Outside the family nothing was suspected.
Lawrence Newt was simply one of those incomprehensibly pleasant, eccentric, benevolent men, whose mercantile credit was as good as Jacob Van Boozenberg's, but who perversely went his own way.

One of these ways led to all kinds of poor people's houses; and it was upon a visit to the widow of the clergyman to whom Boniface Newt had given eight dollars for writing a tract entitled "Indiscriminate Almsgiving a Crime," that Lawrence Newt had first met Amy Waring.

As he was leaving money with the poor woman to pay her rent, Amy came in with a basket of comfortable sugars and teas.

She carried the flowers in her face.

Lawrence Newt was almost blushing at being caught in the act of charity; and as he was sliding past her to get out, he happened to look at her face, and stopped.
"Bless my soul! my dear young lady, surely your name is Darro!" The dear young lady smiled and colored, and replied, "No, mine is not, but my mother's was." "Of course it was.