them for the first time； should be so unreserved； and should lay
himself out to be exquisitely agreeable。 They （and especially
Richard） were naturally pleased for similar reasons； and
considered it no common privilege to be so freely confided in by
such an attractive man。 The more we listened； the more gaily Mr
Skimpole talked。 And what with his fine hilarious manner； and his
engaging candour； and his genial way of lightly tossing his own
weaknesses about； as if he had said； “I am a child； you know！ You
are designing people compared with me；” （he really made me
consider myself in that light）； “but I’m gay and innocent； forget
your worldly arts and play with me！”—the effect was absolutely
dazzling。
He was so full of feeling too； and had such a delicate sentiment
for what was beautiful or tender； that he could have won a heart
by that alone。 In the evening； when I was preparing to make tea；
and Ada was touching the piano in the adjoining room； and softly
humming a tune to her cousin Richard； which they had happened
to mention； he came and sat down on the sofa near me； and so
spoke of Ada that I almost loved him。
“She is like the morning；” he said。 “With that golden hair； those
blue eyes； and that fresh bloom on her cheeks she is like the
summer morning。 The birds here will mistake her for it。 We will
not call such a lovely young creature as that； who is a joy to all
mankind； an orphan。 She is the child of the universe。”
Mr Jarndyce； I found； was standing near us； with his hands
behind him； and an attentive smile upon his face。
“The universe；” he observed； “makes rather an indifferent
parent； I am afraid。”
“O！ I don’t know！” cried Mr Skimpole； buoyantly。
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“I think I do know！” said Mr Jarndyce。
“Well！” cried Mr Skimpole； “you know the world （which in your
sense is the universe）； and I know nothing of it； so you shall have
your way。 But if I had mine；” glancing at the cousins； “there
should be no brambles of sordid realities in such a path as that。 It
should be strewn with roses； it should lie through bowers； where
there was no spring； autumn； nor winter； but perpetual summer。
Age or change should never wither it。 The base word money
should never be breathed near it！”
Mr Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile； as if he had
been really a child； and passing a step or two on； and stopping a
moment； glanced at the young cousins。 His look was thoughtful；
but had a benignant expression in it which I often （how often！） saw
again： which has been long engraven on my heart。 The room in
which they were； communicating with that in which he stood； was
only lighted by the fire。 Ada sat at the piano； Richard stood beside
her； bending down。 Upon the wall their shadows blended together；
surrounded by strange forms； not without a ghostly motion caught
from the unsteady fire； though reflected from motionless objects。
Ada touched the notes so softly； and sang so low； that the wind；
sighing away to the distant hills； was as audible as the music。 The
mystery of the future； and the little clue afforded to it by the voice
of the present； seemed expressed in the whole picture。
But it is not to recall this fancy； well as I remember it； that I
recall the scene。 First； I was not quite unconscious of the contrast；
in respect of meaning and intention； between the silent look
directed that way； and the flow of words that had preceded it。
Secondly； though Mr Jarndyce’s glance； as he withdrew it； rested
for but a moment on me； I felt as if； in that moment； he confided to
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me—and knew that he confided to me； and that I received the
confidence—his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter
on a dearer relationship。
Mr Skimpole could play on the piano； and the violoncello； and
he was a composer—had composed half an opera once； but got
tired of it—and played what he composed； with taste。 After tea we
had quite a little concert； in which Richard—who was enthralled
by Ada’s singing； and told me that she seemed to know all the
songs that ever were written—and Mr Jarndyce； and I； were the
audience。 After a little while I missed； first Mr Skimpole； and
afterwards Richard； and while I was thinking how could Richard
stay away so long； and lose so much； the maid who had given me
the keys looked in at the door； saying； “If you please； miss； could
you spare a minute？”
When I was shut out with her in the hall； she said； holding up
her hands； “Oh if you please； miss； Mr Carstone says would you
come upstairs to Mr Skimpole’s room。 He has been took； miss！”
“Took？” said I。
“Took； miss。 Sudden；” said the maid。
I was apprehensive that his illness might be of a dangerous
kind； but of course； I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any
one； and collected myself； as I followed her quickly upstairs；
sufficiently to consider what were the best remedies to be applied
if it should prove to be a fit。 She threw open a door； and I went
into a chamber； where； to my unspeakable surprise； instead of
finding Mr Skimpole stretched upon the bed； or prostrate on the
floor； I found him standing before the fire； smiling at Richard；
while Richard； with a face of great embarrassment； looked at a
person on a sofa； in a white great coat； with smooth hair upon his
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head； and not much of it； which he was wiping smoother； and
making less of； with a pocket…handkerchief。
“Miss Summerson；” said Richard； hurriedly； “I am glad you are
come。 You will be able to advise us。 Our friend； Mr Skimpole—
don’t be alarmed！—is arrested for debt。”
“And； really； my dear Miss Summerson；” said Mr Skimpole；
with his agreeable candour； “I never was in a situation； in which
that excellent sense； and quiet habit of method and usefulness；
which anybody must observe in you who has the happiness of
being a quarter of an hour in your society； was more needed。”
The person on the sofa； who appeared to have a cold in his
head； gave such a very loud snort； that he startled me。
“Are you arrested for much； sir？” I inquired of Mr Skimpole。
“My dear Miss Summerson；” said he； shaking his head
pleasantly； “I don’t know。 Some pounds； odd shillings； and half…
pence； I think； were mentioned。”
“It’s twenty…four pound； sixteen； and seven…pence ha’penny；”
observed the stranger。 “That’s wot it is。”
“And it sounds—somehow it sounds；” said Mr Skimpole； “like a
small sum。”
The strange man said nothing； but made another snort。 It was
such a powerful one； that it seemed quite to lift him out of his seat。
“Mr Skimpole；” said Richard to me； “has a delicacy in applying
to my cousin Jarndyce； because he has lately—I think； sir； I
understood you that you had lately—”
“Oh； yes！” returned Mr Skimpole； smiling。 “Though I forgot
how much it was； and when it was。 Jarndyce would readily do it
again； but I have the epicure…like feeling that I would prefer a
novelty in help； that I would rather；” and he looked at Richard and
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me； “develop generosity in a new soil； and in a new form of
flower。”
“What do you think will be best； Miss Summerson！” said
Richard； aside。
I ventured to inquire generally； before replying； what would
happen if the money were not produced。
“Jail；” said the strange man； coolly putting his handkerchief
into his hat； which was on the floor at his feet。 “Or Coavinses。”
“May I ask； sir； what is—”
“Coavinses？” said the strange man。 “A ’ouse。”
Richard and I looked at one another again。 It was a most
singular thing that the arrest was our embarrassment； and not Mr
Skimpole’s。 He observed us with a genial interest； but there
seemed； if I may venture on such a contradiction； nothing selfish
in it。 He had entirely washed his hands of the difficulty； and it had
become ours。
“I thought
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