a little kindness, into that worn, restless, unhappy face, true reflection
of the nature which itself created its own unhappiness, as well as that of
all connected with it. She said, almost humbly,

"You are very good! I never had a piano of my own before. And I
hope Miss Gascoigne will enjoy it as much as I shall myself."

The soft, answer--never wasted upon fiercest wrath--threw a little oil
upon Miss Gascoigne's. She spoke no more, but she resolutely turned
her back upon the offending instrument. Christian struck a few chords,
just to please her husband, and came away.

It was an uncomfortable tea-party--not nearly so merry as Arthur's first.
After it, the boy wearily curled up on the sofa to sleep, and his father
glanced round in search of his best friend--the big book.

Stop a minute, Dr. Grey; before you retire to your study, as you always
seem to do whenever all your family happen to be met socially
together, I have to ask you about that invitation to St. Mary's Lodge
which came this morning.''

Dr. Grey paused, and listened to a long explanation, ending in the
decision (to which Christian passively submitted, for what must be
done had best be done quickly) that he and his bride should make their
long-delayed public appearance in Avonsbridge society at an evening
party shortly to be given by the Master of St. Mary's.

"It is a musical party," explained Miss Gascoigne, when, Dr. Grey
having quitted the room, Christian, for want of something to converse
about, began to make a few polite inquiries concerning it. "So you