church it was。 The windows； heavily shaded by trees； admitted a
subdued light that made the faces around me pale； and darkened
the old brasses in the pavement； and the time and damp…worn
monuments； and rendered the sunshine in the little porch； where
a monotonous ringer was working at the bell； inestimably bright。
But a stir in that direction； a gathering of reverential awe in the
rustic faces； and a blandly…ferocious assumption on the part of Mr
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Boythorn of being resolutely unconscious of somebody’s existence；
forewarned me that the great people were come； and that the
service was going to begin。
“‘Enter not into judgment with thy servant； O Lord； for in thy
sight—’”
Shall I ever forget the rapid beating of my heart； occasioned by
the look I met； as I stood up！ Shall I ever forget the manner in
which those handsome proud eyes seemed to spring out of their
languor； and to hold mine！ It was only a moment before I cast
mine down—released again； if I may say so—on my book； but； I
knew the beautiful face quite well； in that short space of time。
And； very strangely； there was something quickened within me；
associated with the lonely days at my godmother’s； yes； away even
to the days when I had stood on tiptoe to dress myself at my little
glass； after dressing my doll。 And this； although I had never seen
this lady’s face before in all my life—I was quite sure of it—
absolutely certain。
It was easy to know that the ceremonious； gouty； grey…haired
gentleman； the only other occupant of the great pew； was Sir
Leicester Dedlock； and that the lady was Lady Dedlock。 But why
her face should be； in a confused way； like a broken glass to me； in
which I saw scraps of old remembrances； and why I should be so
fluttered and troubled （for I was still）； by having casually met her
eyes； I could not think。
I felt it to be an unmeaning weakness in me； and I tried to
overcome it by attending to the words I heard。 Then； very
strangely； I seemed to hear them； not in the reader’s voice； but in
the well…remembered voice of my godmother。 This made me think。
Did Lady Dedlock’s face accidentally resemble my godmother’s？ It
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might be that it did； a little； but； the expression was so different；
and the stern decision which had worn into my godmother’s face；
like weather into rocks； was so completely wanting in the face
before me； that it could not be that resemblance which had struck
me。 Neither did I know the loftiness and haughtiness of Lady
Dedlock’s face； at all； in any one。 And yet I—I； little Esther
Summerson； the child who lived a life apart； and on whose
birthday there was no rejoicing—seemed to arise before my own
eyes； evoked out of the past by some power in this fashionable
lady； whom I not only entertained no fancy that I had ever seen；
but whom I perfectly well knew I had never seen until that hour。
It made me tremble so； to be thrown into this unaccountable
agitation； that I was conscious of being distressed even by the
observation of the French maid； though I knew she had been
looking watchfully here； and there； and everywhere； from the
moment of her coming into the church。 By degrees； though very
slowly； I at last overcame my strange emotion。 After a long time； I
looked towards Lady Dedlock again。 It was while they were
preparing to sing； before the sermon。 She took no heed of me； and
the beating at my heart was gone。 Neither did it revive for more
than a few moments； when she once or twice afterwards glanced
at Ada or at me through her glass。
The service being concluded； Sir Leicester gave his arm with
much state and gallantry to Lady Dedlock—though he was obliged
to walk by the help of a thick stick—and escorted her out of
church to the pony carriage in which they had come。 The servants
then dispersed； and so did the congregation： whom Sir Leicester
had contemplated all along （Mr Skimpole said to Mr Boythorn’s
infinite delight）； as if he were a considerable landed proprietor in
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Heaven。
“He believes he is！” said Mr Boythorn。 “He firmly believes it。 So
did his father； and his grandfather； and his great…grandfather！”
“Do you know；” pursued Mr Skimpole； very unexpectedly to Mr
Boythorn； “it’s agreeable to me to see a man of that sort。”
“Is it！” said Mr Boythorn。
“Say that he wants to patronise me；” pursued Mr Skimpole。
“Very well！ I don’t object。”
“I do；” said Mr Boythorn； with great vigour。
“Do you really？” returned Mr Skimpole； in his easy light vein。
“But； that’s taking trouble； surely。 And why should you take
trouble？ Here am I； content to receive things childishly； as they
fall out： and I never take trouble！ I come down here for instance；
and I find a mighty potentate； exacting homage。 Very well！ I say
‘Mighty potentate； here is my homage！ It’s easier to give it； than to
withhold it。 Here it is。 If you have anything of an agreeable nature
to show me； I shall be happy to see it； if you have anything of an
agreeable nature to give me； I shall be happy to accept it。’ Mighty
potentate replies in effect； ‘This is a sensible fellow。 I find him
accord with my digestion and my bilious system。 He doesn’t
impose upon me the necessity of rolling myself up like a hedgehog
with my points outward。 I expand； I open； I turn my silver lining
outward like Milton’s cloud； and it’s more agreeable to both of us。’
That’s my view of such things： speaking as a child！”
“But suppose you went down somewhere else tomorrow；” said
Mr Boythorn； “where there was the opposite of that fellow—or of
this fellow。 How then？”
“How then？” said Mr Skimpole； with an appearance of the
utmost simplicity and candour。 “Just the same； then！ I should say；
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‘My esteemed Boythorn’—to make you the personification of our
imaginary friend—‘my esteemed Boythorn； you object to the
mighty potentate？ Very good。 So do I。 I take it that my business in
the social system is to be agreeable； I take it that everybody’s
business in the social system is to be agreeable。 It’s a system of
harmony； in short。 Therefore； if you object； I object。 Now；
excellent Boythorn； let us go to dinner！’”
“But； excellent Boythorn might say；” returned our host；
swelling and growing very red； “I’ll be—”
“I understand；” said Mr Skimpole。 “Very likely he would。”
“—if I will go to dinner！” cried Mr Boythorn； in a violent burst；
and stopping to strike his stick upon the ground。 “And he would
probably add； ‘Is there such a thing as principle； Mr Harold
Skimpole？’”
“To which Harold Skimpole would reply； you know；” he
returned in his gayest manner； and with his most ingenuous smile；
“‘Upon my life I have not the least idea！ I don’t know what it is you
call by that name； or where it is； or who possesses it。 If you possess
it； and find it comfortable； I am quite delighted； and congratulate
you heartily。 But I know nothing about it； I assure you； for I am a
mere child； and I lay no claim to it； and I don’t want it！’ So you see；
excellent Boythorn and I would go to dinner after all！”
This was one of many little dialogues between them； which I
always expected to end； and which I dare say would have ended—
under other circumstances； in some violent explosion on the part
of our host。 But he had so high a sense of his hospitable and
responsible position as our entertainer； and my Guardian laughed
so sincerely at and with Mr Skimpole； as a child who blew bubbles
and broke them all day long； that matters never went beyond this
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point。 Mr Skimpole； who always seemed quite unconscious of
having been on delicate ground； then betook himself to beginning
some sketch in the park which he never finished； or to playing
fragments of airs on the piano；
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