--the Rotherhithe people, you know.'

This information was a surprise to Godwin. He had imagined Christian
Moxey either a gentleman at large, or at all events connected with
some liberal profession. Glancing at the attractive face, he met a
singular look, a smile which suggested vague doubts. But Christian
made no remark, and Mr. Moxey renewed his inquiries about the
examination in chemistry.

The five daughters--all assembled in a homely sitting-room--were
nothing less than formidable. Plain, soft-spoken, not ill educated,
they seemed to live in perfect harmony, and to derive satisfaction
from pursuits independent of external society. In the town they were
seldom seen; few families called upon them; and only the most
inveterate gossips found matter for small-talk in their retired
lives. It had never been heard that any one of them was sought in
marriage. Godwin, superfluously troubled about his attire, met them
with grim endeavour at politeness; their gravity, a result of
shyness, he misinterpreted, supposing them to hold aloof from a
young man who had been in their father's employ. But before he could
suffer much from the necessity of formal conversation the door
opened to admit yet another young lady, a perfect stranger to him.
Her age was about seventeen, but she had nothing of the sprightly
grace proverbially connected with that time of life in girls; her
pale and freckled visage expressed a haughty reserve, intensified as
soon as her eye fell upon the visitor. She had a slight but
well-proportioned figure, and a mass of auburn hair carelessly
arranged.

'My sister,' said Christian, glancing at Godwin. 'Marcella, you