“I’m very glad; for there’s a few children around here that hardly knows what it is to have anything good to eat; and it’ll be something for ’em to think and talk about.  They’ll not forget it, or you, for a good many years, I can tell you.  If rich folks only knew how much good they might do, I think they’d not be so neglectful.”

I soon left Mrs. Blake to continue her Christmas preparations alone, feeling much relieved that Daniel was going to assume the responsibility of securing the Hall, providing the tree, and notifying my guests.  I got my presents for Thomas and Samuel, and then set about the purchase of gifts for the Christmas tree.  Picture-books, jack-knives, dolls, and other toys comprised my selection.  These, I concluded, would give the children more pleasure than the more necessary articles which an older and wiser person would naturally have selected.  I had got so absorbed in my work that I quite forgot our expected guest until I went into the dining-room, unfortunately a little late, and found them already engaged at dinner, and Mr. Bovyer with them.  Mr. Winthrop explained my tardiness in such a way that I was left a little cross and uncomfortable, and took my dinner something after the fashion of a naughty child suffering from reproof.  Before the evening was over, however, I had forgotten my passing dissatisfaction; for Mr. Bovyer was in one of his inspired moods when he sat at the piano.

I noticed afterward that Mrs. Flaxman’s eyes were very red; but while he was playing my attention was taken up in part with the music, and partly in furtively watching Mr. Winthrop.  He seemed ill at ease, and restless; while Mr. Bovyer’s utmost efforts were powerless to move him to tears.  When we had all drawn cosily around the fire, after the music was ended, I remarked with some regret, “I do not think Mr. Winthrop has any tears to shed.  His eyes were as dry as a bone.”

“The night is too fine for such an effect.  Wait until we have a storm,” he said, with a smile.

“Your nerves are too strong for a storm to affect them.  Something very different will be required.  I am afraid we must give you up.”

“Life is too smooth with him for music or anything aesthetic to ruffle the deeper springs.  Wait until he has storms and whirlwinds to withstand.”  Mr. Bovyer said, calmly.

“Oh I hope he will never have them, he has not patience like—­some,” I added, after a pause.  I was going to say Mr. Bowen.

“You must know that my ward has taken my measure very correctly.  She is better than a looking-glass.  Indeed I was not aware until lately that I had so many shortcomings.”

“Medicine for a mind diseased, administered by a gentle hand, cannot be hard to take.”

“The softest hand can sometimes wound the deepest.”

“Mr. Winthrop, surely I have never wounded you!  I have not the power.  To think so would give me pain; for, in your way, you have been kind to me—­more so than I deserve,” I said, impulsively.