what is written. Forget your mother and leave all other people to forget her who will do her unhappy child that greatest kindness. Now, go!"

Her darkened face stopped me. I put up my trembling hand to clasp hers, but withdrew it as she looked at me, and laid it on my fluttering heart.
She said slowly in a cold, low voice, "Your mother is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come when you will understand this better and will feel it too. I have forgiven her" - but her face did not relent - "the wrong she did to me, and I say no more of it, though it was greater than anyone will ever know but I. For yourself, unfortunate girl, orphaned and degraded, pray that the sins of others be not visited upon your head. Forget your mother. Now, go!"


She checked me, however, as I was about to depart from her--so frozen as I was!--and added this, "Submission, self-denial, diligent work, are the preparations for a life begun with such a shadow on it. You are different from other children, Esther, because you were not born, like them, in common sinfulness and wrath. You are set apart."
I went up to my room, and crept to bed, and laid my doll's cheek against mine wet with tears, and holding that solitary friend upon my bosom, cried myself to sleep. Imperfect as my understanding of my sorrow was, I knew that I had brought no joy at any time to anybody's heart and that I was to no one upon earth what Dolly was to me.
Dear, dear, to think how much time we passed alone together afterwards, and how often I repeated to the doll the story of my birthday and confided to her that I would try as hard as ever I could to repair the fault I had been born with (of which I confessedly felt guilty and yet innocent) and would strive as I grew up to be industrious, contented, and kind-hearted and to do some good to some one, and win some love to myself if I could. I hope it is not self-indulgent to shed these tears as I think of it. I am very thankful, I am very cheerful, but I cannot quite help their coming to my eyes.
There! I have wiped them away now and can go on again properly.

As I was about to depart, she added this: "Submission, self-denial, diligent work, are the preparations for a life begun with such a shadow on it. You are different from other children, Esther. You are set apart."
I went up to my room, and crept to bed, laid my doll's cheek against mine, and cried myself to sleep. Imperfect as my understanding was, I knew that I had brought no joy at any time to anybody's heart and that I was to no one upon earth what Dolly was to me.
Dear, dear, to think how often I repeated to the doll the story of my birthday and confided to her that I would try to repair the fault I had been born with (of which I felt guilty and yet innocent) and would strive to be industrious, contented, and kind-hearted and to do some good to some one, and win some love to myself if I could. I hope it is not self-indulgent to shed these tears as I think of it. I am very thankful, I am very cheerful, but I cannot quite help their coming to my eyes.
There! I have wiped them away and can go on again properly.


I felt the distance between my godmother and myself so much more after the birthday, and felt so sensible of filling a place in her house which ought to have been empty, that I found her more difficult of approach, though I was fervently grateful to her in my heart, than ever. I felt in the same way towards my school companions; I felt in the same way towards Mrs. Rachael, who was a widow; and oh, towards her daughter, of whom she was proud, who came to see her once a fortnight! I was very retired and quiet, and tried to be very diligent.
One sunny afternoon when I had come home from school with my books and portfolio, watching my long shadow at my side, and as I was gliding upstairs to my room as usual, my godmother looked out of the parlour-door and called me back. Sitting with her, I found--which was very unusual indeed--a stranger. A portly, important-looking gentleman, dressed all in black, with a white cravat, large gold watch seals, a pair of gold eye-glasses, and a large seal-ring upon his little finger.
"This," said my godmother in an undertone, "is the child." Then she said in her naturally stern way of speaking, "This is Esther, sir."

I felt the distance between my godmother and myself so much more after the birthday that I found her even more difficult to approach; and I felt the same way towards my school companions, and towards Mrs. Rachael, who was a widow. I was very quiet, and tried to be very diligent.
One sunny afternoon when I had come home from school and was gliding upstairs to my room as usual, my godmother looked out of the parlour-door and called me back. I found a stranger sitting with her: a portly, important-looking gentleman, dressed all in black.
My godmother said in her stern way, "This is Esther, sir."


The gentleman put up his eye-glasses to look at me and said, "Come here, my dear!" He shook hands with me and asked me to take off my bonnet, looking at me all the while. When I had complied, he said, "Ah!" and afterwards "Yes!" And then, taking off his eye-glasses and folding them in a red case, and leaning back in his arm-chair, turning the case about in his two hands, he gave my godmother a nod. Upon that, my godmother said, "You may go upstairs, Esther!" And I made him my curtsy and left him.
It must have been two years afterwards, and I was almost fourteen, when one dreadful night my godmother and I sat at the fireside. I was reading aloud, and she was listening. I had come down at nine o'clock as I always did to read the Bible to her, and was reading from St. John how our Saviour stooped down, writing with his finger in the dust, when they brought the sinful woman to him.

The gentleman put on his glasses to look at me and said, "Come here, my dear!" He shook hands and asked me to take off my bonnet. "Ah!" he said; "Yes!" And he gave my godmother a nod.
My godmother said, "You may go upstairs, Esther!" And I curtsied and left him.
It must have been two years afterwards, and I was almost fourteen, when one dreadful night my godmother and I sat at the fireside. I had come down at nine o'clock as I always did to read the Bible to her, and was reading aloud from St. John how our Saviour stooped down, writing with his finger in the dust, when they brought the sinful woman to him.


"So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself and said unto them, 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her!'"
I was stopped by my godmother's rising, putting her hand to her head, and crying out in an awful voice from quite another part of the book, "'Watch ye, therefore, lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch!'"
In an instant, while she stood before me repeating these words, she fell down on the floor. I had no need to cry out; her voice had sounded through the house and been heard in the street.

"'So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her!'"
I was stopped by my godmother's rising, putting her hand to her head, and crying out in an awful voice from quite another part of the book,
"'Watch ye, therefore, lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch!'"
Then she fell down on the floor. I had no need to cry out; her voice had sounded through the house.


She was laid upon her bed. For more than a week she lay there, little altered outwardly, with her old handsome resolute frown that I so well knew carved upon her face. Many and many a time, in the day and in the night, with my head upon the pillow by her that my whispers might be plainer to her, I kissed her, thanked her, prayed for her, asked her for her blessing and forgiveness, entreated her to give me the least sign that she knew or heard me. No, no, no. Her face was immovable. To the very last, and even afterwards, her frown remained unsoftened.
On the day after my poor good godmother was buried, the gentleman in black with the white neckcloth reappeared. I was sent for by Mrs. Rachael, and found him in the same place, as if he had never gone away.
"My name is Kenge," he said; "you may remember it, my child; Kenge and Carboy, Lincoln's Inn."
I replied that I remembered to have seen him once before.

She was laid upon her bed. For more than a week she lay there, with her handsome resolute frown carved upon her face. Many and many a time, with my head upon the pillow next to her, I kissed her, thanked her, prayed for her, asked her for her blessing and forgiveness, entreated her to give me the least sign that she knew or heard me. No, no, no. Her face was immovable. To the very last her frown remained unsoftened.
On the day after my poor good godmother was buried, the gentleman in black reappeared. I was sent for by Mrs. Rachael, and found him in the same place, as if he had never gone away.
"My name is Kenge," he said; "you may remember it, my child; Kenge and Carboy, Lincoln's Inn."
I replied that I remembered to have seen him once before.


"Pray be seated--here near me. Don't distress yourself; it's of no use. Mrs. Rachael, I needn't inform you who were acquainted with the late Miss Barbary's affairs, that her means die with her and that this young lady, now her aunt is dead--"
"My aunt, sir!"
"It is really of no use carrying on a deception when no object is to be gained by it," said Mr. Kenge smoothly, "Aunt in fact, though not in law. Don't distress yourself! Don't weep! Don't tremble! Mrs. Rachael, our young friend has no doubt heard of--the--a--Jarndyce and Jarndyce."
"Never," said Mrs. Rachael.

"Pray be seated. Don't distress yourself. Mrs. Rachael, I needn't inform you that the late Miss Barbary's means die with her and that this young lady, now her aunt is dead-"
"My aunt, sir!"
"It is really of no use carrying on a deception when no object is to be gained by it," said Mr. Kenge smoothly, "Aunt in fact, though not in law. Don't distress yourself! Don't tremble! Mrs. Rachael, our young friend has no doubt heard of - the - Jarndyce and Jarndyce."
"Never," said Mrs. Rachael.


"Is it possible," pursued Mr. Kenge, putting up his eye-glasses, "that our young friend--I BEG you won't distress yourself!--never heard of Jarndyce and Jarndyce!"
I shook my head, wondering even what it was.
"Not of Jarndyce and Jarndyce?" said Mr. Kenge, looking over his glasses at me and softly turning the case about and about as if he were petting something. "Not of one of the greatest Chancery suits known? Not of Jarndyce and Jarndyce--the--a--in itself a monument of Chancery practice. In which (I would say) every difficulty, every contingency, every masterly fiction, every form of procedure known in that court, is represented over and over again? It is a cause that could not exist out of this free and great country. I should say that the aggregate of costs in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Mrs. Rachael"--I was afraid he addressed himself to her because I appeared inattentive"--amounts at the present hour to from SIX-ty to SEVEN-ty THOUSAND POUNDS!" said Mr. Kenge, leaning back in his chair.

"Not of Jarndyce and Jarndyce?" said Mr. Kenge, looking over his glasses at me. "Not of one of the greatest Chancery suits, in which every form of procedure is represented over and over again? It is a cause that could not exist outside of this free and great country. I should say that the total costs in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Mrs. Rachael, amount at present to sixty or seventy thousand pounds!


