"What did you say you would tell me?" she asked.
Mrs. Penniman came up to her, smiling and nodding a little, looked at
her all over, and gave a twist to the knot of ribbon in her neck.
"It's a great secret, my dear child; but he is coming a-courting!"
Catherine was serious still. "Is that what he told you!"
"He didn't say so exactly. But he left me to guess it. I'm a good
guesser."
"Do you mean a-courting me?"
"Not me, certainly, miss; though I must say he is a hundred times
more polite to a person who has no longer extreme youth to recommend
her than most of the young men. He is thinking of some one else."
And Mrs. Penniman gave her niece a delicate little kiss. "You must
be very gracious to him."
Catherine stared--she was bewildered. "I don't understand you," she
said; "he doesn't know me."
"Oh yes, he does; more than you think. I have told him all about
you."
"Oh, Aunt Penniman!" murmured Catherine, as if this had been a breach
of trust. "He is a perfect stranger--we don't know him." There was
infinite, modesty in the poor girl's "we."
Aunt Penniman, however, took no account of it; she spoke even with a
touch of acrimony. "My dear Catherine, you know very well that you
admire him!"
"Oh, Aunt Penniman!" Catherine could only murmur again. It might
very well be that she admired him--though this did not seem to her a
thing to talk about.
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