"You must tell me," he went on, "that if your
father is dead against me, if he absolutely forbids our marriage, you
will still be faithful."
Catherine opened her eyes, gazing at him, and she could give no
better promise than what he read there.
"You will cleave to me?" said Morris. "You know you are your own
mistress--you are of age."
"Ah, Morris!" she murmured, for all answer. Or rather not for all;
for she put her hand into his own. He kept it a while, and presently
he kissed her again. This is all that need be recorded of their
conversation; but Mrs. Penniman, if she had been present, would
probably have admitted that it was as well it had not taken place
beside the fountain in Washington Square.
CHAPTER XI
Catherine listened for her father when he came in that evening, and
she heard him go to his study. She sat quiet, though her heart was
beating fast, for nearly half an hour; then she went and knocked at
his door--a ceremony without which she never crossed the threshold of
this apartment. On entering it now she found him in his chair beside
the fire, entertaining himself with a cigar and the evening paper.
"I have something to say to you," she began very gently; and she sat
down in the first place that offered.
"I shall be very happy to hear it, my dear," said her father. He
waited--waited, looking at her, while she stared, in a long silence,
at the fire.
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