I felt very ignorant, but what could I do? I was so entirely unacquainted with the subject that I understood nothing about it even then.
"And she really never heard of the cause!" said Mr. Kenge. "Surprising!"
"Miss Barbary, sir," returned Mrs. Rachael, "who is now among the Seraphim--"
"I hope so, I am sure," said Mr. Kenge politely.
"--Wished Esther only to know what would be serviceable to her. And she knows, from any teaching she has had here, nothing more."

And she really never heard of the cause!" said Mr. Kenge. "Surprising!"
"Miss Barbary, sir," returned Mrs. Rachael, "wished Esther only to know what would be useful to her."


"Well!" said Mr. Kenge. "Upon the whole, very proper. Now to the point," addressing me. "Miss Barbary, your sole relation (in fact that is, for I am bound to observe that in law you had none) being deceased and it naturally not being to be expected that Mrs. Rachael--"
"Oh, dear no!" said Mrs. Rachael quickly.
"Quite so," assented Mr. Kenge; "--that Mrs. Rachael should charge herself with your maintenance and support (I beg you won't distress yourself), you are in a position to receive the renewal of an offer which I was instructed to make to Miss Barbary some two years ago and which, though rejected then, was understood to be renewable under the lamentable circumstances that have since occurred. Now, if I avow that I represent, in Jarndyce and Jarndyce and otherwise, a highly humane, but at the same time singular, man, shall I compromise myself by any stretch of my professional caution?" said Mr. Kenge, leaning back in his chair again and looking calmly at us both.

"Well!" said Mr. Kenge. "Very proper. Now to the point," addressing me. "Miss Barbary being deceased and it naturally not being to be expected that Mrs. Rachael-"
"Oh, dear no!" said Mrs. Rachael quickly.
"-that Mrs. Rachael should charge herself with your maintenance (I beg you won't distress yourself), you are in a position to receive the renewal of an offer which I was instructed to make to Miss Barbary two years ago and which, though rejected then, is now renewed. Now, I represent a highly humane, but at the same time singular man."
Mr. Kenge, leaning back in his chair


He appeared to enjoy beyond everything the sound of his own voice. I couldn't wonder at that, for it was mellow and full and gave great importance to every word he uttered. He listened to himself with obvious satisfaction and sometimes gently beat time to his own music with his head or rounded a sentence with his hand. I was very much impressed by him--even then, before I knew that he formed himself on the model of a great lord who was his client and that he was generally called Conversation Kenge.
"Mr. Jarndyce," he pursued, "being aware of the--I would say, desolate--position of our young friend, offers to place her at a first-rate establishment where her education shall be completed, where her comfort shall be secured, where her reasonable wants shall be anticipated, where she shall be eminently qualified to discharge her duty in that station of life unto which it has pleased--shall I say Providence?--to call her."
My heart was filled so full, both by what he said and by his affecting manner of saying it, that I was not able to speak, though I tried.
"Mr. Jarndyce," he went on, "makes no condition beyond expressing his expectation that our young friend will not at any time remove herself from the establishment in question without his knowledge and concurrence. That she will faithfully apply herself to the acquisition of those accomplishments, upon the exercise of which she will be ultimately dependent. That she will tread in the paths of virtue and honour, and--the--a--so forth."
I was still less able to speak than before.

, appeared to enjoy the sound of his own voice. I couldn't wonder at that, for it was mellow and full, and he listened to himself with obvious satisfaction. I was very much impressed by him.
"Mr. Jarndyce," he pursued, "being aware of the desolate position of our young friend, offers to place her at a first-rate establishment where her education shall be completed, where her comfort shall be secured, and where she shall be qualified to do her duty in that station of life unto which Providence has called her."
My heart was filled so full that I was not able to speak.
"Mr. Jarndyce," he went on, "makes no condition beyond asking that our young friend will not remove herself from the establishment in question without his knowledge and agreement. That she will faithfully apply herself to acquiring those accomplishments upon which she will be ultimately dependent. That she will tread in the paths of virtue and honour, and so forth.


"Now, what does our young friend say?" proceeded Mr. Kenge. "Take time, take time! I pause for her reply. But take time!"
What the destitute subject of such an offer tried to say, I need not repeat. What she did say, I could more easily tell, if it were worth the telling. What she felt, and will feel to her dying hour, I could never relate.
This interview took place at Windsor, where I had passed (as far as I knew) my whole life. On that day week, amply provided with all necessaries, I left it, inside the stagecoach, for Reading.

Now, what does our young friend say?"
What I said, I need not repeat. What I felt, I could never relate.
This interview took place at Windsor, where I had passed my whole life. A week later I left it, inside the stagecoach, for Reading.


Mrs. Rachael was too good to feel any emotion at parting, but I was not so good, and wept bitterly. I thought that I ought to have known her better after so many years and ought to have made myself enough of a favourite with her to make her sorry then. When she gave me one cold parting kiss upon my forehead, like a thaw-drop from the stone porch--it was a very frosty day--I felt so miserable and self-reproachful that I clung to her and told her it was my fault, I knew, that she could say good-bye so easily!
"No, Esther!" she returned. "It is your misfortune!"

Mrs. Rachael was too good to feel any emotion at parting, but I was not so good, and wept bitterly. I thought that I ought to have made myself enough of a favourite with her to make her sorry. When she gave me one cold parting kiss upon my forehead, I felt so miserable and self-reproachful that I clung to her and told her it was my fault, I knew, that she could say good-bye so easily.
"No, Esther!" she returned. "It is your misfortune!"


The coach was at the little lawn-gate--we had not come out until we heard the wheels--and thus I left her, with a sorrowful heart. She went in before my boxes were lifted to the coach-roof and shut the door. As long as I could see the house, I looked back at it from the window through my tears. My godmother had left Mrs. Rachael all the little property she possessed; and there was to be a sale; and an old hearth-rug with roses on it, which always seemed to me the first thing in the world I had ever seen, was hanging outside in the frost and snow. A day or two before, I had wrapped the dear old doll in her own shawl and quietly laid her--I am half ashamed to tell it--in the garden-earth under the tree that shaded my old window. I had no companion left but my bird, and him I carried with me in his cage.
When the house was out of sight, I sat, with my bird-cage in the straw at my feet, forward on the low seat to look out of the high window, watching the frosty trees, that were like beautiful pieces of spar, and the fields all smooth and white with last night's snow, and the sun, so red but yielding so little heat, and the ice, dark like metal where the skaters and sliders had brushed the snow away. There was a gentleman in the coach who sat on the opposite seat and looked very large in a quantity of wrappings, but he sat gazing out of the other window and took no notice of me.
I thought of my dead godmother, of the night when I read to her, of her frowning so fixedly and sternly in her bed, of the strange place I was going to, of the people I should find there, and what they would be like, and what they would say to me, when a voice in the coach gave me a terrible start.
It said, "What the de-vil are you crying for?"

The coach was at the gate; and thus I left her, with a sorrowful heart. She went in before my boxes were lifted to the coach-roof. As long as I could see the house, I looked back at it from the window through my tears. My godmother had left Mrs. Rachael all the little property she possessed; and there was to be a sale. A day or two before, I had wrapped the dear old doll in her own shawl and quietly laid her - I am half ashamed to tell it - in the garden-earth under the tree outside my old window. I had no companion left but my bird, and him I carried with me in his cage.
When the house was out of sight, I sat, with my bird-cage at my feet, looking out of the window, watching the frosty trees, and the fields all smooth and white with last night's snow, and the sun, so red but yielding so little heat. There was a gentleman in the coach who sat on the opposite seat and looked very large in a quantity of wrappings, but he gazed out of the other window and took no notice of me.
I thought of my dead godmother, of the night when I read to her, of her frowning so sternly in her bed, of the strange place I was going to, of the people I should find there, and what they would be like, when a voice gave me a terrible start.
It said, "What the de-vil are you crying for?"


I was so frightened that I lost my voice and could only answer in a whisper, "Me, sir?" For of course I knew it must have been the gentleman in the quantity of wrappings, though he was still looking out of his window.
"Yes, you," he said, turning round.
"I didn't know I was crying, sir," I faltered.
"But you are!" said the gentleman. "Look here!" He came quite opposite to me from the other corner of the coach, brushed one of his large furry cuffs across my eyes (but without hurting me), and showed me that it was wet.

I was so frightened that I could only answer in a whisper, "Me, sir?" For of course it was the gentleman in the quantity of wrappings.
"Yes, you," he said, turning round.
"I didn't know I was crying, sir," I faltered.
"But you are!" said the gentleman. "Look here!" He came across to me, brushed one of his large furry cuffs across my eyes (but without hurting me), and showed me that it was wet.


"There! Now you know you are," he said. "Don't you?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
"And what are you crying for?" said the gentleman, "Don't you want to go there?"
"Where, sir?"
"Where? Why, wherever you are going," said the gentleman.
"I am very glad to go there, sir," I answered.

"There!" he said. "what are you crying for? Don't you want to go there?"
"Where, sir?"
"Why, wherever you are going," said the gentleman.
"I am very glad to go there, sir," I answered.


