If it had occurred to me at the time that I was destined to play Boswell to Jaffery's Johnson, perhaps I might have gone straight to him and demanded a solution of my difficulties.

As it was, in my unawakened condition, I did nothing of the kind.

I spent an hour or two looking up something in the British Museum, stopped at the bootmaker's to give an order concerning Susan's riding-boots (_vide_ diary) and drove home to dinner, to a comfortable chat with Barbara, during which I gave her an account of the day's doings, and eventually to the peaceful slumber of the contented and inoffensive man.
A fortnight or so passed before I saw Jaffery again.

Happening to be in Westminster in the forenoon--I had come up to town on business--I mounted to his cheerless eyrie in Victoria Street, and rang the bell.

A dingy servitor in a dress suit, on transient duty, admitted me, and I found Jaffery collarless and minus jacket and waistcoat, smoking a pipe in front of the fire.