Christian enjoyed looking at them. Actually, for the first time in her
life, did she behold "full dress"--the sparkle of diamonds, the delicate
beauty of old point lace, the rustle of gorgeous silks and satins. She
liked it--childishly liked it. It was a piece of art--a picture, in the
interest of which her own part therein was utterly and satisfactorily
forgotten. She was so amused with watching other people that she
never thought whether other people were watching her; and when, after
half an hour's disappearance among a crowd of gentlemen, her husband
came up and asked her if she were enjoying herself, she answered "Oh,
so much!" with an ardor that made him smile.

And she did enjoy herself, even though a good many people were
brought up to her and introduced, and by their not too brilliant remarks
on it somewhat tarnished the brilliancy of the scene. But also she had
some pleasant conversation with people far greater and grander and
cleverer than she had ever met in her life; who, nevertheless, did not
awe her at all, but led her on to talk, and to feel pleasure in talking; she
being utterly unaware that her simple unconsciousness was making her
ten times more charming, more beautiful than before, and that round
the room were passing and repassing innumerable flattering comments
on the young wife of the Master of Saint Bede's.

Only she thought once or twice, with an amused wonder, which had yet
some sadness in it, how little these people would have thought of her a
year before--how completely they would ignore her now if she were not
Dr. Grey's wife. And there came into her heart such a gush of--
gratitude was it?--to that good man who had loved her just as she was--
poor Christian Oakley, governess and orphan--in that saddest state of
orphanage which is conscious that all the world would say she had need
to be thankful for the same. She looked round for her husband several