As Mr Jarndyce sat enjoying the image of his friend Boythorn, we observed the favourable omen that there was not the least indication of any change in the wind.

“But it’s the inside of the man, the warm heart of the man, the passion of the man, the fresh blood of the man, Rick — and Ada, and little Cobweb too, for you are all interested in a visitor! — that I speak of,” he pursued. “His language is as sounding as his voice. He is always in extremes; perpetually in the superlative degree. In his condemnation he is all ferocity. You might suppose him to be an Ogre, from what he says; and I believe he has the reputation of one with some people. There! I tell you no more of him beforehand. You must not be surprised to see him take me under his protection; for he has never forgotten that I was a low boy at school, and that our friendship began in his knocking two of my head tyrant’s teeth out (he says six) before breakfast. Boythorn and his man,” to me, “will be here this afternoon, my dear.”

I took care that the necessary preparations were made for Mr Boythorn’s reception, and we looked forward to his arrival with some curiosity. The afternoon wore away, however, and he did not appear. The dinner- hour arrived, and still he did not appear. The dinner was put back an hour, and we were sitting round the fire with no light but the blaze, when the hall-door suddenly burst open, and the hall resounded with these words, uttered with the greatest vehemence and in a stentorian tone:

“We have been misdirected, Jarndyce, by a most abandoned ruffian, who told us to take the turning to the right instead of to the left. He is the most intolerable scoundrel on the face of the earth. His father must have been a most consummate villain, ever to have such a son. I would have had that fellow shot without the least remorse!”

“Did he do it on purpose?” Mr Jarndyce inquired.

“I have not the slightest doubt that the scoundrel has passed his whole existence in misdirecting travellers!” returned the other. “By my soul, I thought him the worst-looking dog I had ever beheld, when he was telling me to take the turning to the right. And yet I stood before that fellow face to face, and didn’t knock his brains out!”

“Teeth, you mean?” said Mr Jarndyce.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Mr Lawrence Boythorn, really making the whole house vibrate. “What, you have not forgotten it yet! Ha, ha, ha! — And that was another most consummate vagabond! By my soul, the countenance of that fellow, when he was a boy; was the blackest image of perfidy, cowardice, and cruelty ever set up as a scarecrow in a field of scoundrels. If I were to meet that most unparalleled despot in the streets to-morrow, I would fell him like a rotten tree!”

“I have no doubt of it,” said Mr Jarndyce. “Now, will you come upstairs?”

“By my soul, Jarndyce,” returned his guest, who seemed to refer to his watch, “if you had been married, I would have turned back at the garden-gate, and gone away to the remotest summits of the Himalaya Mountains, sooner than I would have presented myself at this unseasonable hour.”

“Not quite so far, I hope?” said Mr Jarndyce.

“By my life and honour, yes!” cried the visitor. “I wouldn’t be guilty of the audacious insolence of keeping a lady of the house waiting all this time, for any earthly consideration. I would infinitely rather destroy myself — infinitely rather!”

Talking thus, they went up-stairs; and presently we heard him in his bedroom thundering “Ha, ha, ha!” and again “Ha, ha, ha!” until the flattest echo in the neighbourhood seemed to catch the contagion, and to laugh as enjoyingly as he did, or as we did when we heard him laugh.