could not suddenly bring herself to look upon him as a
genius, and be proud of him, though she had every wish to please Delia.

"What a pity," she said, hesitatingly, "that he is so poor, and has to
live in such a very little house, if he is so clever!"

"Poor?" exclaimed Delia, indignantly; then, checking herself, she added,
quietly, "It depends on what you call poor. What the Professor
possesses is worth all the silver and gold and big houses in the world.
And that's just what the Dornton people don't understand. Why, the rich
ones actually _patronise_ him, and think he is fortunate in giving their
children music-lessons."

Delia began to look so wrathful as she went on, that Anna longed to
change the subject to one which might be more soothing. She could not
at all understand why her companion was so angry. It was certainly a
pity that Mr Goodwin was obliged to give lessons, but if he must, it
was surely a good thing that people were willing to employ him. While
she was pondering this in silence, she was relieved by a welcome
proposal from Delia that they should go down-stairs, and have tea in the
garden. "Afterwards," she added, "I will show you the way to Waverley
over the fields."

In the garden it was pleasant and peaceful enough. Tea was ready, under
the shade of the medlar tree. The pigeons whirled and fluttered about
over the red roofs all around, settling sometimes on the lawn for a few
moments, bowing and cooing to each other. Mrs Hunt, meanwhile, chatted
on in a comfortable way, hardly settling longer on one spot in her talk
than the pigeons; from the affairs of her district to the affairs of the
nation, from an anecdote about the rector to a receipt for scones, she
rambled gently on; but at last coming to a favourite topic, she made a
longer rest. Anna was glad of it, for it dealt with people of whom she
had been wishing to hear--her mother and her grandfather. Mrs Hunt had
much to tell of the former, whom she had known from the time when she
had been a girl of Anna's age until her marriage with Mr Bernard
Forrest. She became quite enthusiastic as one recollection after the
other followed.

"A sweeter face and a sweeter character than Prissy Goodwin's could not
be imagined," she said. "We were all sorry when she left Dornton, and
every one felt for Mr Goodwin. Poor man, he's aged a great deal during
the last few years. I remember him as upright as a dart, and always in
such good spirit