like lead on her bosom, "I think that in any true marriage it does not
signify one jot whether the husband or the wife has the money. Shall
we go down stairs?"

There was time for the hot cheek to cool and the angry heart to be
stilled a little before the visitors came.

Miss Gascoigne had truly remarked that the master's wife was
unaccustomed to society--that society which forms the staple of all
provincial towns, well dressed, well mannered, well informed. But it
seemed to Christian as if these ladies, though thoroughly ladylike in
manner, which was very grateful to her innate sense of refinement, all
dressed after one fashion, and talked mostly about the same things. To
her, ungifted with the blessed faculty of small talk, the conversation
appeared somewhat frivolous, unreal, and uninteresting. She hardly
knew what to say or how to say it, yet was painfully conscious that her
every word and every look were being sharply criticised, either in the
character of Edward Oakley's daughter or Dr. Grey's wife.

"At least he shall not be ashamed of me," was the thought that kept her
up through both weariness and resentment, and she found herself
involuntarily looking toward the door every time it opened. Would he
come in? At least his presence would bring her that sense of relief and
protection which she had never failed to feel from the first hour she
knew Dr. Arnold Grey.

He did come in, though not immediately, and passing her with a smile,
which doubtless furnished the text for a whole week's gossip in
Avonsbridge, went over to talk to a group of ladies belonging to Saint
Bede's.