She was a smooth-faced, gentle-mannered woman, not without dignity as she rose to receive Thyrza and guided her to a comfortable seat.  Her voice was habitually subdued to the limit of audibleness; she spoke with precision, and in language very free from vulgarisms either of thought or phrase.  Her taste had always been for a home-keeping life; she dreaded gossipers, and only left the house when it was absolutely necessary, then going forth closely veiled.  With the landlady she held no more intercourse than arose from the weekly payment of rent; the other lodgers in the house only saw her by chance on rare occasions.  Her son left home and returned with much regularity, he also seeming to desire privacy above all things.  Mrs. Jarmey had at first been disposed to take this reserve somewhat ill.  When she knocked at Mrs. Grail’s door on some paltry excuse for seeing the inside of the room, and found that the old lady exchanged brief words with her on the threshold, she wondered who these people might be who thought themselves too good for wonted neighbourship.  In time, however, her feeling changed, and she gave everybody to understand that her ground-floor lodgers were of the highest respectability, inmates such as did not fall to the lot of every landlady.

Gilbert was surprised when, of her own motion, his mother made overtures to the sisters who lived at the top of the house.  Neither Lydia nor Thyrza was at first disposed to respond very warmly; they agreed that the old lady was doubtless very respectable, but, at the same time, decidedly queer in her way of speaking.  But during the past few months they had overcome this reluctance, and were now on a certain footing of intimacy with Mrs. Grail, who made it no secret that she took great interest in Thyrza.  Thyrza always entered the sitting-room with a feeling of awe.  The dim light, the old lady’s low voice, above all, the books—­in her eyes a remarkable library—­ impressed her strongly.  If Grail himself were present, he was invariably reading; Thyrza held him profoundly learned, a judgment confirmed by his mother’s way of speaking of him.  For Mrs. Grail regarded her son with distinct reverence.  He, in turn, was tenderly respectful to her; they did not know what it was to exchange an unkind or an impatient word.

Thyrza liked especially to have tea here on Sunday.  The appointments of the table seemed to her luxurious, for the tea-service was uniform and of pretty, old-fashioned pattern, and simple little dainties of a kind new to her were generally forthcoming.  Moreover, from her entrance to her leave-taking, she was flattered by the pleasantest attentions.  The only other table at which she sometimes sat as a guest was Mrs. Bower’s; between the shopkeeper’s gross good-nature and the well-mannered kindness of Mrs. Grail there was a broad distinction, and Thyrza was very ready to appreciate it.  For she was sensible of refinements; numberless little personal delicacies