“I am glad,” I replied, “that I did not know, till the butler told me, your unwillingness to be intruded upon; for I fear, had I known it, I should have been yet longer a stranger to you.” “You are no stranger to me. I have heard you read prayers, and I have heard you preach.” “And I have heard you play; so you are no stranger to me either.” “Well, before we say another word,” said Mr Stoddart, “I must just say one word about this report of my unsociable disposition.—I encourage it; but am very glad to see you, notwithstanding.—Do sit down.” I obeyed, and waited for the rest of his word. “I was so bored with visits after I came, visits which were to me utterly uninteresting, that I was only too glad when the unusual nature of some of my pursuits gave rise to the rumour that I was mad. The more people say I am mad, the better pleased I am, so long as they are satisfied with my own mode of shutting myself up, and do not attempt to carry out any fancies of their own in regard to my personal freedom.” Upon this followed some desultory conversation, during which I took some observations of the room. Like the outer room, it was full of books from floor to ceiling. But the ceiling was divided into compartments, harmoniously coloured. “What a number of books you have!” I observed. “Not a great many,” he answered. “But I think there is hardly one of them with which I have not some kind of personal acquaintance. I think I could almost find you any one you wanted in the dark, or in the twilight at least, which would allow me to distinguish whether the top edge was gilt, red, marbled, or uncut. I have bound a couple of hundred or so of them myself. I don’t think you could tell the work from a tradesman’s. I’ll give you a guinea for the poor-box if you pick out three of my binding consecutively.” I accepted the challenge; for although I could not bind a book, I considered myself to have a keen eye for the outside finish. After looking over the backs of a great many, I took one down, examined a little further, and presented it. “You are right. Now try again.” Again I was successful, although I doubted. “And now for the last,” he said. Once more I was right. “There is your guinea,” said he, a little mortified. “No,” I answered. “I do not feel at liberty to take it, because, to tell the truth, the last was a mere guess, nothing more.” Mr Stoddart looked relieved. “You are more honest than most of your profession,” he said. “But I am far more pleased to offer you the guinea upon the smallest doubt of your having won it.” “I have no claim upon it.” “What! Couldn’t you swallow a small scruple like that for the sake of the poor even? Well, I don’t believe YOU could.—Oblige me by taking this guinea for some one or other of your poor people. But I AM glad you weren’t sure of that last book. I am indeed.” I took the guinea, and put it in my purse.