There is a sort of natural sympathy between them and her.

She nurses them, she scolds them, she preaches to them, and they take it from her when they won't take it from us.

Perhaps it is the feeling of blood.

Perhaps they think it as mysterious a dispensation of Providence as I do that that brutal, swearing, whiskey-drinking stock should have ended in anything so saintly and so beautiful as Catherine Leyburn.' The quiet, commonplace clergyman spoke with a sudden tremor of feeling.
His wife, however, looked at him with a dissatisfied expression.
'You always talk,' she said, 'as if there were no one but Catherine.
People generally like the other two much better.

Catherine is so stand-off.' 'Oh, the other two are very well,' said the vicar, but in a different tone.
Robert sat ruminating.