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:

"Good-evening, sir."

And not another word would pass between them during the evening.

But all the young man observed in her at such times was a certain
discreet reserve, which he could but approve.

"She seems to be much changed. She seems to be truly grieved for the
past. Perhaps I have judged her too harshly. And yet what a base part
that was she proposed to play! may be that she herself did not know how
base it was. Such ignorance would prove an appalling moral blindness.
But then, again, should she be held responsible for her moral blindness?
It sometimes requires suffering to teach the nature of sin. A child does
not know that fire is dangerous until it burns itself. _Her_ suffering
must have opened her eyes to the 'exceeding sinfulness of sin.' For her
own sake I hope it is so. As for myself, it does not matter. I have
ceased to regard her with any other feeling than pity and charity. And
although she would become a saint I could never love her again," he said
to himself one night, after passing an evening with her at one of the
professor's houses.

And his thoughts reverted to that lovely maiden whose golden hair formed
an appropriate halo around her white brow