“Pray be seated, Sir Leicester.”

“Mr. Jarndyce,” said Sir Leicester in reply as he bowed and seated himself, “I do myself the honour of calling here—­”

“You do me the honour, Sir Leicester.”

“Thank you—­of calling here on my road from Lincolnshire to express my regret that any cause of complaint, however strong, that I may have against a gentleman who—­who is known to you and has been your host, and to whom therefore I will make no farther reference, should have prevented you, still more ladies under your escort and charge, from seeing whatever little there may be to gratify a polite and refined taste at my house, Chesney Wold.”

“You are exceedingly obliging, Sir Leicester, and on behalf of those ladies (who are present) and for myself, I thank you very much.”

“It is possible, Mr. Jarndyce, that the gentleman to whom, for the reasons I have mentioned, I refrain from making further allusion—­ it is possible, Mr. Jarndyce, that that gentleman may have done me the honour so far to misapprehend my character as to induce you to believe that you would not have been received by my local establishment in Lincolnshire with that urbanity, that courtesy, which its members are instructed to show to all ladies and gentlemen who present themselves at that house.  I merely beg to observe, sir, that the fact is the reverse.”

My guardian delicately dismissed this remark without making any verbal answer.

“It has given me pain, Mr. Jarndyce,” Sir Leicester weightily proceeded.  “I assure you, sir, it has given—­me—­pain—­to learn from the housekeeper at Chesney Wold that a gentleman who was in your company in that part of the county, and who would appear to possess a cultivated taste for the fine arts, was likewise deterred by some such cause from examining the family pictures with that leisure, that attention, that care, which he might have desired to bestow upon them and which some of them might possibly have repaid.”  Here he produced a card and read, with much gravity and a little trouble, through his eye-glass, “Mr. Hirrold—­Herald—­ Harold—­Skampling—­Skumpling—­I beg your pardon—­Skimpole.”

“This is Mr. Harold Skimpole,” said my guardian, evidently surprised.

“Oh!” exclaimed Sir Leicester, “I am happy to meet Mr. Skimpole and to have the opportunity of tendering my personal regrets.  I hope, sir, that when you again find yourself in my part of the county, you will be under no similar sense of restraint.”

“You are very obliging, Sir Leicester Dedlock.  So encouraged, I shall certainly give myself the pleasure and advantage of another visit to your beautiful house.  The owners of such places as Chesney Wold,” said Mr. Skimpole with his usual happy and easy air, “are public benefactors.  They are good enough to maintain a number of delightful objects for the admiration and pleasure of us poor men; and not to reap all the admiration and pleasure that they yield is to be ungrateful to our benefactors.”