"Well, then! Look glad!" said the gentleman.
I thought he was very strange, or at least that what I could see of him was very strange, for he was wrapped up to the chin, and his face was almost hidden in a fur cap with broad fur straps at the side of his head fastened under his chin; but I was composed again, and not afraid of him. So I told him that I thought I must have been crying because of my godmother's death and because of Mrs. Rachael's not being sorry to part with me.
"Confound Mrs. Rachael!" said the gentleman. "Let her fly away in a high wind on a broomstick!"
I began to be really afraid of him now and looked at him with the greatest astonishment. But I thought that he had pleasant eyes, although he kept on muttering to himself in an angry manner and calling Mrs. Rachael names.

"Well, then! Look glad!" said the gentleman.
I thought he was very strange. He was wrapped up to the chin, and his face was almost hidden in a fur cap; but I was not afraid of him. So I told him that I thought I must have been crying because of my godmother's death and because of Mrs. Rachael's not being sorry to part with me.
"Confound Mrs. Rachael!" said the gentleman. "Let her fly away in a high wind on a broomstick!"
I began to be really afraid of him now and looked at him with the greatest astonishment. But I thought that he had pleasant eyes, although he kept on muttering to himself in an angry manner.


After a little while he opened his outer wrapper, which appeared to me large enough to wrap up the whole coach, and put his arm down into a deep pocket in the side.
"Now, look here!" he said. "In this paper," which was nicely folded, "is a piece of the best plum-cake that can be got for money--sugar on the outside an inch thick, like fat on mutton chops. Here's a little pie (a gem this is, both for size and quality), made in France. And what do you suppose it's made of? Livers of fat geese. There's a pie! Now let's see you eat 'em."
"Thank you, sir," I replied; "thank you very much indeed, but I hope you won't be offended--they are too rich for me."

After a little while he opened his outer wrapper, and put his arm down into a deep pocket in the side.
"Now, look here!" he said. "In this paper is a piece of the best plum-cake with sugar an inch thick. And here's a little pie made in France from the livers of fat geese. Now let's see you eat 'em."
"Thank you, sir," I replied; "but I hope you won't be offended - they are too rich for me."


"Floored again!" said the gentleman, which I didn't at all understand, and threw them both out of window.
He did not speak to me any more until he got out of the coach a little way short of Reading, when he advised me to be a good girl and to be studious, and shook hands with me. I must say I was relieved by his departure. We left him at a milestone. I often walked past it afterwards, and never for a long time without thinking of him and half expecting to meet him. But I never did; and so, as time went on, he passed out of my mind.
When the coach stopped, a very neat lady looked up at the window and said, "Miss Donny."
"No, ma'am, Esther Summerson."
"That is quite right," said the lady, "Miss Donny."

"Floored again!" said the gentleman, which I didn't at all understand, and threw them both out of the window.
He did not speak to me any more until he got out of the coach near Reading, when he advised me to be a good girl and to be studious, and shook hands with me. I must say I was relieved. We left him at a milestone. I often walked past it afterwards, and thought of him, half expecting to meet him. But I never did; and as time went on, he passed out of my mind.
When the coach stopped, a very neat lady looked up at the window and said, "Miss Donny."
"No, ma'am, Esther Summerson."
"That is quite right," said the lady. "Miss Donny."


I now understood that she introduced herself by that name, and begged Miss Donny's pardon for my mistake, and pointed out my boxes at her request. Under the direction of a very neat maid, they were put outside a very small green carriage; and then Miss Donny, the maid, and I got inside and were driven away.
"Everything is ready for you, Esther," said Miss Donny, "and the scheme of your pursuits has been arranged in exact accordance with the wishes of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce."
"Of--did you say, ma'am?"
"Of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce," said Miss Donny.
I was so bewildered that Miss Donny thought the cold had been too severe for me and lent me her smelling-bottle.
"Do you know my--guardian, Mr. Jarndyce, ma'am?" I asked after a good deal of hesitation.

I now understood that she was Miss Donny, and apologised, and at her request pointed out my boxes. They were put on a very small green carriage; and then Miss Donny, her maid, and I got inside and were driven away.
"Everything is ready for you, Esther," said Miss Donny, "in exact accordance with the wishes of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce."
"Of - who did you say, ma'am?"
"Of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce."
I was bewildered. "Do you know my - guardian, Mr. Jarndyce, ma'am?" I asked after a good deal of hesitation.


"Not personally, Esther," said Miss Donny; "merely through his solicitors, Messrs. Kenge and Carboy, of London. A very superior gentleman, Mr. Kenge. Truly eloquent indeed. Some of his periods quite majestic!"
I felt this to be very true but was too confused to attend to it. Our speedy arrival at our destination, before I had time to recover myself, increased my confusion, and I never shall forget the uncertain and the unreal air of everything at Greenleaf (Miss Donny's house) that afternoon!
But I soon became used to it. I was so adapted to the routine of Greenleaf before long that I seemed to have been there a great while and almost to have dreamed rather than really lived my old life at my godmother's. Nothing could be more precise, exact, and orderly than Greenleaf. There was a time for everything all round the dial of the clock, and everything was done at its appointed moment.

"Not personally, Esther," said Miss Donny; "merely through his solicitors, Kenge and Carboy of London. A very superior gentleman, Mr. Kenge!"
I felt this to be true, but was confused. Our speedy arrival at our destination increased my confusion, and I never shall forget the unreal air of everything at Greenleaf (Miss Donny's house) that afternoon.
But I soon became used to it. Before long, I seemed to have been there a great while and almost to have dreamed my old life at my godmother's. Nothing could be more precise, exact, and orderly than Greenleaf.


We were twelve boarders, and there were two Miss Donnys, twins. It was understood that I would have to depend, by and by, on my qualifications as a governess, and I was not only instructed in everything that was taught at Greenleaf, but was very soon engaged in helping to instruct others. Although I was treated in every other respect like the rest of the school, this single difference was made in my case from the first. As I began to know more, I taught more, and so in course of time I had plenty to do, which I was very fond of doing because it made the dear girls fond of me. At last, whenever a new pupil came who was a little downcast and unhappy, she was so sure--indeed I don't know why--to make a friend of me that all new-comers were confided to my care. They said I was so gentle, but I am sure THEY were! I often thought of the resolution I had made on my birthday to try to be industrious, contented, and true-hearted and to do some good to some one and win some love if I could; and indeed, indeed, I felt almost ashamed to have done so little and have won so much.
I passed at Greenleaf six happy, quiet years. I never saw in any face there, thank heaven, on my birthday, that it would have been better if I had never been born. When the day came round, it brought me so many tokens of affectionate remembrance that my room was beautiful with them from New Year's Day to Christmas.

We were twelve boarders, and there were two Miss Donnys, twins. It was understood that I would have to become a governess by and by, and I was not only instructed in everything that was taught, but was very soon helping to instruct others. Although I was treated in every other respect like the rest of the school, this single difference was made in my case. As I began to know more, I taught more, and had plenty to do, which I was very fond of doing because it made the dear girls fond of me.
At last, whenever a new pupil came who was a little downcast and unhappy, she was so sure - indeed I don't know why - to make a friend of me that all new-comers were confided to my care. They said I was so gentle, but I am sure they were! I often thought of the resolution I had made on my birthday to try to be industrious, contented, and to do some good and win some love if I could; and indeed, I felt almost ashamed to have done so little and to have won so much.
I passed at Greenleaf six happy, quiet years. I never saw in any face there, thank heaven, on my birthday, that it would have been better if I had never been born. Instead I was given so many affectionate tokens that my room was beautiful with them.


In those six years I had never been away except on visits at holiday time in the neighbourhood. After the first six months or so I had taken Miss Donny's advice in reference to the propriety of writing to Mr. Kenge to say that I was happy and grateful, and with her approval I had written such a letter. I had received a formal answer acknowledging its receipt and saying, "We note the contents thereof, which shall be duly communicated to our client." After that I sometimes heard Miss Donny and her sister mention how regular my accounts were paid, and about twice a year I ventured to write a similar letter. I always received by return of post exactly the same answer in the same round hand, with the signature of Kenge and Carboy in another writing, which I supposed to be Mr. Kenge's.
It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this about myself! As if this narrative were the narrative of MY life! But my little body will soon fall into the background now.
Six quiet years (I find I am saying it for the second time) I had passed at Greenleaf, seeing in those around me, as it might be in a looking-glass, every stage of my own growth and change there, when, one November morning, I received this letter. I omit the date.

In those six years I had never been away except on visits at holiday time in the neighbourhood. After the first six months or so I had asked Miss Donny's advice about writing to Mr. Kenge, and with her approval I had written saying that I was happy and grateful. I had received a formal answer: "We note the contents thereof, which shall be duly communicated to our client."
After that I sometimes heard Miss Donny and her sister mention how regularly my accounts were paid, and about twice a year I wrote a similar letter, and received exactly the same answer in the same round handwriting.
It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this about myself! As if this narrative were the story of my life! But I will soon fall into the background now.
Six quiet years I had passed at Greenleaf, when, one November morning, I received this letter.


