“Well, I’ll go, and perhaps my going away will bring him to the point,” was the fond resolution of Miss Susan Bennett.

Mrs. Grey, infinitely relieved, wrote the requisite letters and dismissed her, determined to call that day and explain as much of the matter to honest Mrs. Ferguson as might put the girl in a safe position, where she would have a chance of turning out well, or, at least, better than if she had remained at Avonsbridge.

Then Christian had time to think of herself.  Here was Sir Edwin Uniacke—­this daring, unscrupulous man, close at her very doors; meeting her at evening parties; making acquaintance with her children, for Titia had told her how kind the gentleman was, and how politely he had inquired after her “new mamma.”

Of vanity, either to be wounded or flattered, Christian had absolutely none.  And she had never read French novels.  It no more occurred to her that Sir Edwin would come and make love to her, now she was Dr. Grey’s wife, than that she herself should have any feeling—­except pity—­ in knowing of his love-affair with Miss Bennett.  She was wholly and absolutely indifferent with regard to him and all things concerning him.  Even the events of last night and this morning were powerless to cast more than a momentary gravity over her countenance—­gone the instant she heard her husband calling her from his open study door.

“I wanted to hear how you managed Miss Bennett, you wise woman.  Is it a lover?”

“I fear so, and not a creditable one.  But I am certain of one thing.  She does not love him—­she only wants to marry him.”

“A distinction with a difference,” said Dr. Grey, smiling.  “And you don’t agree with her, my dear?”

“I should think not!”

Again Dr. Grey smiled.  “How fiercely she speaks!  What a tiger this little woman of mine could be if she chose.  And so she absolutely believes in the old superstition that love is an essential element of matrimony.”

“You are laughing at me.”

“No, my darling, God forbid.  I am only—­happy.”

“Are you really, really happy?  Do you think I can make you so—­I, with all my unworthiness?”

“I am sure of it.”

She looked up in his face from out of his close arms, and they talked no more.

Chapter 10.

    "Get thee behind me, Satan! 
     I know no other word: 
     There is a battle that must be fought,
     And fought but with the sword—­

    "The clear, sharp, stainless, glittering sword
     Of purity divine: 
     I’ll hew my way through a host of fiends,
     If that strong sword be mine."

“I wish Mrs. Grey, you would learn to hold yourself a little more upright, and look a little more like the master’s wife—­a lady in as good a position as any in Avonsbridge—­and a little less like a Resignation or a Patience on a monument.”