She had given
this account, at least, to every one but the Doctor, who never asked
for explanations which he could entertain himself any day with
inventing. Mrs. Penniman, moreover, though she had a good deal of a
certain sort of artificial assurance, shrank, for indefinable
reasons, from presenting herself to her brother as a fountain of
instruction. She had not a high sense of humour, but she had enough
to prevent her from making this mistake; and her brother, on his
side, had enough to excuse her, in her situation, for laying him
under contribution during a considerable part of a lifetime. He
therefore assented tacitly to the proposition which Mrs. Penniman had
tacitly laid down, that it was of importance that the poor motherless
girl should have a brilliant woman near her. His assent could only
be tacit, for he had never been dazzled by his sister's intellectual
lustre. Save when he fell in love with Catherine Harrington, he had
never been dazzled, indeed, by any feminine characteristics whatever;
and though he was to a certain extent what is called a ladies'
doctor, his private opinion of the more complicated sex was not
exalted. He regarded its complications as more curious than
edifying, and he had an idea of the beauty of REASON, which was, on
the whole, meagrely gratified by what he observed in his female
patients. His wife had been a reasonable woman, but she was a bright
exception; among several things that he was sure of, this was perhaps
the principal.
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