“Oh, my dear sir, the usages of society are narrow and restricted; the ban of the world is cold and cruel; they are invented to excuse selfish indolence, and silence the claims of the helpless and dependent. I would wish to set these aside, and act on my own judgment, as true friendship and kindness may require, regardless of what others may think.” “Excuse me, sir, but the injunction to ‘Provide things honest in the sight of all men,’ requires that friendship and kindness should regard what may be said of others. The usages of society are founded on a long experience of facts and results; and though they may only aim at controlling appearances, they are not safely to be trampled on; neither is the world in general so very strict in its requisitions as to make it too difficult to comply with them. Depend upon it, they are founded on right principles, although only in themselves the very shell of what is fair and good.” “All I ask is to be trusted; to act as the adopted brother and sincere friend of Miss Duncan and her sisters, in case of trouble.” “So far as Miss Duncan herself will authorize you, I can make no objection, Mr. Huyton: but nominal adoption and confidential friendship between individuals situated as you are, are mere delusions, and have been most judiciously placed in the category of unsafe and unadvisable things, although they may not be actually considered incorrect.” “The fact is,” said Charles, with a slightly bitter politeness, “you are afraid to trust me. Well, so be it. If your suspicions interfere to prevent Miss Duncan having a friend in need, I can at least assure you she shall have my best wishes; that is all I can give her.” Hilary returned at this juncture and Mr. Huyton felt himself obliged to take leave, although it was evidently with reluctance that he went. Fast flew the hours, bright and fast, which Captain Hepburn might spend at Hurstdene; his professional duties too soon forced him away; but he was leaving with the hopes of speedily returning, perhaps for a longer time, perhaps to remain entirely, so the separation could be bravely borne. “My dearest Hilary,” said he, the evening he was to start, for he saved time by traveling all night, “do you know what you are doing by allowing that young man to be so constantly here?” He looked toward James Ufford, who was loitering as usual on the lawn with Gwyneth and Nest. “No! What?” was her answer. “Do you not see that Gwyneth has fallen in love with the curate?” “No,” said Hilary, coloring crimson, “has she?” “So it appears to me.” “Well, and what then? How could I help it? What must I do? Why should it signify?” “Signify! do you think Mr. Ufford intended it?” “I do not know. I am sure Gwyneth has not such an idea in her head; perhaps they are both unconscious; but don’t you like him?”