Christian stood utterly amazed. Her intention had been so harmless; she had thought the walk good for the children, and perhaps good for herself to have their company. She had meant to take them out with her the first available day, and begin a regular series of rambles, which perhaps might win their little hearts toward her, for they still kept aloof and shy; and now all her pleasant plans were set aside. And there the children stood, half frightened, half amused, watching the conflict of authority between their elders. One thing was clear. There must be no bringing them into the contest. Christian saw that, and with a strong effort of self-control she said to Miss Gascoigne, "I think, before we discuss this matter, the children had better leave the room. Go, Atty and Titia; your aunts and I will send word to the nursery by-and-by." The children went obediently, though Christian heard Arthur whisper to his sister something about "such a jolly row?" But there was none. Miss Gascoigne burst forth into a perfect torrent of words directed not to Mrs. Grey, but at her, involving such insinuations, such accusations, that Christian, who had never been used to this kind of things stood literally astounded. She answered not a word; she could not trust herself to speak. She had meant so kindly: was so innocent of any feeling save a wish to be good and motherly to these motherless children. Besides, she had such an intense craving for their affection, and even their companionship, for there were times when her life felt withering up within her--chilled to death by the gloom of the dull home, with its daily round of solemn formalities. If she had spoken, she would have burst into tears. To save herself from this, she rose and left the parlor. It might have been weak, unworthy a woman of spirit; but Christian was, in one sense--not Miss Gascoigne's--still a very child. And most childlike in their passionate bitterness, their keen sense of injustice, were the tears she shed in her own room, alone. For she did not go to Dr. Grey: why should she? Her complaints could only wound him: and somehow she scorned to complain. She had not been a governess for two years without learning that authority propped up by extraneous power is nearly useless, and that, between near connections, love commanded, not won, generally results in something very like hatred.