"With pleasure," was the answer, as with an altogether perplexed air, and vainly striving to keep up his usual exceeding courtesy of manner, the young man bowed to Mrs. Grey and passed out.
"How funny! That's Sir Edwin Uniacke, Titia—the gentleman that met me, and—"
"And that you were always talking about, till Phillis told us we mustn't speak of him any more. And I think I know why, mother." hanging down her head with rosy blushes that made the thin face almost pretty. "Mother, I think I ought to tell you—I always do tell you every thing now—that that was the gentleman who met me and Miss Bennett. But I will never do any thing, or meet any body you don't like again."
"No, dear."
"And, mother," said Arthur, sliding up to her, "don't you think, if you were to say something yourself about it, Sir Edwin would ask me again to go and see him, and let me row on the lake at Lake Hall."
"I don't know, my boy but I can not speak to Sir Edwin. We must leave every thing to papa—he always knows best."
And in that firm faith, almost as simple and unreasoning as that of the child, and which it sometimes seemed, God had specially sent this good man to teach her—her, who had hitherto had so little cause to trust or to reverence any body—Christian rested as completely and contentedly as Arthur. Happy son and happy wife, who could so rest upon father and husband.
For nearly an hour Dr. Grey and Sir Edwin remained in the study together. What passed between them the former never told, even to his wife, and she did not inquire. She was quite certain in this, as in all other matters, that "papa knew best."
When he did come in he found her sitting quietly sewing. She looked up hastily, but saw that he was alone, and smiled.
Dr. Grey smiled too—at least not exactly, but there was a brightness in his face such as—not to liken it profanely—might have been seen in the one Divine face after saying to any sinner "Go, and sin no more."