Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size, representing Mr. Sapsea′s father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little finger, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.
Mr. Sapsea sits in his dull ground-floor sitting-room, giving first on his paved back yard; and then on his railed-off garden. Mr. Sapsea has a bottle of port wine on a table before the fire—the fire is an early luxury, but pleasant on the cool, chilly autumn evening—and is characteristically attended by his portrait, his eight-day clock, and his weather-glass. Characteristically, because he would uphold himself against mankind, his weather-glass against weather, and his clock against time.
By Mr. Sapsea′s side on the table are a writing-desk and writing materials. Glancing at a scrap of manuscript, Mr. Sapsea reads it to himself with a lofty air, and then, slowly pacing the room with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, repeats it from memory: so internally, though with much dignity, that the word ′Ethelinda′ is alone audible.
There are three clean wineglasses in a tray on the table. His serving-maid entering, and announcing ′Mr. Jasper is come, sir,′ Mr. Sapsea waves ′Admit him,′ and draws two wineglasses from the rank, as being claimed.
′Glad to see you, sir. I congratulate myself on having the honour of receiving you here for the first time.′ Mr. Sapsea does the honours of his house in this wise.
′You are very good. The honour is mine and the self-congratulation is mine.′
′You are pleased to say so, sir. But I do assure you that it is a satisfaction to me to receive you in my humble home. And that is what I would not say to everybody.′ Ineffable loftiness on Mr. Sapsea′s part accompanies these words, as leaving the sentence to be understood: ′You will not easily believe that your society can be a satisfaction to a man like myself; nevertheless, it is.′
′I have for some time desired to know you, Mr. Sapsea.′
′And I, sir, have long known you by reputation as a man of taste. Let me fill your glass. I will give you, sir,′ says Mr. Sapsea, filling his own:
′When the French come over, May we meet them at Dover!′
This was a patriotic toast in Mr. Sapsea′s infancy, and he is therefore fully convinced of its being appropriate to any subsequent era.
′You can scarcely be ignorant, Mr. Sapsea,′ observes Jasper, watching the auctioneer with a smile as the latter stretches out his legs before the fire, ′that you know the world.′
′Well, sir,′ is the chuckling reply, ′I think I know something of it; something of it.′
′Your reputation for that knowledge has always interested and surprised me, and made me wish to know you. For Cloisterham is a little place. Cooped up in it myself, I know nothing beyond it, and feel it to be a very little place.′
′If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man,′ Mr. Sapsea begins, and then stops:- ′You will excuse me calling you young man, Mr. Jasper? You are much my junior.′
′By all means.′
′If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man, foreign countries have come to me. They have come to me in the way of business, and I have improved upon my opportunities. Put it that I take an inventory, or make a catalogue. I see a French clock.
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