Old Square, Lincoln's Inn
Madam,
Jarndyce and Jarndyce
Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house, under an Order of the Ct of Chy, a Ward of the Ct in this cause, for whom he wishes to secure an elgble compn, directs us to inform you that he will be glad of your serces in the afsd capacity.
We have arrngd for your being forded, carriage free, pr eight o'clock coach from Reading, on Monday morning next, to White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, London, where one of our clks will be in waiting to convey you to our offe as above.
We are, Madam, Your obedt Servts,
Kenge and Carboy
Miss Esther Summerson

Old Square, Lincoln's Inn
Madam,
Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house, under an Order of the Ct of Chy, a Ward of the Ct for whom he wishes to secure an elgble compn, directs us to inform you that he will be glad of your serces in the afsd capacity.
We have arrngd for your being forded, carriage free, pr eight o'clock coach from Reading, on Monday morning next, to White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, London, where one of our clks will be in waiting to convey you to our offe as above.
We are, Madam, Your obedt Servts,
Kenge and Carboy


Oh, never, never, never shall I forget the emotion this letter caused in the house! It was so tender in them to care so much for me, it was so gracious in that father who had not forgotten me to have made my orphan way so smooth and easy and to have inclined so many youthful natures towards me, that I could hardly bear it. Not that I would have had them less sorry--I am afraid not; but the pleasure of it, and the pain of it, and the pride and joy of it, and the humble regret of it were so blended that my heart seemed almost breaking while it was full of rapture.
The letter gave me only five days' notice of my removal. When every minute added to the proofs of love and kindness that were given me in those five days, and when at last the morning came and when they took me through all the rooms that I might see them for the last time, and when some cried, "Esther, dear, say good-bye to me here at my bedside, where you first spoke so kindly to me!" and when others asked me only to write their names, "With Esther's love," and when they all surrounded me with their parting presents and clung to me weeping and cried, "What shall we do when dear, dear Esther's gone!" and when I tried to tell them how forbearing and how good they had all been to me and how I blessed and thanked them every one, what a heart I had!
And when the two Miss Donnys grieved as much to part with me as the least among them, and when the maids said, "Bless you, miss, wherever you go!" and when the ugly lame old gardener, who I thought had hardly noticed me in all those years, came panting after the coach to give me a little nosegay of geraniums and told me I had been the light of his eyes--indeed the old man said so!--what a heart I had then!

Oh, never shall I forget the emotion this letter caused in the house! It was so tender in them to care so much for me, it was so gracious in God to have made my orphan way so smooth and easy, that I could hardly bear it. The pleasure and the pain of it, and pride and joy and humble regret were so blended that my heart seemed almost breaking while it was full of rapture.
The letter gave me only five days' notice of my removal. When at last the morning came and they took me through all the rooms to see them for the last time, and when some cried, "Esther, dear, say good-bye to me here, where you first spoke so kindly to me!" and when they all surrounded me and clung to me weeping, and when I tried to tell them how good they had all been to me, and how I blessed and thanked them every one - what a heart I had!
And when the two Miss Donnys grieved as much as any, and when the maids said, "Bless you, miss, wherever you go!" and when the ugly lame old gardener, who I thought had hardly noticed me in all those years, came panting after the coach to give me a little nosegay of geraniums and told me I had been the light of his eyes - what a heart I had then!


And could I help it if with all this, and the coming to the little school, and the unexpected sight of the poor children outside waving their hats and bonnets to me, and of a grey-haired gentleman and lady whose daughter I had helped to teach and at whose house I had visited (who were said to be the proudest people in all that country), caring for nothing but calling out, "Good-bye, Esther. May you be very happy!"--could I help it if I was quite bowed down in the coach by myself and said "Oh, I am so thankful, I am so thankful!" many times over!
But of course I soon considered that I must not take tears where I was going after all that had been done for me. Therefore, of course, I made myself sob less and persuaded myself to be quiet by saying very often, "Esther, now you really must! This WILL NOT do!" I cheered myself up pretty well at last, though I am afraid I was longer about it than I ought to have been; and when I had cooled my eyes with lavender water, it was time to watch for London.

Could I help it if I was quite bowed down in the coach by myself and said "Oh, I am so thankful, I am so thankful!" many times over!
But of course I soon considered that I must not take tears where I was going, after all that had been done for me. I made myself sob less by saying to myself, "Esther, now, this will not do!" I cheered myself up pretty well at last, though I am afraid I was longer about it than I ought to have been; and then it was time to watch for London.


I was quite persuaded that we were there when we were ten miles off, and when we really were there, that we should never get there. However, when we began to jolt upon a stone pavement, and particularly when every other conveyance seemed to be running into us, and we seemed to be running into every other conveyance, I began to believe that we really were approaching the end of our journey. Very soon afterwards we stopped.
A young gentleman who had inked himself by accident addressed me from the pavement and said, "I am from Kenge and Carboy's, miss, of Lincoln's Inn."
"If you please, sir," said I.
He was very obliging, and as he handed me into a fly after superintending the removal of my boxes, I asked him whether there was a great fire anywhere? For the streets were so full of dense brown smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen.
"Oh, dear no, miss," he said. "This is a London particular."
I had never heard of such a thing.

When we began to jolt upon a stone pavement, and when every other conveyance seemed to be running into us, and we seemed to be running into every other conveyance, I began to believe that we were approaching the end of our journey. Very soon afterwards we stopped.
An ink-stained young gentleman addressed me from the pavement and said, "I am from Kenge and Carboy's, miss, of Lincoln's Inn."
He was very obliging, and as he handed me into a carriage with my boxes, I asked him whether there was a great fire anywhere? For the streets were so full of dense brown smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen.
"Oh, dear no, miss," he said. "This is a London particular."
I had never heard of such a thing.


"A fog, miss," said the young gentleman.
"Oh, indeed!" said I.
We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that ever were seen in the world (I thought) and in such a distracting state of confusion that I wondered how the people kept their senses, until we passed into sudden quietude under an old gateway and drove on through a silent square until we came to an odd nook in a corner, where there was an entrance up a steep, broad flight of stairs, like an entrance to a church. And there really was a churchyard outside under some cloisters, for I saw the gravestones from the staircase window.
This was Kenge and Carboy's. The young gentleman showed me through an outer office into Mr. Kenge's room--there was no one in it--and politely put an arm-chair for me by the fire. He then called my attention to a little looking-glass hanging from a nail on one side of the chimney-piece.
"In case you should wish to look at yourself, miss, after the journey, as you're going before the Chancellor. Not that it's requisite, I am sure," said the young gentleman civilly.

"A fog, miss," said the young gentleman.
"Oh, indeed!" said I.
We drove slowly through the dirtiest, darkest, busiest streets that ever were seen (I thought), until we passed into sudden quietude under an old gateway and drove on through a silent square to a steep, broad flight of stairs in a corner, and an entrance like an entrance to a church. And there really was a churchyard outside under some cloisters, for I saw the gravestones from the staircase window.
This was Kenge and Carboy's. The young gentleman showed me into Mr. Kenge's room - there was no one in it - and politely put an arm-chair for me by the fire. He then called my attention to a little looking-glass hanging by the chimney-piece.
"In case you should wish to look at yourself, miss, after the journey, as you're going before the Chancellor. Not that it's needed, I am sure," said he civilly.


"Going before the Chancellor?" I said, startled for a moment.
"Only a matter of form, miss," returned the young gentleman. "Mr. Kenge is in court now. He left his compliments, and would you partake of some refreshment"--there were biscuits and a decanter of wine on a small table--"and look over the paper," which the young gentleman gave me as he spoke. He then stirred the fire and left me.
Everything was so strange--the stranger from its being night in the day-time, the candles burning with a white flame, and looking raw and cold--that I read the words in the newspaper without knowing what they meant and found myself reading the same words repeatedly. As it was of no use going on in that way, I put the paper down, took a peep at my bonnet in the glass to see if it was neat, and looked at the room, which was not half lighted, and at the shabby, dusty tables, and at the piles of writings, and at a bookcase full of the most inexpressive-looking books that ever had anything to say for themselves. Then I went on, thinking, thinking, thinking; and the fire went on, burning, burning, burning; and the candles went on flickering and guttering, and there were no snuffers--until the young gentleman by and by brought a very dirty pair--for two hours.

"Going before the Chancellor?" I said, startled.
"Only a matter of form, miss," returned the young gentleman. "Mr. Kenge is in court. He left his compliments, and would you partake of some refreshment" - there were biscuits and a decanter of wine on a small table - "and look over the newspaper," which the young gentleman gave me. Then he left.
Everything was so strange that I read the newspaper without knowing what the words meant. I put the paper down, took a peep at my bonnet in the glass to see if it was neat, and looked at the room, with its shabby, dusty tables, and piles of writings, and a bookcase full of the most inexpressive-looking books. Then I went on, thinking, thinking; and the fire went on, burning, burning, for two hours.


At last Mr. Kenge came. HE was not altered, but he was surprised to see how altered I was and appeared quite pleased. "As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it well that you should be in attendance also. You will not be discomposed by the Lord Chancellor, I dare say?"
"No, sir," I said, "I don't think I shall," really not seeing on consideration why I should be.
So Mr. Kenge gave me his arm and we went round the corner, under a colonnade, and in at a side door. And so we came, along a passage, into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a young gentleman were standing near a great, loud-roaring fire. A screen was interposed between them and it, and they were leaning on the screen, talking.
They both looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady, with the fire shining upon her, such a beautiful girl! With such rich golden hair, such soft blue eyes, and such a bright, innocent, trusting face!

