"To Mr. Seymour Delafield," said Charlotte, raising her mild eyes to the face of her mother, and smiling, as she delicately pared her apple, with a simple ingenuousness that banished uneasiness from the breast of her parent in an instant. "I know him," said Mr. Henly; "but I did not think you had ever seen him, Charlotte." "We met him in our morning walk, sir, and Maria introduced him." "He is thought to be very handsome," continued her father, helping himself to a glass of wine while speaking. "And very justly," returned the daughter; "I think him the handsomest man that I have ever seen." "Have I your permission for telling him so?" cried Maria, with a laugh. "I have not the least objection to his knowing it, on my own account, except from the indelicacy of complimenting a gentleman," said Charlotte, with perfect simplicity; "but whether it would be beneficial to himself or not, you can best judge." "You think him vain, then?" observed her mother. "Not in the least; or, rather, he did not exhibit it to me"--was the answer, with the same open air as before. "He has also a great reputation for good sense," continued her father, avoiding the face of his child. "I thought he had wit, sir." "And not good sense?" "Am I a judge?" asked Charlotte, rising, and holding a lighted paper to her father, while he took a new segar. Her clear blue eyes resting on him in the fulness of filial affection, as she performed this office, and the open air with which she bent forward to receive the kiss he offered in thanks, removed any apprehensions which the name of their morning's companion might have excited. Mr. Henly knew nothing concerning this young man that would induce him at all to avoid the connexion, but still he had not yet examined his character with that searching vigilance that he thought due to the innocence and merit of his child. Determining within himself, however, that this was a task that should no longer be neglected, he rose, and telling the ladies that he left the bottle with them, withdrew to his study. The door had hardly closed behind Mr. Henly, when George Morton entered the dining parlour, with the freedom of an old and favourite friend, and telling Mrs. Henly that, in consequence of his family's dining out, and his own engagements, he was fasting, and begged her charity for a meal. From the instant that he appeared, Charlotte had risen with alacrity, and was no sooner acquainted with his wants, than she rung to order what he required. She brought him a glass of sparkling wine with her own hands, and pushing a chair nearer to the fire than the one he occupied, she said-- "Sit here, George, you appear chilled--I thought you would miss your coat." "I thank you," returned the youth, turning on her an eye of the most open affection; "I do feel unusually cold, and begin to think, that with my weak lungs it would have been more prudent to have taken a surtout." {surtout = overcoat}