“It is certainly a small house, Childermass,” he said, “but I do not complain. My own comfort, as you know, I do not regard.”

Childermass replied that the house was larger than most.

“Indeed?” said Mr Norrell, much surprized. Mr Norrell was particularly shocked by the smallness of the library, which could not be made to accommodate one third of the books he considered indispensable; he asked Childermass how people in London housed their books? Perhaps they did not read?

Mr Norrell had been in London not above three weeks when he received a letter from a Mrs Godesdone, a lady of whom he had never heard before.

“… I know it is very shoking that I should write to you upon no acquaintance whatsoever & no doubt you say to yourself who is this impertinent creachure? I did not now there was such a person in existence! and consider me shokingly bold etc. etc. but Drawlight is a dear freind of mine and assures me that you are the sweetest-natured creachure in the world and will not mind it. I am most impatient for the pleasure of your acquaintance and would consider it the greatest honour in the world if you would consent to give us the pleasure of your company at an evening-party on Thursday se’night. Do not let the apprehension of meeting with a croud prevent you from coming – I detest a croud of all things and only my most intimate freinds will be invited to meet you …”

It was not the sort of letter to make any very favourable impression upon Mr Norrell. He read it through very rapidly, put it aside with an exclamation of disgust and took up his book again. A short while later Childermass arrived to attend to the morning’s business. He read Mrs Godesdone’s letter and inquired what answer Mr Norrell intended to return to it?

“A refusal,” said Mr Norrell.

“Indeed? And shall I say that you have a prior engagement?” asked Childermass.

“Certainly, if you wish,” said Mr Norrell.

“And do you have a prior engagement?” asked Childermass.

“No,” said Mr Norrell.

“Ah!” said Childermass. “Then perhaps it is the overabundance of your engagements on other days that makes you refuse this one? You fear to be too tired?”

“I have no engagements. You know very well that I do not.” Mr Norrell read for another minute or two before remarking (apparently to his book), “You are still here.”

“I am,” said Childermass.

“Well then,” said Mr Norrell, “what is it? What is the matter?”

“I had thought you were come to London to shew people what a modern magician looked like. It will be a slow business if you are to stay at home all the time.”

Mr Norrell said nothing. He picked up the letter and looked at it. “Drawlight,” he said at last. “What does she mean by that? I know no one of that name.”

“I do not know what she means,” said Childermass, “but I do know this: at present it will not do to be too nice.”