At last Mr. Kenge came. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how altered I was and appeared quite pleased.
"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought you should attend also. You will not be discomposed by the Lord Chancellor, I dare say?"
"No, sir," I said, "I don't think I shall."
So Mr. Kenge gave me his arm and we went round the corner, under a colonnade, and into a comfortable room where a young lady and a young gentleman were standing near a great, loud-roaring fire, and leaning on the fire-screen, talking.
They both looked up when I came in. The young lady was such a beautiful girl! With such rich golden hair, such soft blue eyes, and such a bright, innocent, trusting face!


"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."
She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but seemed to change her mind in a moment and kissed me. In short, she had such a natural, captivating, winning manner that in a few minutes we were sitting in the window-seat, with the light of the fire upon us, talking together as free and happy as could be.
What a load off my mind! It was so delightful to know that she could confide in me and like me! It was so good of her, and so encouraging to me!

"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."
She came to meet me with a smile of welcome, and impulsively kissed me. She had such a natural, winning manner that in a few minutes we were sitting in the window-seat, talking together as free and happy as could be.
What a load off my mind! It was so delightful to know that she could confide in me and like me! It was so good of her, and so encouraging to me!


The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth with an ingenuous face and a most engaging laugh; and after she had called him up to where we sat, he stood by us, in the light of the fire, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, if quite so much, but nearly two years older than she was. They were both orphans and (what was very unexpected and curious to me) had never met before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it; and the fire, which had left off roaring, winked its red eyes at us--as Richard said--like a drowsy old Chancery lion.
We conversed in a low tone because a full-dressed gentleman in a bag wig frequently came in and out, and when he did so, we could hear a drawling sound in the distance, which he said was one of the counsel in our case addressing the Lord Chancellor. He told Mr. Kenge that the Chancellor would be up in five minutes; and presently we heard a bustle and a tread of feet, and Mr. Kenge said that the Court had risen and his lordship was in the next room.
The gentleman in the bag wig opened the door almost directly and requested Mr. Kenge to come in. Upon that, we all went into the next room, Mr. Kenge first, with my darling--it is so natural to me now that I can't help writing it; and there, plainly dressed in black and sitting in an arm-chair at a table near the fire, was his lordship, whose robe, trimmed with beautiful gold lace, was thrown upon another chair. He gave us a searching look as we entered, but his manner was both courtly and kind.

The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name was Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth with an ingenuous face and a most engaging laugh; and after she called him over, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy. He was only nineteen, but that was nearly two years older than she was. They were both orphans, and curiously, had never met before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it - in low voices, because a gentleman in a wig frequently came in and out. He told Mr. Kenge that the Chancellor would be up in five minutes; and presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the Court had risen and his lordship was in the next room.
So we all went into the next room, Mr. Kenge first, with my darling - it is so natural to me now that I can't help writing it; and there, plainly dressed in black and sitting in an arm-chair, was his lordship, whose robe, trimmed with beautiful gold lace, was thrown upon another chair. He gave us a searching look as we entered, but his manner was both courtly and kind.


The gentleman in the bag wig laid bundles of papers on his lordship's table, and his lordship silently selected one and turned over the leaves.
"Miss Clare," said the Lord Chancellor. "Miss Ada Clare?"
Mr. Kenge presented her, and his lordship begged her to sit down near him. That he admired her and was interested by her even I could see in a moment. It touched me that the home of such a beautiful young creature should be represented by that dry, official place. The Lord High Chancellor, at his best, appeared so poor a substitute for the love and pride of parents.
"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, still turning over leaves, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House."
"Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
"A dreary name," said the Lord Chancellor.

"Miss Ada Clare?" said the Lord Chancellor.
Mr. Kenge presented her, and his lordship begged her to sit down. I could see he was interested by her; it touched me that the home of such a beautiful young creature should be represented by that dry, official place. Even the Lord High Chancellor appeared a poor substitute for the love and pride of parents.
"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over some papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House."
"Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
"A dreary name," said the Lord Chancellor.


"But not a dreary place at present, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
"And Bleak House," said his lordship, "is in--"
"Hertfordshire, my lord."
"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.
"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
A pause.
"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor, glancing towards him.
Richard bowed and stepped forward.

"But not a dreary place at present, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
"And Bleak House," said his lordship, "is in-"
"Hertfordshire, my lord."
"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.
"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
A pause.
"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor, glancing towards him. Richard bowed and stepped forward.


"Hum!" said the Lord Chancellor, turning over more leaves.
"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed in a low voice, "if I may venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for--"
"For Mr. Richard Carstone?" I thought (but I am not quite sure) I heard his lordship say in an equally low voice and with a smile.
"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady. Miss Summerson."
His lordship gave me an indulgent look and acknowledged my curtsy very graciously.
"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think?"

"Hum!" said the Lord Chancellor, turning over more leaves.
"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed in a low voice, "if I may remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady. Miss Summerson."
His lordship gave me an indulgent look and acknowledged my curtsy graciously.
"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think?"


"No, my lord."
Mr. Kenge leant over before it was quite said and whispered. His lordship, with his eyes upon his papers, listened, nodded twice or thrice, turned over more leaves, and did not look towards me again until we were going away.
Mr. Kenge now retired, and Richard with him, to where I was, near the door, leaving my pet (it is so natural to me that again I can't help it!) sitting near the Lord Chancellor, with whom his lordship spoke a little part, asking her, as she told me afterwards, whether she had well reflected on the proposed arrangement, and if she thought she would be happy under the roof of Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, and why she thought so? Presently he rose courteously and released her, and then he spoke for a minute or two with Richard Carstone, not seated, but standing, and altogether with more ease and less ceremony, as if he still knew, though he WAS Lord Chancellor, how to go straight to the candour of a boy.
"Very well!" said his lordship aloud. "I shall make the order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge," and this was when he looked at me, "a very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement altogether seems the best of which the circumstances admit."

"No, my lord." Mr. Kenge leant over and whispered. His lordship, with his eyes upon his papers, listened, nodded, and did not look towards me again until we were going away.
His lordship spoke a little to my pet (it is so natural to call her that that I can't help it), asking her whether she thought she would be happy under the roof of Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, and why she thought so? Presently he rose courteously, and then he spoke for a minute or two with Richard Carstone, with more ease and less ceremony, as if he knew how to go straight to the candour of a boy.
"Very well!" said his lordship. "I shall make the order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge," and he looked at me, "a very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the best which the circumstances admit."


He dismissed us pleasantly, and we all went out, very much obliged to him for being so affable and polite, by which he had certainly lost no dignity but seemed to us to have gained some.
When we got under the colonnade, Mr. Kenge remembered that he must go back for a moment to ask a question and left us in the fog, with the Lord Chancellor's carriage and servants waiting for him to come out.
"Well!" said Richard Carstone. "THAT'S over! And where do we go next, Miss Summerson?"
"Don't you know?" I said.
"Not in the least," said he.

He dismissed us pleasantly, and we all went out. Mr. Kenge left us outside in the fog for a moment while he went back in to ask a question.
"Well!" said Richard Carstone. "That's over! And where do we go next, Miss Summerson?"
"Don't you know?" I said.
"Not in the least."


"And don't YOU know, my love?" I asked Ada.
"No!" said she. "Don't you?"
"Not at all!" said I.
We looked at one another, half laughing at our being like the children in the wood, when a curious little old woman in a squeezed bonnet and carrying a reticule came curtsying and smiling up to us with an air of great ceremony.

"And don't you know, my love?" I asked Ada.
"No!" said she. "Don't you?"
"Not at all!" said I.
We looked at one another, laughing, when a curious little old woman in a squeezed bonnet and carrying a handbag came curtsying and smiling up to us.


"Oh!" said she. "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I am sure, to have the honour! It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."
"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.

"Oh!" said she. "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I am sure, to meet you! It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they find themselves here, and don't know what's to come of it."
"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.


"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned so quickly that he was quite abashed. "I was a ward myself. I was not mad at that time," curtsying low and smiling between every little sentence. "I had youth and hope. I believe, beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of the three served or saved me. I have the honour to attend court regularly. With my documents.

"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned. "I was a ward myself. I was not mad at that time," curtsying low and smiling between every sentence. "I had youth and hope, and I believe, beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of the three saved me. I have the honour to attend court regularly. With my documents.


I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal mentioned in the Revelations is the Great Seal. It has been open a long time! Pray accept my blessing."
As Ada was a little frightened, I said, to humour the poor old lady, that we were much obliged to her.

I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal mentioned in the Revelations is the Great Seal."
As Ada was a little frightened, I said, to humour the poor old lady, that we were much obliged to her.


"Ye-es!" she said mincingly. "I imagine so. And here is Conversation Kenge. With HIS documents! How does your honourable worship do?"
"Quite well, quite well! Now don't be troublesome, that's a good soul!" said Mr. Kenge, leading the way back.

"Ye-es!" she said. "I imagine so. And here is Kenge. How does your honourable worship do?"
"Quite well, quite well! Now don't be troublesome, that's a good soul!" said Mr. Kenge, leading the way back.


"By no means," said the poor old lady, keeping up with Ada and me. "Anything but troublesome. I shall confer estates on both--which is not being troublesome, I trust? I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you. Accept my blessing!"

"By no means," said the poor old lady, keeping up with us. "I shall confer estates on both. I expect a judgment. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you. Accept my blessing!"


