"Indeed," I said, "You speak excellently."

"Not so," he answered. "I know very well that, if I were to walk and talk in your London, everybody would know that I was a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble. I am a Boyar. The common people know me, and I am their master. But a stranger in a strange land is no one. Men do not know him, and they do not care for what they do not know. I am content if I am like everyone else, so that no one stops if he sees me, or thinks if he hears my words, 'Ha, ha! A stranger!'

I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least I do not want someone else to be my master. You are not only the agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, who has come to tell me all about my new estate in London. I hope that you will stay here with me a while, so that I may learn the English intonation as we talk. And I want you to tell me when I make error, even the smallest mistake, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long today. But I know that you will forgive a person who has so many important affairs in hand."

Of course I said all I could about being willing to help, and asked if I might come into the library at any time. He answered, "Yes, certainly," and added this warning.