She was thinking only that
"some other time" had a delightful sound; it seemed to spread itself
over the future.
This was all the more reason, however, though she was ashamed and
uncomfortable, why she should tell her father that Mr. Morris
Townsend had called again. She announced the fact abruptly, almost
violently, as soon as the Doctor came into the house; and having done
so--it was her duty--she took measures to leave the room. But she
could not leave it fast enough; her father stopped her just as she
reached the door.
"Well, my dear, did he propose to you to-day?" the Doctor asked.
This was just what she had been afraid he would say; and yet she had
no answer ready. Of course she would have liked to take it as a
joke--as her father must have meant it; and yet she would have liked,
also, in denying it, to be a little positive, a little sharp; so that
he would perhaps not ask the question again. She didn't like it--it
made her unhappy. But Catherine could never be sharp; and for a
moment she only stood, with her hand on the door-knob, looking at her
satiric parent, and giving a little laugh.
"Decidedly," said the Doctor to himself, "my daughter is not
brilliant."
But he had no sooner made this reflexion than Catherine found
something; she had decided, on the whole, to take the thing as a
joke.
"Perhaps he will do it the next time!" she exclaimed, with a
repetition of her laugh.
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