“But this is marvellous!” interrupted Mr Honeyfoot. “This is wonderful! Why! Not even Mr Norrell himself could attempt such a thing!”

“Oh!” said Strange, turning to Mr Honeyfoot. “It is not so difficult as you imagine. First you must send out your invitation to the lady – any spell of summoning will do. I used Ormskirk.³ Of course the troublesome part was to adapt Ormskirk so that both Miss Absalom and I arrived in my dream at the same time – Ormskirk is so loose that the person one summons might go pretty well anywhere at any time and feel that they had fulfilled their obligations – that, I admit, was not an easy task. And yet, you know, I am not displeased with the results. Second I had to cast a spell upon myself to bring on a magic sleep. Of course I have heard of such spells but confess that I have never actually seen one, and so, you know, I was obliged to invent my own – I dare say it is feeble enough, but what can one do?”

“Good God!” cried Mr Honeyfoot. “Do you mean to say that practically all this magic was your own invention?”

“Oh! well,” said Strange, “as to that … I had Ormskirk – I based everything on Ormskirk.”

“Oh! But might not Hether-Gray be a better foundation than Ormskirk?” asked Mr Segundus.⁴ “Forgive me. I am no practical magician but Hether-Gray has always seemed to me so much more reliable than Ormskirk.”

“Indeed?” said Strange. “Of course I have heard of Hether-Gray. I have recently begun to correspond with a gentleman in Lincolnshire who says he has a copy of Hether-Gray’s The Anatomy of a Minotaur. So Hether-Gray is really worth looking into, is he?”

Mr Honeyfoot declared that Hether-Gray was no such thing, that his book was the most thick-headed nonsense in the world; Mr Segundus disagreed and Strange grew more interested, and less mindful of the fact that he was supposed to be angry with Mr Segundus.

For who can remain angry with Mr Segundus? I dare say there are people in the world who are able to resent goodness and amiability, whose spirits are irritated by gentleness – but I am glad to say that Jonathan Strange was not of their number. Mr Segundus offered his apologies for spoiling the magic and Strange, with a smile and a bow, said that Mr Segundus should think of it no more.

“I shall not ask, sir,” said Strange to Mr Segundus, “if you are a magician. The ease with which you penetrate other people’s dreams proclaims your power.” Strange turned to Mr Honeyfoot, “But are you a magician also, sir?”

Poor Mr Honeyfoot! So blunt a question to be applied to so tender a spot! He was still a magician at heart and did not like to be reminded of his loss. He replied that he had been a magician not so many years before. But he had been obliged to give it up. Nothing could have been further from his own wishes. The study of magic – of good English magic – was, in his opinion, the most noble occupation in the world.