She stopped at the bottom of the steep, broad flight of stairs; but we looked back as we went up, and she was still there, saying, still with a curtsy and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And beauty. And Chancery. And Conversation Kenge! Ha! Pray accept my blessing!"

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs; and when we looked back she was still there, saying with a curtsy and a smile, "Youth. And hope. And beauty. And Chancery. Ha! Pray accept my blessing!"


We held many consultations about what Richard was to be, first without Mr. Jarndyce, as he had requested, and afterwards with him, but it was a long time before we seemed to make progress. Richard said he was ready for anything. When Mr. Jarndyce doubted whether he might not already be too old to enter the Navy, Richard said he had thought of that, and perhaps he was. When Mr. Jarndyce asked him what he thought of the Army, Richard said he had thought of that, too, and it wasn't a bad idea. When Mr. Jarndyce advised him to try and decide within himself whether his old preference for the sea was an ordinary boyish inclination or a strong impulse, Richard answered, Well he really HAD tried very often, and he couldn't make out.
"How much of this indecision of character," Mr. Jarndyce said to me, "is chargeable on that incomprehensible heap of uncertainty and procrastination on which he has been thrown from his birth, I don't pretend to say; but that Chancery, among its other sins, is responsible for some of it, I can plainly see. It has engendered or confirmed in him a habit of putting off--and trusting to this, that, and the other chance, without knowing what chance--and dismissing everything as unsettled, uncertain, and confused. The character of much older and steadier people may be even changed by the circumstances surrounding them. It would be too much to expect that a boy's, in its formation, should be the subject of such influences and escape them."

We held many consultations about what Richard was to be, but it was a long time before we seemed to make progress. Richard said he was ready for anything. When Mr. Jarndyce doubted whether he might not already be too old to enter the Navy, Richard said he had thought of that, and perhaps he was. When Mr. Jarndyce asked him what he thought of the Army, Richard said he had thought of that, too, and it wasn't a bad idea. When Mr. Jarndyce advised him to try and decide whether his old preference for the sea was a boyish inclination or a strong impulse, Richard answered, Well he really had tried very often, and he couldn't make it out.
"How much of this indecision of character," Mr. Jarndyce said to me, "is due to the uncertainty on which he has been thrown from his birth, I don't know; but that Chancery is responsible for some of it, I can plainly see. It has confirmed in him a habit of putting off - and trusting to chance, without knowing what chance - and dismissing everything as unsettled and confused. The character of much older people may be changed by the circumstances surrounding them. It would be too much to expect that a boy's should escape."


I felt this to be true; though if I may venture to mention what I thought besides, I thought it much to be regretted that Richard's education had not counteracted those influences or directed his character. He had been eight years at a public school and had learnt, I understood, to make Latin verses of several sorts in the most admirable manner. But I never heard that it had been anybody's business to find out what his natural bent was, or where his failings lay, or to adapt any kind of knowledge to HIM. HE had been adapted to the verses and had learnt the art of making them to such perfection that if he had remained at school until he was of age, I suppose he could only have gone on making them over and over again unless he had enlarged his education by forgetting how to do it. Still, although I had no doubt that they were very beautiful, and very improving, and very sufficient for a great many purposes of life, and always remembered all through life, I did doubt whether Richard would not have profited by some one studying him a little, instead of his studying them quite so much.
To be sure, I knew nothing of the subject and do not even now know whether the young gentlemen of classic Rome or Greece made verses to the same extent--or whether the young gentlemen of any country ever did.
"I haven't the least idea," said Richard, musing, "what I had better be. Except that I am quite sure I don't want to go into the Church, it's a toss-up."
"You have no inclination in Mr. Kenge's way?" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.

I felt this to be true; though I also thought it much to be regretted that Richard's education had not counteracted those influences. He had been eight years at a public school and had learnt, I understood, to make Latin verses in the most admirable manner. But I never heard that it had been anybody's business to find out what his natural bent was, or where his failings lay, or to adapt any kind of knowledge to him. He had been adapted to the verses and had learnt to make them to perfection; but although no doubt they were very beautiful, and very improving, I felt that Richard would have profited by some one studying him a little, instead of his studying them quite so much.
"I haven't the least idea," said Richard, "what I had better be. Except that I am quite sure I don't want to go into the Church, it's a toss-up."
"You have no inclination for the law?" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.


"I don't know that, sir!" replied Richard. "I am fond of boating. Articled clerks go a good deal on the water. It's a capital profession!"
"Surgeon--" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.
"That's the thing, sir!" cried Richard.
I doubt if he had ever once thought of it before.

"I don't know that, sir!" replied Richard. "I am fond of boating. Articled clerks go a good deal on the water. It's a capital profession!"
"Surgeon-" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.
"That's the thing, sir!" cried Richard.


"That's the thing, sir," repeated Richard with the greatest enthusiasm. "We have got it at last. M.R.C.S.!"
He was not to be laughed out of it, though he laughed at it heartily. He said he had chosen his profession, and the more he thought of it, the more he felt that his destiny was clear; the art of healing was the art of all others for him. Mistrusting that he only came to this conclusion because, having never had much chance of finding out for himself what he was fitted for and having never been guided to the discovery, he was taken by the newest idea and was glad to get rid of the trouble of consideration, I wondered whether the Latin verses often ended in this or whether Richard's was a solitary case.
Mr. Jarndyce took great pains to talk with him seriously and to put it to his good sense not to deceive himself in so important a matter. Richard was a little grave after these interviews, but invariably told Ada and me that it was all right, and then began to talk about something else.

"We have got it at last!" I doubt if he had ever thought of it before.
He was not to be laughed out of it. He said he had chosen his profession, and felt that the art of healing was the art of all others for him. I suspected that he was simply taken by the newest idea and was glad to get rid of the trouble of consideration.
Mr. Jarndyce took great pains to talk with him seriously about the matter. Richard was a little grave after these interviews, but invariably told Ada and me that it was all right, and then began to talk about something else.


"By heaven!" cried Mr. Boythorn, who interested himself strongly in the subject--though I need not say that, for he could do nothing weakly; "I rejoice to find a young gentleman of spirit and gallantry devoting himself to that noble profession! The more spirit there is in it, the better for mankind and the worse for those mercenary task-masters and low tricksters who delight in putting that illustrious art at a disadvantage in the world. By all that is base and despicable," cried Mr. Boythorn, "the treatment of surgeons aboard ship is such that I would submit the legs--both legs--of every member of the Admiralty Board to a compound fracture and render it a transportable offence in any qualified practitioner to set them if the system were not wholly changed in eight and forty hours!"
"Wouldn't you give them a week?" asked Mr. Jarndyce.

"By heaven!" cried Mr. Boythorn, who interested himself strongly in the subject; "I rejoice to find a young gentleman of spirit devoting himself to that noble profession! By all that is base and despicable, the treatment of surgeons aboard ship is such that I would submit the legs of every member of the Admiralty Board to a compound fracture if the system were not wholly changed in eight and forty hours!"
"Wouldn't you give them a week?" asked Mr. Jarndyce.


"No!" cried Mr. Boythorn firmly. "Not on any consideration! Eight and forty hours! As to corporations, parishes, vestry-boards, and similar gatherings of jolter-headed clods who assemble to exchange such speeches that, by heaven, they ought to be worked in quicksilver mines for the short remainder of their miserable existence, if it were only to prevent their detestable English from contaminating a language spoken in the presence of the sun--as to those fellows, who meanly take advantage of the ardour of gentlemen in the pursuit of knowledge to recompense the inestimable services of the best years of their lives, their long study, and their expensive education with pittances too small for the acceptance of clerks, I would have the necks of every one of them wrung and their skulls arranged in Surgeons' Hall for the contemplation of the whole profession in order that its younger members might understand from actual measurement, in early life, HOW thick skulls may become!"
He wound up this vehement declaration by looking round upon us with a most agreeable smile and suddenly thundering, "Ha, ha, ha!" over and over again, until anybody else might have been expected to be quite subdued by the exertion.
As Richard still continued to say that he was fixed in his choice after repeated periods for consideration had been recommended by Mr. Jarndyce and had expired, and he still continued to assure Ada and me in the same final manner that it was "all right," it became advisable to take Mr. Kenge into council. Mr. Kenge, therefore, came down to dinner one day, and leaned back in his chair, and turned his eye-glasses over and over, and spoke in a sonorous voice, and did exactly what I remembered to have seen him do when I was a little girl.

"No!" cried Mr. Boythorn firmly. "Not on any consideration! Those fellows meanly take advantage of the ardour of these gentlemen to reward the services of the best years of their lives and their long study with pittances too small even for clerks. I would have the necks of every one of them wrung!" He looked round at us with an agreeable smile, thundering, "Ha, ha, ha!"
As Richard still continued to say that he was fixed in his choice, it became advisable to take Mr. Kenge into council. Mr. Kenge, therefore, came to dinner one day, and leaned back in his chair, and turned his eye-glasses over and over, exactly as I remembered to have seen him do when I was a little girl.


"Ah!" said Mr. Kenge. "Yes. Well! A very good profession, Mr. Jarndyce, a very good profession."
"The course of study and preparation requires to be diligently pursued," observed my guardian with a glance at Richard.
"Oh, no doubt," said Mr. Kenge. "Diligently."
"But that being the case, more or less, with all pursuits that are worth much," said Mr. Jarndyce, "it is not a special consideration which another choice would be likely to escape."

