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Updated: May 8, 2025
Skimpole's, however distantly associated with me, receiving kindnesses and obligations from her husband, was so painful that I felt I could no longer guide myself without his assistance. When we had retired for the night, and Ada and I had had our usual talk in our pretty room, I went out at my door again and sought my guardian among his books.
After walking and stopping, and several times leaving off rubbing his head, and beginning again, my guardian put his hand upon the keys and stopped Mr. Skimpole's playing. "I don't like this, Skimpole," he said thoughtfully. Mr. Skimpole, who had quite forgotten the subject, looked up surprised.
Dickens himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The original of Bleak House was a country mansion in Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though it is usually said to be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs. I. In Chancery London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall.
Skimpole's childhood, it assuredly possessed its advantages too. So when the coachman came round for his fee, he pleasantly asked him what he considered a very good fee indeed, now a liberal one and on his replying half a crown for a single passenger, said it was little enough too, all things considered, and left Mr. Jarndyce to give it him. It was delightful weather.
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.
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 thought I could understand how such a nature as my guardian's, experienced in the world and forced to contemplate the miserable evasions and contentions of the family misfortune, found an immense relief in Mr. Skimpole's avowal of his weaknesses and display of guileless candour; but I could not satisfy myself that it was as artless as it seemed or that it did not serve Mr.
"And he is worth not to say his sordid expenses but thrice his weight in gold," said Richard. "He is such a cheery fellow. No worldliness about him. Fresh and green-hearted!" I certainly did not see the proof of Mr. Skimpole's worldliness in his having his expenses paid by Richard, but I made no remark about that. Indeed, he came in and turned our conversation.
Skimpole's idle turn quite as well as any other part, and with less trouble. They both walked back with me, and Mr. Skimpole leaving us at the gate, I walked softly in with Richard and said, "Ada, my love, I have brought a gentleman to visit you." It was not difficult to read the blushing, startled face. She loved him dearly, and he knew it, and I knew it.
"Indeed it is not so, sir," said Ada. "He is poor." "No, really?" returned Mr. Skimpole with his bright smile. "You surprise me. "And not being the richer for trusting in a rotten reed," said my guardian, laying his hand emphatically on the sleeve of Mr. Skimpole's dressing-gown, "be you very careful not to encourage him in that reliance, Harold." "My dear good friend," returned Mr.
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