And this reference to her predecessor, given about twenty times a day,
always effectually silenced Christian, though it did not silence--it could
not--the cry of her heart to be of some use to somebody; to have some
young, fresh, happy creatures to love and be loved by, even though they
were another woman's children.

So she sat this evening and many evenings, quiet but sad-eyed; and it
was a relief when Barker entered with the tea-tray, and three or four
letters for Mrs. Grey.

"How very odd! Who can be writing to me? I know nobody!"

At which simple speech Miss Gascoigne looked daggers, and, the
minute Barker was gone, spoke them too.

"I must beg you, Mrs. Grey, if only for our sakes, to be a little more
circumspect. How could you let out before Barker that you 'knew
nobody'?"

"It is the truth--why should I not say it?" was all Christian answered,
as she opened the letters, almost the first which had come to her still
unfamiliar name. "They are all invitations. Oh dear! what shall I do?"

Dr. Grey looked up at the exclamation; he never seemed to hear much
of what passed around him except when his wife spoke, and then some
slight movement often showed that though, silent, he was not an
unobservant man.

"Invitations!" cried Miss Gascoigne; "the very thing I was expecting.
And to the best houses in Avonsbridge, too. This is the result of your