d yielded, she had
afterward almost felt ashamed. And even now a slight blush came in
her cheek when she heard him say cheerfully,

"Do not trouble her, Mrs. Ferguson, about her shawl. You know I have
taken her--that is, we have taken one another 'for better, for worse,' and
it is little matter what sort of clothes she wears."

Christian, as she passed him, gave her husband a grateful look.
Grateful, alas! Love does not understand, or even recognize, gratitude.

But when the door closed after her, Dr. Grey's eyes rested on it like
those of one who misses a light.

He sat down covering his mouth--his firmly-set but excessively
sensitive month with his hand, an attitude which was one of his
peculiarities; for he had many, which the world excused because of his
learning, and his friends--well, because of himself.

If ever there was a man who without the slightest obtrusiveness, or self-
assertion of any kind, had unlimited influence over those about him, it
was Arnold Grey. Throughout a life spent entirely within the college
walls, he had, from freshman to fellow, from thence to tutor, and so on
to the early dignity of mastership, the most extraordinary faculty of
making people do whatsoever he liked---ay, and enjoy the doing of it.
Friends, acquaintances, undergraduates, even down to children and
servants, all did, more or less, sooner or later, the good pleasure of Dr.
Grey. Perhaps the secret of this was that his "pleasure" was never
merely his own. None wield such absolute power over others as those
who think little about themselves.

Had circumstance, or his own inclination, led him out farther into the
world, he might have been noticeable there, for he had very great and
varied acquirements---more acquirements perhaps, than originalities.
He had never written a book, but he had read almost every book that
ever was written--or, at least, such was the belief current in
Avonsbridge. In his study he was literally entombed in books---
volumes in all languages--and Avonsbridge supposed him able to read
them all. How far this was a popular superstition, and to what length
his learning went, it is impossible to say. But nobody ever came quite
to the end of it. He was a silent, modest man, who never spoke much
of what he knew, or of himself in any wise. His strongest outward
characteristic was quietness, both of manner, speech, motions,
springing, it appeared, out of a corresponding quietness of soul.
Wheth