"Ah!" said Mr. Kenge. "Well! A very good profession, Mr. Jarndyce."
"It requires diligent study and preparation," observed my guardian, with a glance at Richard.


"Truly," said Mr. Kenge. "And Mr. Richard Carstone, who has so meritoriously acquitted himself in the--shall I say the classic shades?--in which his youth had been passed, will, no doubt, apply the habits, if not the principles and practice, of versification in that tongue in which a poet was said (unless I mistake) to be born, not made, to the more eminently practical field of action on which he enters."
"You may rely upon it," said Richard in his off-hand manner, "that I shall go at it and do my best."
"Very well, Mr. Jarndyce!" said Mr. Kenge, gently nodding his head. "Really, when we are assured by Mr. Richard that he means to go at it and to do his best," nodding feelingly and smoothly over those expressions, "I would submit to you that we have only to inquire into the best mode of carrying out the object of his ambition. Now, with reference to placing Mr. Richard with some sufficiently eminent practitioner. Is there any one in view at present?"
"No one, Rick, I think?" said my guardian.

"Truly," said Mr. Kenge. "And Mr. Richard Carstone, who has so well acquitted himself in the classics, will no doubt apply the habits, if not the principles and practice, of that study to the more eminently practical field of action on which he enters."
"You may rely upon it," said Richard in his off-hand manner, "that I shall go at it and do my best."
"Very well, Mr. Jarndyce!" said Mr. Kenge, gently nodding. "In that case we have only to inquire into the best mode of carrying out this ambition. Now, with reference to placing Mr. Richard with some eminent practitioner. Is there anyone in view at present?"


"No one, sir," said Richard.
"Quite so!" observed Mr. Kenge. "As to situation, now. Is there any particular feeling on that head?"
"N--no," said Richard.
"Quite so!" observed Mr. Kenge again.
"I should like a little variety," said Richard; "I mean a good range of experience."

"No one, sir," said Richard.
"Quite so!" observed Mr. Kenge. "As to situation, now. Is there any particular feeling about that?"
"N - no," said Richard. "I should like a little variety. I mean a good range of experience."


"Very requisite, no doubt," returned Mr. Kenge. "I think this may be easily arranged, Mr. Jarndyce? We have only, in the first place, to discover a sufficiently eligible practitioner; and as soon as we make our want--and shall I add, our ability to pay a premium?--known, our only difficulty will be in the selection of one from a large number. We have only, in the second place, to observe those little formalities which are rendered necessary by our time of life and our being under the guardianship of the court. We shall soon be--shall I say, in Mr. Richard's own light-hearted manner, 'going at it'--to our heart's content. It is a coincidence," said Mr. Kenge with a tinge of melancholy in his smile, "one of those coincidences which may or may not require an explanation beyond our present limited faculties, that I have a cousin in the medical profession. He might be deemed eligible by you and might be disposed to respond to this proposal. I can answer for him as little as for you, but he MIGHT!"
As this was an opening in the prospect, it was arranged that Mr. Kenge should see his cousin. And as Mr. Jarndyce had before proposed to take us to London for a few weeks, it was settled next day that we should make our visit at once and combine Richard's business with it.

"I think this may be easily arranged, Mr. Jarndyce," returned Mr. Kenge. "We have only to discover an eligible practitioner; and to observe those little formalities which are rendered necessary by our being under the guardianship of the court. We shall soon be - shall I say, 'going at it' - to our heart's content. By coincidence, I have a cousin in the medical profession. He might be deemed eligible by you and might agree to this proposal."
So it was arranged that Mr. Kenge should see his cousin. And as Mr. Jarndyce had proposed to take us to London for a few weeks, it was settled that we should make our visit at once and combine Richard's business with it.


Mr. Boythorn leaving us within a week, we took up our abode at a cheerful lodging near Oxford Street over an upholsterer's shop. London was a great wonder to us, and we were out for hours and hours at a time, seeing the sights, which appeared to be less capable of exhaustion than we were. We made the round of the principal theatres, too, with great delight, and saw all the plays that were worth seeing. I mention this because it was at the theatre that I began to be made uncomfortable again by Mr. Guppy.
I was sitting in front of the box one night with Ada, and Richard was in the place he liked best, behind Ada's chair, when, happening to look down into the pit, I saw Mr. Guppy, with his hair flattened down upon his head and woe depicted in his face, looking up at me. I felt all through the performance that he never looked at the actors but constantly looked at me, and always with a carefully prepared expression of the deepest misery and the profoundest dejection.
It quite spoiled my pleasure for that night because it was so very embarrassing and so very ridiculous. But from that time forth, we never went to the play without my seeing Mr. Guppy in the pit, always with his hair straight and flat, his shirt-collar turned down, and a general feebleness about him. If he were not there when we went in, and I began to hope he would not come and yielded myself for a little while to the interest of the scene, I was certain to encounter his languishing eyes when I least expected it and, from that time, to be quite sure that they were fixed upon me all the evening.

Mr. Boythorn having left us, we took up our abode at a cheerful lodging near Oxford Street over an upholsterer's shop. London was a great wonder to us, and we were out for hours at a time, seeing the sights. We made the round of the principal theatres with great delight, and saw all the plays that were worth seeing. I mention this because it was at the theatre that I began to be made uncomfortable again by Mr. Guppy.
I was sitting in the box one night with Ada, and Richard was behind Ada's chair, when, happening to look down into the pit, I saw Mr. Guppy, with his hair flattened upon his head and woe in his face, looking up at me. I felt all through the performance that he never looked at the actors but only at me, with a carefully prepared expression of the deepest misery.
It quite spoiled my pleasure that night because it was so very embarrassing and very ridiculous. But from that time forth, we never went to the play without my seeing Mr. Guppy in the pit, always with his hair flat, his shirt-collar turned down, and a general feebleness about him. If he were not there when we went in, and I began to hope he would not come, I was certain to see him when I least expected it; and then his languishing eyes would be fixed upon me all the evening.


I really cannot express how uneasy this made me. If he would only have brushed up his hair or turned up his collar, it would have been bad enough; but to know that that absurd figure was always gazing at me, and always in that demonstrative state of despondency, put such a constraint upon me that I did not like to laugh at the play, or to cry at it, or to move, or to speak. I seemed able to do nothing naturally. As to escaping Mr. Guppy by going to the back of the box, I could not bear to do that because I knew Richard and Ada relied on having me next them and that they could never have talked together so happily if anybody else had been in my place. So there I sat, not knowing where to look--for wherever I looked, I knew Mr. Guppy's eyes were following me--and thinking of the dreadful expense to which this young man was putting himself on my account.

I really cannot express how uneasy this made me. To know that he was always gazing at me in despondency put such a constraint upon me that I did not like to laugh at the play, or move, or speak. I seemed able to do nothing naturally. I could not escape Mr. Guppy by going to the back of the box, because I knew Richard and Ada relied on having me next to them and that they could never have talked together so happily otherwise. So there I sat, not knowing where to look - for wherever I looked, I knew Mr. Guppy's eyes were following me.


Sometimes I thought of telling Mr. Jarndyce. Then I feared that the young man would lose his situation and that I might ruin him. Sometimes I thought of confiding in Richard, but was deterred by the possibility of his fighting Mr. Guppy and giving him black eyes. Sometimes I thought, should I frown at him or shake my head. Then I felt I could not do it. Sometimes I considered whether I should write to his mother, but that ended in my being convinced that to open a correspondence would be to make the matter worse. I always came to the conclusion, finally, that I could do nothing. Mr. Guppy's perseverance, all this time, not only produced him regularly at any theatre to which we went, but caused him to appear in the crowd as we were coming out, and even to get up behind our fly--where I am sure I saw him, two or three times, struggling among the most dreadful spikes. After we got home, he haunted a post opposite our house. The upholsterer's where we lodged being at the corner of two streets, and my bedroom window being opposite the post, I was afraid to go near the window when I went upstairs, lest I should see him (as I did one moonlight night) leaning against the post and evidently catching cold.

Sometimes I thought of telling Mr. Jarndyce; but I feared that the young man might lose his job. Sometimes I thought of confiding in Richard, but was deterred by the possibility of their fighting. Sometimes I considered whether I should write to his mother, but I felt that opening a correspondence would make the matter worse. I always came to the conclusion, finally, that I could do nothing.
Mr. Guppy's perseverance, all this time, not only produced him regularly at the theatre, but caused him to appear in the crowd as we were coming out. After we got home, he haunted a post opposite our house. I was afraid to go near the window when I went upstairs, lest I should see him (as I did one moonlight night) leaning against the post and evidently catching cold.


If Mr. Guppy had not been, fortunately for me, engaged in the daytime, I really should have had no rest from him.
While we were making this round of gaieties, in which Mr. Guppy so extraordinarily participated, the business which had helped to bring us to town was not neglected. Mr. Kenge's cousin was a Mr. Bayham Badger, who had a good practice at Chelsea and attended a large public institution besides. He was quite willing to receive Richard into his house and to superintend his studies, and as it seemed that those could be pursued advantageously under Mr. Badger's roof, and Mr. Badger liked Richard, and as Richard said he liked Mr. Badger "well enough," an agreement was made, the Lord Chancellor's consent was obtained, and it was all settled.
On the day when matters were concluded between Richard and Mr. Badger, we were all under engagement to dine at Mr. Badger's house. We were to be "merely a family party," Mrs. Badger's note said; and we found no lady there but Mrs. Badger herself. She was surrounded in the drawing-room by various objects, indicative of her painting a little, playing the piano a little, playing the guitar a little, playing the harp a little, singing a little, working a little, reading a little, writing poetry a little, and botanizing a little. She was a lady of about fifty, I should think, youthfully dressed, and of a very fine complexion. If I add to the little list of her accomplishments that she rouged a little, I do not mean that there was any harm in it.

