Link, on Lucian's entrance, introduced him to the sylph in black, who in her turn presented him to the silvery-haired, benevolent old man, whom she called Mr.Jabez Clyne.
At the first sound of their voices Lucian detected so pronounced a twang, and so curious a way of collocating words, as to conclude that Mrs.Vrain and her amiable parent hailed from the States.

The little lady seemed to pride herself on this, and indicated her republican origin in her speech more than was necessary--at least, Denzil thought so.

But then, on occasions, he was disposed to be hyper-critical.
"Say, now," said Mrs.Vrain, casting an approving glance on Lucian's face, "I'm right down glad to see you.

Mr.Link here was just saying you knew my husband, Mr.Vrain." "I knew him as Mr.Berwin--Mark Berwin," replied Denzil, taking a seat.
"Just think of that now!" cried Mrs.Vrain, with a liveliness rather subdued in compliment to her apparel; "and his real name was Mark Vrain.
Well, I guess he won't need no name now, poor man," and the widow touched her bright eyes carefully with a doll's pocket-handkerchief, which Lucian noted, somewhat cynically, was perfectly dry.
"Maybe he's an angel by this time, Lyddy," said Mr.Clyne, in a cheerful, chirping voice, "so it ain't no use wishing him back, as I can see.

We've all got to negotiate kingdom-come some time or another." "Not in the same way, I hope," said Lucian dryly.