It was a pretty picture. Christian, sitting apart, with the gulf of shining mahogany between, bridged it often with her wistful eyes, but she never said a word. She was not jealous, not in the slightest degree; for hers was the large nature which, deeply recognizing other's rights, and satisfied with its own, is incapable of any of the lower forms of jealousy; but she was sad. The luxurious aimlessness of her present life was a little heavy to the once poor, active, hard-working young governess, who had never known an idle or even a restful hour. The rest was sweet--oh! how sweet! but the idleness was difficult to bear. She had tried sometimes in the long mornings, when the master was shut up in his study, to get the children with her, and teach them a little; but Miss Gascoigne had replied that "my late sister" did not approve of any but paid governesses, and that it was impossible the wife of the Master of St. Bede's could go "trapesing about like a nursemaid," taking walks with the children. Their own mamma never thought of doing such a thing. And this reference to her predecessor, given about twenty times a day, always effectually silenced Christian, though it did not silence--it could not--the cry of her heart to be of some use to somebody; to have some young, fresh, happy creatures to love and be loved by, even though they were another woman's children. So she sat this evening and many evenings, quiet but sad-eyed; and it was a relief when Barker entered with the tea-tray, and three or four letters for Mrs. Grey. "How very odd! Who can be writing to me? I know nobody!" At which simple speech Miss Gascoigne looked daggers, and, the minute Barker was gone, spoke them too. "I must beg you, Mrs. Grey, if only for our sakes, to be a little more circumspect. How could you let out before Barker that you 'knew nobody'?" "It is the truth--why should I not say it?" was all Christian answered, as she opened the letters, almost the first which had come to her still unfamiliar name. "They are all invitations. Oh dear! what shall I do?" Dr. Grey looked up at the exclamation; he never seemed to hear much of what passed around him except when his wife spoke, and then some slight movement often showed that though, silent, he was not an unobservant man. "Invitations!" cried Miss Gascoigne; "the very thing I was expecting. And to the best houses in Avonsbridge, too. This is the result of your At home. I feel quite pleased at having so successfully introduced you into good society." "Thank you," said Christian, half amused, half--well, it is not worth while being annoyed at such a small thing. She only looked across at her husband to see how he felt on the matter. "I think," said the master with a comical twinkling in his eye, "that no society is half so good or so pleasant as our own." Christian looked puzzled a minute, but afterward smiled gratefully. "We may decline it, then?" "Should you like it best?"