"Will you go? and I will tell nobody my reasons for dismissing you," said Christian, as earnestly as if she had been asking instead of conferring a favor. Her kindness touched even that bold, hard nature. "You are very good to me; and perhaps I don't deserve it." "Try to deserve it. If I get this situation for you, will you make me one promise?" "A dozen," "One is enough--that you will give up Sir Edwin Uniacke." "How do you mean?" "Don't meet him, don't write to him--don't hold any communication with him for three months. If he wants you, let him come and ask you like an honest man." Miss Bennett shook her head. "He's a baronet, you know." "No matter. An honest man and an honest woman are perfectly equal, even though one is a baronet and the other a daily governess. And, if love is worth any thing, it will last three months; if worth nothing, it had better go." But even while she was speaking--plain truths which she believed with her whole heart--Christian felt, in this case, the bitter satire of her words. Susan Bennett only smiled at them in a vague, uncomprehending way. "Would you have trusted your lover--that means Dr. Grey, I suppose--for three months?" Mrs. Grey did not reply. But her heart leaped to think how well she knew the answer. No need to speak of it, though. It would be almost profanity to talk to this women, who knew about as much of it as an African fetish-worshipper knows of the Eternal--of that love which counts fidelity not by months and years; which, though it has its root in mortal life, stretches out safely and fearlessly into the life everlasting. "Well, I'll go, and perhaps my going away will bring him to the point," was the fond resolution of Miss Susan Bennett. Mrs. Grey, infinitely relieved, wrote the requisite letters and dismissed her, determined to call that day and explain as much of the matter to honest Mrs. Ferguson as might put the girl in a safe position, where she would have a chance of turning out well, or, at least, better than if she had remained at Avonsbridge. Then Christian had time to think of herself. Here was Sir Edwin Uniacke--this daring, unscrupulous man, close at her very doors; meeting her at evening parties; making acquaintance with her children, for Titia had told her how kind the gentleman was, and how politely he had inquired after her "new mamma." Of vanity, either to be wounded or flattered, Christian had absolutely none. And she had never read French novels. It no more occurred to her that Sir Edwin would come and make love to her, now she was Dr. Grey's wife, than that she herself should have any feeling--except pity--in knowing of his love-affair with Miss Bennett. She was wholly and absolutely indifferent with regard to him and all things concerning him. Even the events of last night and this morning were powerless to cast more than a momentary gravity over her countenance--gone the instant she heard her husband calling her from his open study door.