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.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93