At the end of the sentence Mr Primrose spoke in a more subdued tone, as became him when speaking of the death of a dear friend. But as he spoke he offered his hand to the rector of Neverden, who in return offered his, but it was by no means an equivalent; for the reverend divine gave his hand so formally and indifferently, that it was to Mr Primrose as cold and flabby as a duck’s foot. And he said, “Mr Primrose, I am happy to see you. You are welcome to England.” But though he said he was happy, he did not look so, unless it be true, as some philosophers have averred, that happiness is the most serious thing in the world. The rector of Neverden also said, “I beg you will be seated, sir.” He had learned that from the Right Honorable the Earl of Smatterton; for no man is so great a simpleton that nothing can be learned from him. There was nothing uncivil or rude in this reception, what could be more proper or polite than to welcome Mr Primrose to England, and ask him to be seated? But Mr Primrose felt a chill at this reception. However, he sat down; and then the polite rector, when his visitor was seated, sat down also. Then he snuffed the candles, and carefully closed the book that he had been reading, and pushed it some distance from him, even so far as his arm could reach, and then he turned himself in his chair from the table, and towards Mr Primrose, and looked at him as much as to say, “What do you want with me?” Mr Primrose interpreted the look, and said “I have never had the pleasure of seeing you before Mr Darnley, except for a very few minutes, and at some distance of time; but as you wrote to me an account of my dear brother’s death, and as I have now returned to England, and am expecting presently the happiness of a meeting with my dear child, I thought it might be advisable to call first on you, that some message may be sent to Penelope, that the surprise may not be too much for her.” “Miss Primrose,” said the imperturbable rector of Neverden, “is not at present in this part of the country.” The effect of the composing draught was completely gone off, and Mr Primrose started up from the chair to which he had been so politely invited, and exclaimed with great impetuosity, “Good God! Mr Darnley, you don’t say so.” Mr Darnley was not so much agitated as Mr Primrose, and therefore he compressed his lips and knitted his brows, and then opened his mouth and said very composedly: “Mr Primrose, I beg that you would recollect that I am a clergyman, and therefore that it is not becoming and correct, that in my presence, you should take the name of the Lord in vain.” “I beg your pardon,” said Mr Primrose, with tears in his eyes, “but consider, sir, I am a father, and--” “I also am a father,” interrupted the rector, “and have more children than you have.” “Oh, but tell me, tell me, sir, is my child living?” “To the best of my knowledge Miss Primrose is living.” “But where is she? Why has she left Smatterton?”