She put away all her mourning finery—her black tulles and silks and bugles and jet jewelry—and she took to wearing the plainest black alpacas and the plainest white muslin caps. She looked more like a Protestant nun than a "sparkling" young widow. But she looked prettier and more interesting than ever, and she knew it.
She was a regular attendant at her church, going twice on Sunday and twice during the week.
On Sunday mornings she was always sure of finding Alden Lytton in his seat, which was in full sight of her own. But she never looked toward him. She was content to feel that he often looked at her, and that he could not look at her and remain quite indifferent to her.
She was also an active member of all the parish benevolent societies, a zealous teacher in the Sunday-school, an industrious seamstress in the sewing-circle, and a regular visitor of the poor and sick.
Her life seemed devoted to good works, apparently from the love of the Lord and the love of her neighbor.
She won golden opinions from all sorts of men, and women too. Only there was one significant circumstance about her popularity—she could not win the love of children. No, not with all her beauty and grace of person, and sweetness and softness of tone and manner, she could not win the children. Their sensitive spirits shrank from the evil within her which the duller souls of adults could not even perceive. And many an innocent child was sent in disgrace from the parlor because it either would not kiss "sweet Mrs. Grey" at all, or would kiss her with the air of taking a dose of physic.
But all the people in Charlottesville praised the piety and, above all, the prudence of Mrs. Grey—"Such a young and beautiful woman to be so entirely weaned from worldliness and self-love and so absorbed in worship and good works!"
All this certainly produced an effect upon Alden Lytton, who, of course, heard her praises on all sides, who saw her every Sunday at church, and who met her occasionally at the demure little tea-parties to which both might happen to be invited.
When they met thus by chance in private houses he would bow and say, quietly:
"Good-evening, madam;" a salutation which she would return by a grave: