“It was so recently settled,” answered Mr. Duncan, “that perhaps there has not been time to let you know; and in that case, I regret I have forestalled them in giving information, which would, no doubt, have come more gracefully from the parties in whom you are so much interested. Charles knew my wishes, and introduced his cousin here; and Mr. Paine, once introduced, is a person to make his own way; but almost nothing was said of the lady, so that I was entirely ignorant of her being a connection of yours. Charles did not even mention her name to us, did he, Hilary?” “Excuse me,” said Mr. Barham; “may I inquire who _Charles_ is?” “I really beg your pardon, Mr. Barham; I mean Mr. Huyton; but for the last two years I have been so completely in the habit of speaking _to_ him by his Christian name, I sometimes forget and speak _of_ him as such, too.” “I had no idea,” said Mr. Barham, a little majestically, “that my young friend, Mr. Huyton, was so diffusive in his acquaintances. You were, then, on very intimate terms?” “He has always been a kind neighbor to us, and being my principal parishioner, and owning most of the property about, we naturally were much interested in many of the same things. He has been very good to the schools, and, indeed, in many ways; the poor will miss him this winter, for we can hardly expect him to remember them at Dresden.” Mr. Barham’s notions were quite discomposed by this speech. His amiable intentions of patronising and bringing into notice a family who had hitherto “blushed unseen” in the wilds of Hurstdene, seemed apparently quite thrown away; possibly they were not such entire representatives of modern Robinson Crusoes as he had imagined them. He saw, however, no reason for changing his views with regard to introducing his daughters, and, accordingly, he soon afterward took leave, with a renewed promise to come at the time talked of.