If Mr. Guppy had not been, fortunately for me, engaged in the daytime, I really should have had no rest from him.
While we were making this round of gaieties, in which Mr. Guppy so extraordinarily participated, the business which had helped to bring us to town was not neglected. Mr. Kenge's cousin was a Mr. Bayham Badger, who had a good practice at Chelsea and attended a large hospital besides. He was quite willing to receive Richard into his house and to superintend his studies, and as Mr. Badger liked Richard, and as Richard said he liked Mr. Badger "well enough," an agreement was made, the Lord Chancellor's consent was obtained, and it was all settled.
On the day when these matters were concluded, we were invited to dine at Mr. Badger's house. We were to be "merely a family party," Mrs. Badger's note said. We found Mrs. Badger to be a lady of about fifty, youthfully dressed, and of a very fine complexion.


Mr. Bayham Badger himself was a pink, fresh-faced, crisp-looking gentleman with a weak voice, white teeth, light hair, and surprised eyes, some years younger, I should say, than Mrs. Bayham Badger. He admired her exceedingly, but principally, and to begin with, on the curious ground (as it seemed to us) of her having had three husbands. We had barely taken our seats when he said to Mr. Jarndyce quite triumphantly, "You would hardly suppose that I am Mrs. Bayham Badger's third!"
"Indeed?" said Mr. Jarndyce.
"Her third!" said Mr. Badger. "Mrs. Bayham Badger has not the appearance, Miss Summerson, of a lady who has had two former husbands?"
I said "Not at all!"

Mr. Bayham Badger himself was a pink, fresh-faced gentleman with a weak voice, light hair, and surprised eyes, some years younger, I should say, than Mrs. Bayham Badger. He admired her exceedingly, but principally on the curious ground of her having had three husbands. We had barely taken our seats when he said to Mr. Jarndyce quite triumphantly, "You would hardly suppose that I am Mrs. Bayham Badger's third!"
"Indeed?" said Mr. Jarndyce.
"Her third!" said Mr. Badger. "Mrs. Bayham Badger has not the appearance, Miss Summerson, of a lady who has had two former husbands?"
I said "Not at all!"


"And most remarkable men!" said Mr. Badger in a tone of confidence. "Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy, who was Mrs. Badger's first husband, was a very distinguished officer indeed. The name of Professor Dingo, my immediate predecessor, is one of European reputation."
Mrs. Badger overheard him and smiled.
"Yes, my dear!" Mr. Badger replied to the smile, "I was observing to Mr. Jarndyce and Miss Summerson that you had had two former husbands--both very distinguished men. And they found it, as people generally do, difficult to believe."

"And most remarkable men!" said Mr. Badger. "Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy, Mrs. Badger's first husband, was a very distinguished officer indeed. The name of Professor Dingo, my immediate predecessor, is one of European reputation."
Mrs. Badger overheard him and smiled.


"I was barely twenty," said Mrs. Badger, "when I married Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy. I was in the Mediterranean with him; I am quite a sailor. On the twelfth anniversary of my wedding-day, I became the wife of Professor Dingo."
"Of European reputation," added Mr. Badger in an undertone.
"And when Mr. Badger and myself were married," pursued Mrs. Badger, "we were married on the same day of the year. I had become attached to the day."
"So that Mrs. Badger has been married to three husbands--two of them highly distinguished men," said Mr. Badger, summing up the facts, "and each time upon the twenty-first of March at eleven in the forenoon!"
We all expressed our admiration.
"But for Mr. Badger's modesty," said Mr. Jarndyce, "I would take leave to correct him and say three distinguished men."

"I was barely twenty," she said, "when I married Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy. On the twelfth anniversary of my wedding-day, I became the wife of Professor Dingo."
"Of European reputation," added Mr. Badger.
"And when Mr. Badger and myself were married," pursued Mrs. Badger, "we were married on the same day of the year. I had become attached to the day."


"Thank you, Mr. Jarndyce! What I always tell him!" observed Mrs. Badger.
"And, my dear," said Mr. Badger, "what do I always tell you? That without any affectation of disparaging such professional distinction as I may have attained (which our friend Mr. Carstone will have many opportunities of estimating), I am not so weak--no, really," said Mr. Badger to us generally, "so unreasonable--as to put my reputation on the same footing with such first-rate men as Captain Swosser and Professor Dingo. Perhaps you may be interested, Mr. Jarndyce," continued Mr. Bayham Badger, leading the way into the next drawing-room, "in this portrait of Captain Swosser. It was taken on his return home from the African station, where he had suffered from the fever of the country. Mrs. Badger considers it too yellow. But it's a very fine head. A very fine head!"

"Perhaps you may be interested, Mr. Jarndyce," continued Mr. Bayham Badger, leading the way into the next drawing-room, "in this portrait of Captain Swosser. It was taken on his return home from the African station, where he had suffered from the fever. Mrs. Badger considers it too yellow. But it's a very fine head!"


We all echoed, "A very fine head!"
"I feel when I look at it," said Mr. Badger, "'That's a man I should like to have seen!' It strikingly bespeaks the first-class man that Captain Swosser pre-eminently was. On the other side, Professor Dingo. I knew him well--attended him in his last illness--a speaking likeness! Over the piano, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Swosser. Over the sofa, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Dingo. Of Mrs. Bayham Badger IN ESSE, I possess the original and have no copy."

We all echoed, "A very fine head!"
"As for Professor Dingo. I knew him well - attended him in his last illness - a speaking likeness over the piano."


Dinner was now announced, and we went downstairs. It was a very genteel entertainment, very handsomely served. But the captain and the professor still ran in Mr. Badger's head, and as Ada and I had the honour of being under his particular care, we had the full benefit of them.
"Water, Miss Summerson? Allow me! Not in that tumbler, pray. Bring me the professor's goblet, James!"
Ada very much admired some artificial flowers under a glass.

Dinner was now announced, and we went downstairs. It was very handsomely served. But the captain and the professor still ran in Mr. Badger's head.
"Water, Miss Summerson? Allow me! Bring me the professor's goblet, James!"


"Astonishing how they keep!" said Mr. Badger. "They were presented to Mrs. Bayham Badger when she was in the Mediterranean."
He invited Mr. Jarndyce to take a glass of claret.


"Not that claret!" he said. "Excuse me! This is an occasion, and ON an occasion I produce some very special claret I happen to have. (James, Captain Swosser's wine!) Mr. Jarndyce, this is a wine that was imported by the captain, we will not say how many years ago. You will find it very curious. My dear, I shall be happy to take some of this wine with you. (Captain Swosser's claret to your mistress, James!) My love, your health!"

"Excuse me!" he said. "This is an occasion, and on an occasion I produce some very special claret. James, Captain Swosser's wine!"


After dinner, when we ladies retired, we took Mrs. Badger's first and second husband with us. Mrs. Badger gave us in the drawing-room a biographical sketch of the life and services of Captain Swosser before his marriage and a more minute account of him dating from the time when he fell in love with her at a ball on board the Crippler, given to the officers of that ship when she lay in Plymouth Harbour.
"The dear old Crippler!" said Mrs. Badger, shaking her head. "She was a noble vessel. Trim, ship-shape, all a taunto, as Captain Swosser used to say. You must excuse me if I occasionally introduce a nautical expression; I was quite a sailor once. Captain Swosser loved that craft for my sake. When she was no longer in commission, he frequently said that if he were rich enough to buy her old hulk, he would have an inscription let into the timbers of the quarter-deck where we stood as partners in the dance to mark the spot where he fell--raked fore and aft (Captain Swosser used to say) by the fire from my tops. It was his naval way of mentioning my eyes."

After dinner, when we ladies retired, Mrs. Badger gave us in the drawing-room an outline of the life of Captain Swosser before his marriage, and a minute account from the time when he fell in love with her at a ball on board the Crippler, when she lay in Plymouth Harbour.
"The dear old Crippler!" said Mrs. Badger, shaking her head. "She was a noble vessel. Captain Swosser loved that craft for my sake. When she was no longer in commission, he frequently said that if he were rich enough to buy her, he would have an inscription made on the timbers of the quarter-deck where we stood as partners in the dance."


Mrs. Badger shook her head, sighed, and looked in the glass.
"It was a great change from Captain Swosser to Professor Dingo," she resumed with a plaintive smile. "I felt it a good deal at first. Such an entire revolution in my mode of life! But custom, combined with science--particularly science--inured me to it. Being the professor's sole companion in his botanical excursions, I almost forgot that I had ever been afloat, and became quite learned. It is singular that the professor was the antipodes of Captain Swosser and that Mr. Badger is not in the least like either!"

Mrs. Badger shook her head, sighed, and looked in the glass.
"It was a great change from Captain Swosser to Professor Dingo," she resumed with a plaintive smile. "I felt it a good deal at first. But soon I almost forgot that I had ever been afloat, and became quite learned!"