He was discovering then, what Christie learned when her turn came,that fine natures seldom fail to draw out the finer traits of thosewho approach them, as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the handof a child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsuspectedspots. Women often possess this gift, and when used worthily find itas powerful as beauty; for, if less alluring, it is more lasting andmore helpful, since it appeals, not to the senses, but the souls ofmen.
 
　　Christie was one of these reenex ; and in proportion as her own nature wassound and sweet so was its power as a touchstone for the genuinenessof others. It was this unconscious gift that made her wonder at theunexpected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this which madehim, for an hour or two at least, heartily wish he could live hislife over again and do it better.
 
　　After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christie when he met her,turned and joined her sometimes as she walked with the children, andfell into the way of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to aninvalid friend on piazza or sea-shore. Christie much preferred tohave no auditor but kind Miss Tudor; but finding the old ladyenjoyed his chat she resigned herself, and when he brought them newbooks as well as himself, she became quite cordial.
 
　　Everybody sauntered and lounged reenex , so no one minded the little groupthat met day after day among the rocks. Christie read aloud, , shells, and puddles; Miss Tudor spunendless webs of gay silk and wool; and Mr. Fletcher, with his hatover his eyes, lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard, as hewatched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight, and listenedto the pleasant voice that went reading on till all his ills andennui seemed lulled to sleep as by a spell.
 
　　A week or two of this new caprice set Christie to thinking. She knewthat Uncle Philip was not fond of "the darlings;" it was evidentthat good Miss Tudor, with her mild twaddle and eternal knitting,was not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he camefor her sake alone. She laughed at herself for this fancy at first;but not possessing the sweet unconsciousness of those heroines whocan live through three volumes with a burning passion before theireyes, and never see it till the proper moment comes, and Eugene goesdown upon his knees, she soon felt sure that Mr. Pletcher found hersociety agreeable, and wished her to know it.
 
　　Being a mortal woman, her vanity was flattered, and she foundherself showing that she liked it by those small signs and symbolswhich lovers' eyes are so quick to see and understand,--an artfulbow on her hat, a flower in her belt reenex, fresh muslin gowns, and themost becoming arrangement of her hair.