I doubt, however, whether Catherine was irritated, though she broke
into a vehement protest. "I don't know him?" she cried. "Why, I
know him--better than I have ever known any one!"
"You know a part of him--what he has chosen to show you. But you
don't know the rest."
"The rest? What is the rest?"
"Whatever it may be. There is sure to be plenty of it."
"I know what you mean," said Catherine, remembering how Morris had
forewarned her. "You mean that he is mercenary."
Her father looked up at her still, with his cold, quiet reasonable
eye. "If I meant it, my dear, I should say it! But there is an
error I wish particularly to avoid--that of rendering Mr. Townsend
more interesting to you by saying hard things about him."
"I won't think them hard if they are true," said Catherine.
"If you don't, you will be a remarkably sensible young woman!"
"They will be your reasons, at any rate, and you will want me to hear
your reasons."
The Doctor smiled a little. "Very true. You have a perfect right to
ask for them." And he puffed his cigar a few moments. "Very well,
then, without accusing Mr. Townsend of being in love only with your
fortune--and with the fortune that you justly expect--I will say that
there is every reason to suppose that these good things have entered
into his calculation more largely than a tender solicitude for your
happiness strictly requires.
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