So Mr Norrell invited Strange to Hanover-square again and as on the previous occasion Drawlight and Lascelles were present, but Strange came alone.

The second meeting took place in the library at Hanover-square. Strange looked about him at the great quantities of books, but said not a word. Perhaps he had got to the end of his anger. There seemed to be a determination on both sides to speak and behave more cordially.

“You do me great honour, sir,” said Strange when Mr Norrell gave him his present. “English Magic by Jeremy Tott.” He turned the pages. “Not an author I have ever heard of.”

“It is a biography of his brother, a theoretical magio-historian of the last century called Horace Tott,” said Mr Norrell.² He explained about the lessons of diligent research and not committing oneself to paper that Strange was to learn. Strange smiled politely, bowed, and said he was sure it would be most interesting.

Mr Drawlight admired Strange’s present.

Mr Norrell gazed at Strange with an odd expression upon his face as though he would have been glad of a little conversation with him, but had not the least idea how to begin.

Mr Lascelles reminded Mr Norrell that Lord Mulgrave of the Admiralty was expected within the hour.

“You have business to conduct, sir,” said Strange. “I must not intrude. Indeed I have business for Mrs Strange in Bond-street that must not be neglected.”

“And perhaps one day,” said Drawlight, “we shall have the honour of seeing a piece of magic worked by Mr Strange. I am excessively fond of seeing magic done.”

“Perhaps,” said Strange.

Mr Lascelles rang the bell for the servant. Suddenly Mr Norrell said, “I should be glad to see some of Mr Strange’s magic now – if he would honour us with a demonstration.”

“Oh!” said Strange. “But I do not …”

“It would do me great honour,” insisted Mr Norrell.

“Very well,” said Strange, “I shall be very glad to shew you something. It will be a little awkward, perhaps, compared to what you are accustomed to. I very much doubt, Mr Norrell, that I can match you in elegance of execution.”

Mr Norrell bowed.

Strange glanced two or three times around the room in search of some magic to do. His glance fell upon a mirror that hung in the depths of a corner of the room where the light never penetrated. He placed English Magic by Jeremy Tott upon the library-table so that its reflection was clearly visible in the mirror. For some moments he stared at it and nothing happened. And then he made a curious gesture; he ran both hands through his hair, clasped the back of his neck and stretched his shoulders, as a man will do who eases himself of the cramps. Then he smiled and altogether looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

Which was odd because the book looked exactly as it had done before.

Lascelles and Drawlight, who were both accustomed to seeing – or hearing about – Mr Norrell’s wonderful magic, were scarcely impressed by this; indeed it was a great deal less than a common conjuror might manage at a fairground. Lascelles opened his mouth – doubtless to say some scathing thing – but was forestalled by Mr Norrell suddenly crying out in a tone of wonder, “But that is remarkable! That is truly … My dear Mr Strange! I never even heard of such magic before! It is not listed in Sutton-Grove. I assure you, my dear sir, it is not in Sutton-Grove!”