gossip or bitter satire; and to prove himself a man under all the
elegance and polish of the gentleman.

He was discovering then, what Christie learned when her turn came,
that fine natures seldom fail to draw out the finer traits of those
who approach them, as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the hand
of a child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsuspected
spots. Women often possess this gift, and when used worthily find it
as powerful as beauty; for, if less alluring, it is more lasting and
more helpful, since it appeals, not to the senses, but the souls of
men.

Christie was one of these; and in proportion as her own nature was
sound and sweet so was its power as a touchstone for the genuineness
of others. It was this unconscious gift that made her wonder at the
unexpected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this which made
him, for an hour or two at least, heartily wish he could live his
life over again and do it better.

After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christie when he met her,
turned and joined her sometimes as she walked with the children, and
fell into the way of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to an
invalid friend on piazza or sea-shore. Christie much preferred to
have no auditor but kind Miss Tudor; but finding the old lady
enjoyed his chat she resigned herself, and when he brought them new
books as well as himself, she became quite cordial.

Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded the little group
that met day after day among the rocks. Christie read aloud, while
the children revelled in sand, shells, and puddles; Miss Tudor spun