The Doctor liked
this; it had the accent of sincerity. "Exactly; that's the point.
If my poor girl should marry your brother, everything--as regards her
happiness--would depend on his being a good fellow. She is the best
creature in the world, and she could never do him a grain of injury.
He, on the other hand, if he should not be all that we desire, might
make her very miserable. That is why I want you to throw some light
upon his character, you know. Of course you are not bound to do it.
My daughter, whom you have never seen, is nothing to you; and I,
possibly, am only an indiscreet and impertinent old man. It is
perfectly open to you to tell me that my visit is in very bad taste
and that I had better go about my business. But I don't think you
will do this; because I think we shall interest you, my poor girl and
I. I am sure that if you were to see Catherine, she would interest
you very much. I don't mean because she is interesting in the usual
sense of the word, but because you would feel sorry for her. She is
so soft, so simple-minded, she would be such an easy victim! A bad
husband would have remarkable facilities for making her miserable;
for she would have neither the intelligence nor the resolution to get
the better of him, and yet she would have an exaggerated power of
suffering. I see," added the Doctor, with his most insinuating, his
most professional laugh, "you are already interested!"
"I have been interested from the moment he told me he was engaged,"
said Mrs.
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