MIDDLEMARCH (Completed)

BOOK 2- OLD AND YOUNG- Chapter 13

1st Gent. How class your man?--as better than the most,

Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak?

As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite?

2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books

The drifted relics of all time.

As well sort them at once by size and livery:

Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf

Will hardly cover more diversity

Than all your labels cunningly devised

To class your unread authors.

In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy determined

to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank

at half-past one, when he was usually free from other callers.

But a visitor had come in at one o'clock, and Mr. Bulstrode had so

much to say to him, that there was little chance of the interview

being over in half an hour. The banker's speech was fluent,

but it was also copious, and he used up an appreciable amount

of time in brief meditative pauses. Do not imagine his sickly

aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a pale

blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes,

and a large forehead. Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone,

and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness;

though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given

to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be

shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs.

Mr. Bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening,

and an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those

persons who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking

the utmost improvement from their discourse. Others, who expected

to make no great figure, disliked this kind of moral lantern turned

on them. If you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of

satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light

and look judicial. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit.

Hence Mr. Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the

publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some

to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical.

Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who his father

and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty years ago nobody

had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. To his present visitor,

Lydgate, the scrutinizing look was a matter of indifference: