Whatever there was in Mr.
Bellingham's rooms was good; much of it was unique, and the whole was harmonious.

Rare editions were bound by famous binders, and if the twopenny-halfpenny productions of some little would-be modern poet, resplendent with vellum and aesthetic greenliness of paper, occasionally found their way to the table, they never travelled as far as the shelves.

Mr.Bellingham had fools enough about him to absorb his spare trash.
On this particular occasion the old gentleman was seated in an arm-chair at his table, and Claudius, as aforesaid, had established himself upon the sofa.

He looked very grave and smoked thoughtfully.
"I wish I knew what to do," he said.

"Mr.Bellingham, do you think I could be of any use ?" "If I had not thought so, I would not have told you--I could have let you find it out for yourself from the papers.