University magnates should find out nothing in her unworthy of that
name--nothing that could make people say, even the most ill-natured of
them--and, alas! she had lately come to learn that the world is filled,
not, as she thought, with only bad and good, but with an intermediate
race, which is merely ill-natured--say, with a sneer, that Dr. Grey's
second marriage had been "a mistake."

Never before had Christian thought much of these outside things; but
she did now--at least she tried her best. There was not a lock
unsmoothed in her fair hair, not a fold awry in her silks or laces, and
not a trace of agitation visible in her manner or countenance when Mrs.
Grey opened her door to descend the stairs.

She was considering whether it would not be courteous to knock at
Miss Gascoigne's door, and ask if she too were ready, when she heard a
loud outcry in the nursery above. This, alas! was no novelty. More
than once Christian had rushed wildly up stairs, expecting some
dreadful catastrophe, but it was only the usual warfare between Phillis
and the children, especially Arthur, who was no longer a baby to be
petted and scolded, or a little girl to be cowed into obedience, but a big
boy to be ruled, if at all, _vi et armis_--as Mrs. Grey had more than
once suspected Phillis did rule.

"I wont! I won't! and you shan't make me!" was the fierce scream
which caught her ear before she entered the nursery door.

There stood Phillis, her face red with passion, grasping Arthur with one
hand, and beating him with the other, while the boy, holding on to her
with the tenacity of a young bull-dog, was, with all the might of his
little fists, returning blow for blow--in short, a regular stand-up fight,