civil to herself, Christian felt a kindness for honest old Barker.

She was a minute or two late; the master had already left his study, and
was opening the large book of prayers. Nevertheless, he looked up
with a smile, as he always did the instant his wife's foot entered the
door. But his sister appeared very serious, and Miss Gascoigne's aspect
was a perfect thundercloud, which broke into lightning the instant
prayers were over.

"I must say, Mrs. Grey, you have a most extraordinary propensity for
morning walks. I never did such a thing in all my life, nor Maria
either."

"Probably not," answered Christian, as she took her seat before the urn,
which gave her the one home-like feeling she had at the Lodge.
"Different people have different ways, and this has always been mine."

"Why so?"

"Because it does me good, and harms nobody else," said Christian,
smiling.

"I doubt that, anyhow; you never will make me believe it can be good
for you to do a thing that nobody else does--to go wandering about
streets and colleges when all respectable people are still in their beds.
To say the least of it, it is so very peculiar."

The tone, more even than the words, made Christian flush up, but she
did not reply. She had already learned not to reply to these sharp
speeches of Miss Gascoigne's, which, she noticed, fell on every body