‘We were, sir.’  Mr. Sapsea fills both glasses, and takes the decanter into safe keeping again.  ’Before I consult your opinion as a man of taste on this little trifle’—­holding it up—­’which is but a trifle, and still has required some thought, sir, some little fever of the brow, I ought perhaps to describe the character of the late Mrs. Sapsea, now dead three quarters of a year.’

Mr. Jasper, in the act of yawning behind his wineglass, puts down that screen and calls up a look of interest.  It is a little impaired in its expressiveness by his having a shut-up gape still to dispose of, with watering eyes.

‘Half a dozen years ago, or so,’ Mr. Sapsea proceeds, ’when I had enlarged my mind up to—­I will not say to what it now is, for that might seem to aim at too much, but up to the pitch of wanting another mind to be absorbed in it—­I cast my eye about me for a nuptial partner.  Because, as I say, it is not good for man to be alone.’

Mr. Jasper appears to commit this original idea to memory.

’Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rival establishment to the establishment at the Nuns’ House opposite, but I will call it the other parallel establishment down town.  The world did have it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they took place on half holidays, or in vacation time.  The world did put it about, that she admired my style.  The world did notice that as time flowed by, my style became traceable in the dictation-exercises of Miss Brobity’s pupils.  Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, that one ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as to object to it by name.  But I do not believe this.  For is it likely that any human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to be pointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn?’

Mr. Jasper shakes his head.  Not in the least likely.  Mr. Sapsea, in a grandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor’s glass, which is full already; and does really refill his own, which is empty.

’Miss Brobity’s Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind.  She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive knowledge of the world.  When I made my proposal, she did me the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to articulate only the two words, “O Thou!” meaning myself.  Her limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word further.  I disposed of the parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances.  But she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourable estimate of my intellect.  To the very last (feeble action of liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms.’