Any girl or woman that
she did chance to meet always took a fancy to her, because she was so
nice to them, which made the transitory nature of these friendships
tantalizing. She was incapable of jealousies or backbiting. Let men
beware of such--there is coiled in their fibre a secret fascination!
Gyp's moral and spiritual growth was not the sort of subject that Winton
could pay much attention to. It was pre-eminently a matter one did not
talk about. Outward forms, such as going to church, should be preserved;
manners should be taught her by his own example as much as possible;
beyond this, nature must look after things. His view had much real
wisdom. She was a quick and voracious reader, bad at remembering what
she read; and though she had soon devoured all the books in Winton's
meagre library, including Byron, Whyte-Melville, and Humboldt's
"Cosmos," they had not left too much on her mind. The attempts of her
little governess to impart religion were somewhat arid of result, and
the interest of the vicar, Gyp, with her instinctive spice of scepticism
soon put into the same category as the interest of all the other males
she knew. She felt that he enjoyed calling her "my dear" and patting her
shoulder, and that this enjoyment was enough reward for his exertions.
Tucked away in that little old dark manor house, whose stables alone
were up to date--three hours from London, and some thirty miles from The
Wash, it must be confessed that her upbringing lacked modernity.
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