Her children justify the
heavenly wisdom, but the worldly wisdom justifies her children.
Mary could not but feel how Sepia regarded her service, but
service, to be true, must be divine, that is, to the just and the
unjust, like the sun and the rain.
Between Sepia and Mr. Redmain continued a distance too great for
either difference or misunderstanding. They met with a cold good
morning, and parted without any good night. Their few words were
polite, and their demeanor was civil. At the breakfast-table,
Sepia would silently pass things to Mr. Redmain; Mr. Redmain
would thank her, but never trouble himself to do as much for her.
His attentions, indeed, were seldom wasted at home; but he was
not often rude to anybody save his wife and his man, except when
he was ill.
It was a long time before he began to feel any interest in Mary.
He knew nothing of her save as a nice-looking maid his wife had
got--rather a prim-looking puss, he would have said, had he had
occasion to describe her. What Mary knew of him was merely the
reflection of him in the mind of his wife; but, the first time
she saw him, she felt she would rather not have to speak to him.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A STRAY SOUND.
Mary went to see Letty as often as she could, and that was not
seldom; but she had scarcely a chance of seeing Tom; either he
was not up, or had gone--to the office, Letty supposed: she had
no more idea of where the office was, or of the other localities
haunted by Tom, than he himself had of what spirit he was of.
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