This was her ideal, poor girl! Now she wondered as she had done many times since her coming "home," if all family tables were like this one--shadowed over with gloomy looks, frozen by silence, or broken by sharp speeches, which darted about like little arrows pointed with poison, or buzzed here and there like angry wasps, settling and stinging unawares, and making every one uncomfortable, not knowing who might be the next victim stung. True, there was but one person to sting, for Miss Grey never said ill-natured things; but then she said ill-advised and _mal-apropos_ things, and she had such an air of frightened dumbness, such a sad, deprecatory look, that she was sometimes quite as trying as Miss Gascoigne, who spoke out. And oh, how she did speak! Christian, who had never known many women, and had never lived constantly with any, now for the first time learned what was meant by "a woman's tongue." At first it simply astonished her. How it was possible for one mortal member to run on so long without a pause, and in such ugly and uneasy paths--for the conversation was usually fault-finding of persons or things--passed her comprehension. Then she felt a little weary, and half wished that she, too, had a big book into which she could plunge herself instead of having to sit there, politely smiling, saying "Yes," and "No," and "Certainly." At last she sank into a troubled silence tried to listen as well as she could, and yet allow the other half of her mind to wander away into some restful place, if any such place could be found. The nearest approach to it was in that smooth, broad brow, and kindly eyes, which were now and then lifted up from the foot of the table, out of the mazes of the big book, at the secret of which Christian did not wonder now. And he had thus listened patiently to this mill-stream, or mill-clack, for three weary years! Perhaps; for many another year before; but into that Christian would not allow her lightest thoughts to penetrate: the sacred veil of Death was over it all. "If I can only make him happy!" This was already beginning to be her prominent thought, and it warmed her heart that morning at this weary breakfast table to hear him say, "Christian, I don't know how you manage it, but I think I never had such good tea in all my life as since you took it into your own hands and out of Barker's." "No doubt she makes tea very well," said Miss Gascoigne condescendingly, "which is one good result of not having been used to a servant to do it for her. And she must have had such excellent practice at Mrs. Ferguson's. I believe those sort of people always feed together--parents, children, apprentices and all." "I assure you, not always," said Christian, quietly. "At least I dined with the children alone," "Indeed! How very pleasant!"