What she could not know,
of course, was that she disappointed him, though on three or four
occasions the Doctor had been almost frank about it. She grew up
peacefully and prosperously, but at the age of eighteen Mrs. Penniman
had not made a clever woman of her. Dr. Sloper would have liked to
be proud of his daughter; but there was nothing to be proud of in
poor Catherine. There was nothing, of course, to be ashamed of; but
this was not enough for the Doctor, who was a proud man and would
have enjoyed being able to think of his daughter as an unusual girl.
There would have been a fitness in her being pretty and graceful,
intelligent and distinguished; for her mother had been the most
charming woman of her little day, and as regards her father, of
course he knew his own value. He had moments of irritation at having
produced a commonplace child, and he even went so far at times as to
take a certain satisfaction in the thought that his wife had not
lived to find her out. He was naturally slow in making this
discovery himself, and it was not till Catherine had become a young
lady grown that he regarded the matter as settled. He gave her the
benefit of a great many doubts; he was in no haste to conclude. Mrs.
Penniman frequently assured him that his daughter had a delightful
nature; but he knew how to interpret this assurance. It meant, to
his sense, that Catherine was not wise enough to discover that her
aunt was a goose--a limitation of mind that could not fail to be
agreeable to Mrs.
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