He could not
attend to his sermon, though it was Friday. He entirely forgot his
Bible-class at the alms-houses in the afternoon.
Mrs. Gresley watched him from her bedroom window, where she was mending
the children's stockings. At last she laid aside her work and went out.
She might not be his mental equal. She might be unable, with her small
feminine mind, to fathom the depths and heights of that great
intelligence, but still she was his wife. Perhaps, though she did not
know it, it troubled her to see him so absorbed in his sister, for she
was sure it was of Hester and her book that he was thinking. "I am his
wife," she said to herself, as she joined him in silence, and passed her
arm through his. He needed to be reminded of her existence. Mr. Gresley
pressed it, and they took a turn in silence.
He had not a high opinion of the feminine intellect. He was wont to say
that he was tired of most women in ten minutes. But he had learned to
make an exception of his wife. What mind does not feel confidence in the
sentiments of its echo?
"I am greatly troubled about Hester," he said at last.
"It is not a new trouble," said Mrs. Gresley. "I sometimes think,
dearest, it is we who are to blame in having her to live with us. She is
worldly--I suppose she can't help it--and we are unworldly.
Pages:
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358