There was no need. As she passed out of the chapel,
leaning on her husband's arm, the grave, graceful woman, composed
rather than proud, Sir Edwin Uniacke must have felt that Christian
Grey was as far removed from him and the like of him as if she dwelt
already in the world beyond the grave. But this, perhaps, only made
him the more determined to see her.
Now and then, in her walks with Phillis and the children--she now
never walked alone--she was certain she perceived him in the distance,
his slight, tan figure, and peculiar way of swinging his cane, as he
strolled down the long avenues, now glowing into the beauty of that
exquisite May time which Avonsbridge people never weary of praising.
But still, if it were he, and if they did meet, what harm could it do to
her? She could always guard herself by a lady's strongest armor--
perfect courtesy. Even should he recognize her, it was easy to bow and
pass on, as she made up her mind to do, should the occasion arrive.
It never did, though several times she had actually been in the same
drawing-room with him. But it was in a crowded company, and he
either did not see her, or had the good taste to assume that he had not
done so. And Miss Gascoigne, whose eye he caught, had only given
him a distant bow.
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