Washington Square by Henry James Page B

reassuring; it seemed to Catherine, on the contrary, to suggest possibilities which made her feel sick. But she answered coherently enough, “No, dear Father; because if you knew how I feel—and you must know, you know everything—you would be so kind, so gentle.”
    â€œYes, I think I know how you feel,” the doctor said. “I will be very kind—be sure of that. And I will see Mr. Townsend tomorrow. Meanwhile, and for the present, be so good as to mention to no one that you are engaged.”

C HAPTER 12
    On the morrow, in the afternoon, he stayed at home, awaiting Mr. Townsend’s call—a proceeding by which it appeared to him (justly perhaps, for he was a very busy man) that he paid Catherine’s suitor great honor, and gave both these young people so much the less to complain of. Morris presented himself with a countenance sufficiently serene—he appeared to have forgotten the “insult” for which he had solicited Catherine’s sympathy two evenings before—and Doctor Sloper lost no time in letting him know that he had been prepared for his visit.
    â€œCatherine told me yesterday what has been going on between you,” he said. “You must allow me to say that it would have been becoming of you to give me notice of your intentions before they had gone so far.”
    â€œI should have done so,” Morris answered, “if you had not had so much the appearance of leaving your daughter at liberty. She seems to me quite her own mistress.”
    â€œLiterally, she is. But she has not emancipated herself morally quite so far, I trust, as to choose a husband without consulting me. I have left her at liberty, but I have not been in the least indifferent. The truth is, that your little affair has come to a head with a rapidity that surprises me. It was only the other day that Catherine made your acquaintance.”
    â€œIt was not long ago, certainly,” said Morris, with great gravity. “I admit that we have not been slow to—to arrive at an understanding. But that was very natural, from the moment we were sure of ourselves—and of each other. My interest in Miss Sloper began the first time I saw her.”
    â€œDid it not by chance precede your first meeting?” the doctor asked.
    Morris looked at him an instant. “I certainly had already heard that she was a charming girl.”
    â€œA charming girl—that’s what you think her?”
    â€œAssuredly. Otherwise I should not be sitting here.”
    The doctor meditated a moment. “My dear young man,” he said at last, “you must be very susceptible. As Catherine’s father I have, I trust, a just and tender appreciation of her many good qualities; but I don’t mind telling you that I have never thought of her as a charming girl, and never expected anyone else to do so.”
    Morris Townsend received this statement with a smile that was not wholly devoid of deference. “I don’t know what I might think of her if I were her father. I can’t put myself in that place. I speak from my own point of view.”
    â€œYou speak very well,” said the doctor, “but that is not all that is necessary. I told Catherine yesterday that I disapproved of her engagement.”
    â€œShe let me know as much, and I was very sorry to hear it. I am greatly disappointed.” And Morris sat in silence awhile, looking at the floor.
    â€œDid you really expect I would say I was delighted, and throw my daughter into your arms?”
    â€œOh no; I had an idea you didn’t like me.”
    â€œWhat gave you the idea?”
    â€œThe fact that I am poor.”
    â€œThat has a harsh sound,” said the doctor, “but it is about the truth—speaking of you strictly as a son-in-law. Your absence of means, of a profession, of visible resources or prospects, places you in a category from which it would be imprudent for me to select a husband for