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introduced Richard to Mr Vholes； for a present of five pounds。
“Did he？” said my Guardian； with a passing shade of vexation
on his face。 “But there you have the man。 There you have the
man！ There is nothing mercenary in that； with him。 He has no idea
of the value of money。 He introduces Rick； and then he is good
friends with Mr Vholes； and borrows five pounds of him。 He
means nothing by it； and thinks nothing of it。 He told you him self；
I’ll be bound； my dear？”
“O yes！” said I。
“Exactly！” cried my Guardian； quite triumphant。 “There you
have the man！ If he had meant any harm by it； or was conscious of
any harm in it； he wouldn’t tell it。 He tells it as he does it； in mere
simplicity。 But you shall see him in his own home； and then you’ll
understand him better。 We must pay a visit to Harold Skimpole；
and caution him on these points。 Lord bless you； my dears； an
infant； an infant！”
In pursuance of this plan； we went into London on an early day；
and presented ourselves at Mr Skimpole’s door。
He lived in a place called the Polygon； in Somers Town； where
there were at that time a number of poor Spanish refugees
walking about in cloaks； smoking little paper cigars。 Whether he
was a better tenant than one might have supposed； in
consequence of his friend Somebody always paying his rent at last；
or whether his inaptitude for business rendered it particularly
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Bleak House 817
difficult to turn him out； I don’t know； but he had occupied the
same house some years。 It was in a state of dilapidation quite
equal to our expectation。 Two or three of the area railing were
gone； the water…butt was broken； the knocker was loose； the bell
handle had been pulled off a long time； to judge from the rusty
state of the wire； and dirty footprints on the steps were the only
signs of its being inhabited。
A slatternly full…blown girl； who seemed to be bursting out at
the rents in her gown and the cracks in her shoes； like an overripe
berry； answered our knock by opening the door a very little way
and stopping up the gap with her figure。 As she knew Mr Jarndyce
（indeed Ada and I both thought that she evidently associated him
with the receipt of her wages）； she immediately relented and
allowed us to pass in。 The lock of the door being in a disabled
condition； she then applied herself to securing it with the chain；
which was not in good action either； and said would we go
upstairs？
We went upstairs to the first floor； still seeing no other furniture
than the dirty footprints。 Mr Jarndyce； without further ceremony；
entered a room there； and we followed。 It was dingy enough； and
not at all clean； but furnished with an odd kind of shabby luxury；
with a large footstool； a sofa； and plenty of cushions； an easy…chair；
and plenty of pillows； a piano； books； drawing materials； music；
newspapers； and a few sketches and pictures。 A broken pane of
glass in one of the dirty windows was papered and wafered over；
but there was a little plate of hothouse nectarines on the table； and
there was another of grapes； and another of sponge…cakes； and
there was a bottle of light wine。 Mr Skimpole himself reclined
upon the sofa； in a dressing…gown； drinking some fragrant coffee
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Bleak House 818
from an old china cup—it was then about midday—and looking at
a collection of wallflowers in the balcony。
He was not in the least disconcerted by our appearance； but
rose and received us in his usual airy manner。
“Here I am； you see！” he said； when we were seated； not
without some little difficulty； the greater part of the chairs being
broken。 “Here I am！ This is my frugal breakfast。 Some men want
legs of beef and mutton for breakfast； I don’t。 Give me my peach；
my cup of coffee； and my claret； I am content。 I don’t want them
for themselves； but they remind me of the sun。 There’s nothing
solar about legs of beef and mutton。 Mere animal satisfaction！”
“This is our friend’s consulting…room （or would be； if he ever
prescribed）； his sanctum； his studio；” said my Guardian to us。
“Yes；” said Mr Skimpole； turning his bright face about； “this is
the bird’s cage。 This is where the bird lives and sings。 They pluck
his feathers now and then； and clip his wings； but he sings； he
sings！”
He handed us the grapes； repeating in his radiant way； “he
sings！ Not an ambitious note； but still he sings。”
“These are very fine；” said my Guardian。 “A present！”
“No；” he answered。 “No！ Some amiable gardener sells them。
His man wanted to know； when he brought them last evening；
whether he should wait for the money。 ‘Really； my friend；’ I said； ‘I
think not—if your time is of any value to you。’ I suppose it was； for
he went away。”
My Guardian looked at us with a smile； as though he asked us；
“is it possible to be worldly with this baby？”
“This is a day；” said Mr Skimpole； gaily taking a little claret in a
tumbler； “that will ever be remembered here。 We shall call it the
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Bleak House 819
Saint Clare and Saint Summerson day。 You must see my
daughters。 I have a blue…eyed daughter who is my Beauty
daughter； I have a Sentiment daughter； and I have a Comedy
daughter。 You must see them all。 They’ll be enchanted。”
He was going to summon them； when my Guardian interposed；
and asked him to pause a moment； as he wished to say a word to
him first。 “My dear Jarndyce；” he cheerfully replied； going back to
his sofa； “as many moments as you please。 Time is no object here。
We never know what o’clock it is； and we never care。 Not the way
to get on in life； you’ll tell me？ Certainly。 But we don’t get on in
life。 We don’t pretend to do it。”
My Guardian looked at us again； plainly saying； “You hear
him？”
“Now Harold；” he began； “the word I have to say relates to
Rick。”
“The dearest friend I have！” returned Mr Skimpole； cordially。
“I suppose he ought not to be my dearest friend； as he is not on
terms with you。 But he is； I can’t help it； he is full of youthful
poetry； and I love him。 If you don’t like it； I can’t help it。 I love
him。”
The engaging frankness with which he made this declaration；
really had a disinterested appearance； and captivated my
Guardian； if not； for the moment； Ada too。
“You are welcome to love