“Barker!” said Dr. Grey, as the man was closing the door.

“Yes master.”

The master paused a second before speaking.  “You know Sir Edwin Uniacke?”

“To be sure, sir,” with a repressed twitch of the mouth, which showed he knew only too much, as Barker was apt to do of all college affairs.

“If he should call again, say the ladies are engaged; but should he ask for me, show him at once to my study.”

“Very well, master.”

And Barker, as he went out of the dining-room, broke into a broad grin; but it was behind the back of the master.

Chapter 11.

    "A warm hearth, and a bright hearth, and a hearth swept clean,
     Where tongs don’t raise a dust, and the broom isn’t seen;
     Where the coals never fly abroad, and the soot doesn’t fall,
     Oh, that’s the fire for a man like me, in cottage or in hall.

    "A light boat, and a tight boat, and a boat that rides well,
     Though the waves leap around it and the winds blow snell: 
     A full boat, and a merry boat, we’ll meet any weather,
     With a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether."

Sir Edwin Uniacke did not appear again at the Ledge, or not farther than the hall, where Christian, in passing, saw several of his cards lying in the card-basket.  And, two Sundays, in glancing casually down the row of strangers who so often frequented the beautiful old chapel of St. Bede’s, she thought she caught sight of that dark, handsome face, which had once seemed to her the embodiment of all manly beauty.  But she looked steadily forward, neither seeking nor shrinking from recognition.  There was no need.  As she passed out of the chapel, leaning on her husband’s arm, the grave, graceful woman, composed rather than proud, Sir Edwin Uniacke must have felt that Christian Grey was as far removed from him and the like of him as if she dwelt already in the world beyond the grave.  But this, perhaps, only made him the more determined to see her.

Now and then, in her walks with Phillis and the children—­she now never walked alone—­she was certain she perceived him in the distance, his slight, tan figure, and peculiar way of swinging his cane, as he strolled down the long avenues, now glowing into the beauty of that exquisite May time which Avonsbridge people never weary of praising.

But still, if it were he, and if they did meet, what harm could it do to her?  She could always guard herself by a lady’s strongest armor—­ perfect courtesy.  Even should he recognize her, it was easy to bow and pass on, as she made up her mind to do, should the occasion arrive.

It never did, though several times she had actually been in the same drawing-room with him.  But it was in a crowded company, and he either did not see her, or had the good taste to assume that he had not done so.  And Miss Gascoigne, whose eye he caught, had only given him a distant bow.