Besides, was there not some truth in what the aunt said? Had she--the second wife--authority over the first Mrs. Grey's children? Would it not be better to let them alone, for good or for evil, and trouble herself about their welfare no more? But just that minute Oliver's little feet went pattering outside the door--Oliver, who, still a nursery pet, was freer than the others, and who had already learned where to come of forenoons for biscuits to eat or toys to be mended. There was now a one-wheeled cart and a three-legged horse requiring Christian's tenderest attention; and as she sat down on the crimson sofa, and busied herself over them, with the little eager face creeping close to hers, and the little fat arm steadying itself round her neck, her wet eyes soon grew dry and bright, and her heart less sore, less hopeless. The small, necessities of the present, which make children's company so soothing, quieted her now; and by the time she had watched the little fellow run away, dragging his cart and horse down the oak floor, shouting "Gee-ho!" and turning round often to laugh at her, Christian felt that life looked less blank and dreary than it had done an hour ago. Still, when she had dressed herself in the violet silk and Honiton lace which Miss Gascoigne had informed her were necessary--oh, how she had been tormented about the etiquette of this "at home"--the cloud darkened over her again. What should she do or say to these strange people?--the worse, that they were not quite strangers--that she knew them by report or by sight--and, alack! from her father's ill name they knew her only too well. How they would talk her over and criticise her, in that small way in which women do criticise one another, and which she now, for the first time in her life, had experienced. Was it the habit of all University ladies? If so, how would she endure a whole lifetime of that trivial ceremoniousness in outside things, those small back-bitings and fault-findings, such as the two aunts indulged in? It was worse, far worse, than poor Mrs. Ferguson's stream of foolish maternalities--vulgar, but warm and kindly, and never ill-natured; and oh! ten times worse than anything Christian had known in her girlhood, which had been forlorn indeed, but free; when she had followed through necessity her nomadic father, who had at any rate, left her alone, to form her own mind and character as she best could. Of man's selfishness and badness she knew enough; but of women's small sillinesses, narrow formalities, and petty unkindnesses, she was utterly ignorant till now. "How shall I bear them? Let Dr. Grey be ever so good to me, still, how shall I bear them?" She sighed, she almost sobbed, and pressed her cheek wearily against the frosty pane, for she was sitting in a window-seat on the staircase, lingering till the last possible instant before the hour when Miss Gascoigne had said she ought to be in her place in the drawing-room.