The world, which, as I have said, appreciated him,
pitied him too much to be ironical; his misfortune made him more
interesting, and even helped him to be the fashion. It was observed
that even medical families cannot escape the more insidious forms of
disease, and that, after all, Dr. Sloper had lost other patients
beside the two I have mentioned; which constituted an honourable
precedent. His little girl remained to him, and though she was not
what he had desired, he proposed to himself to make the best of her.
He had on hand a stock of unexpended authority, by which the child,
in its early years, profited largely. She had been named, as a
matter of course, after her poor mother, and even in her most
diminutive babyhood the Doctor never called her anything but
Catherine. She grew up a very robust and healthy child, and her
father, as he looked at her, often said to himself that, such as she
was, he at least need have no fear of losing her. I say "such as she
was," because, to tell the truth--But this is a truth of which I will
defer the telling.
CHAPTER II
When the child was about ten years old, he invited his sister, Mrs.
Penniman, to come and stay with him. The Miss Slopers had been but
two in number, and both of them had married early in life. The
younger, Mrs. Almond by name, was the wife of a prosperous merchant,
and the mother of a blooming family.
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