“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.
Isabel and Dora Barham were both younger than Hilary Duncan, but their friends had evidently done what they could to give them the advantages of age, or to deprive them as soon as possible of those peculiarities of youth which consist in simplicity, bashfulness, or diffidence. They had been early brought out into the world; early introduced into society; they had been taught to behave, talk, and dress as women, at an age when more fortunate girls are allowed still to feel themselves children. They were now, at sixteen and seventeen, extremely elegant young women, elegantly educated, elegantly dressed, elegantly mannered, surrounded from childhood by all the refinements and luxuries of life; accustomed to lavish indulgence of their fancies, and an unbounded command of money. Suffering was to them a fable; self-denial a mere myth. Had they not been naturally amiable, they would have been now detestable—but they were not. Isabel was a little proud, a little selfish, a little vain; but she had some very good qualities mixed with these vices, which, in good hands, might have turned out well. Dora had no particular character at all; she was merely a reflection of those she lived with; and as these were chiefly her father and sister, of course she generally fell in with their tastes, adopted their habits, and believed all they told her.
They were delighted with the introduction to Hilary; they both commenced a most enthusiastic girlish friendship with her. Isabel’s was, perhaps, less sincere than Dora’s—she had more of her father’s patronising tone; and never, in the least, suspected how very far the vicar’s daughter was really her superior in every essential particular.
Hilary was very simply sincere in her regard for the two girls. She admired them exceedingly, and their kindness, their caressing manners, and very amiable ways, engaged her affection. They soon became intimate, and the Miss Barhams would ride over of a morning, and gliding into the Vicarage drawing-room,
would spend the whole afternoon hanging about Hilary, chatting, idling, or pretending to learn from her some of the many fancy works which she had acquired. They were continually trying to wile away Hilary to the Abbey; but this her home occupations forbade, and only twice, during the autumn and winter following, was she induced to spend an afternoon there, and then her father accompanied her.
The introduction of Mrs. Paine was another remarkable event in Hilary’s quiet life, which gave her, perhaps, even more pleasure than the acquisition of her other friends. She was a very pleasing young woman indeed, and, although a cousin of the late Mrs. Barham, and having a good fortune, she was so earnest in her wishes to follow out her duty, so simple in her tastes, and indifferent to personal accommodation, that long before Primrose Bank was habitable, she was established with her husband in tiny lodgings at Stairs farm, and giving her time and attention as much to their new parish as to her future home.