In the morning, feeling a little good-natured anxiety as to his landlady’s reception of him, Hugh made some allusion to it, as he sat at his new friend’s breakfast-table.

Falconer said: 

“What is your landlady’s name?”

“Miss Talbot.”

“Oh! little Miss Talbot?  You are in good quarters —­ too good to lose, I can tell you.  Just say to Miss Talbot that you were with me.”

“You know her, then?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You seem to know everybody.”

“If I have spoken to a person once, I never forget him.”

“That seems to me very strange.”

“It is simple enough.  The secret of it is, that, as far as I can help it, I never have any merely business relations with any one.  I try always not to forget that there is a deeper relation between us.  I commonly succeed worst in a drawing-room; yet even there, for the time we are together, I try to recognise the present humanity, however much distorted or concealed.  The consequence is, I never forget anybody; and I generally find that others remember me —­ at least those with whom I have had any real relations, springing from my need or from theirs.  The man who mends a broken chair for you, or a rent in your coat, renders you a human service; and, in virtue of that, comes nearer to your inner self, than nine-tenths of the ladies and gentlemen whom you meet only in what is called society, are likely to do.”

“But do you not find it awkward sometimes?”

“Not in the least.  I am never ashamed of knowing any one; and as I never assume a familiarity that does not exist, I never find it assumed towards me.”

Hugh found the advantage of Falconer’s sociology when he mentioned to Miss Talbot that he had been his guest that night.

“You should have sent us word, Mr. Sutherland,” was all Miss Talbot’s reply.

“I could not do so before you must have been all in bed.  I was sorry, but I could hardly help it.”

Miss Talbot turned away into the kitchen.  The only other indication of her feeling in the matter was, that she sent him up a cup of delicious chocolate for his lunch, before he set out for Mr. Appleditch’s, where she had heard at the shop that he was going.

My reader must not be left to fear that I am about to give a detailed account of Hugh’s plans with these unpleasant little immortals, whose earthly nature sprang from a pair whose religion consisted chiefly in negations, and whose main duty seemed to be to make money in small sums, and spend it in smaller.  When he arrived at Buccleuch Crescent, he was shown into the dining-room, into which the boys were separately dragged, to receive the first instalment of the mental legacy left them by their ancestors.  But the legacy-duty was so heavy that they would gladly have declined paying it, even with the loss of the legacy itself; and Hugh was dismayed at the impossibility of interesting them in anything.  He tried telling