She scarcely noticed it at all. In her countenance was no
annoyance--no sharp pain, that even in that first bridal hour she was not
first and sole, as every woman may righteously wish to be. There came
to her no sting of regret, scarcely unnatural, to watch another woman's
children already taking the first and best of that fatherly love which it
would be such exquisite joy to see lavished upon her own. Alas! poor
Christian! all these things passed over her as the wind passes over a
bare February tree, stirring no emotions, for there were none to stir.
Her predominating feeling was a vague sense of relief in the presence
of the children, and of delight in the exceeding beauty of the youngest.
"This is Oliver. I remember you told me his name. Will he come to
me? children generally do," said she in a shy sort of way, but still
holding out her arms. In her face and manner was that inexplicable
motherliness which some girls have even while nursing their dolls
--some never; ay, though they may boast of a houseful of children--
never!
Master Oliver guessed this by instinct, as children always do. He
looked at her intently, a queer, mischievous, yet penetrating look; then
broke into a broad, genial laugh, quite Bacchic and succumbed.
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