two weeks she had grown ten years older--was, a matron, not a girl.
Yet still she was herself. We often come to learn that change--which
includes growth--is one of the most blessed laws in existence; but it is
only weak natures who, in changing, lose their identity. If Dr. Grey
saw, what any one who loved Christian could not fail to have seen, this
remarkable change in her, he also saw deep enough into her nature
neither to dread it nor deplore it.

A few civil speeches having been interchanged about the weather, their
journey, and so forth, the master, suddenly looking round him,
inquired. "Maria, where are the children?"

"I sent them to bed," said Miss Gascoigne, with dignity. It was
impossible they could be kept up to this late hour. "My poor sister
would never allow it."

The color flashed violently over Dr. Grey's face. With the quick,
resolute movement of a master in his own house, he crossed the room
and rang the bell.

"Barker, inquire of nurse if the children are in bed. If not, say I wish
them sent down to me; otherwise I will come up to them immediately."

The answer to this message was awaited in most awkward silence.
Even Miss Gascoigne seemed to feel that she had gone a bit too far, and
busied herself over the tea equipage; while Miss Grey, after one or two
deprecating looks at dear Arnold, began knitting nervously at her
eternal socks---the only aunt-like duty which, in her meek laziness, she
attempted to fulfill toward the children.