"Did he seem sad?" asked her niece.
"He was dark under the eyes," said Mrs. Penniman. "So different from
when I first saw him; though I am not sure that if I had seen him in
this condition the first time, I should not have been even more
struck with him. There is something brilliant in his very misery."
This was, to Catherine's sense, a vivid picture, and though she
disapproved, she felt herself gazing at it. "Where did you see him?"
she asked presently.
"In--in the Bowery; at a confectioner's," said Mrs. Penniman, who had
a general idea that she ought to dissemble a little.
"Whereabouts is the place?" Catherine inquired, after another pause.
"Do you wish to go there, my dear?" said her aunt.
"Oh no!" And Catherine got up from her seat and went to the fire,
where she stood looking a while at the glowing coals.
"Why are you so dry, Catherine?" Mrs. Penniman said at last.
"So dry?"
"So cold--so irresponsive."
The girl turned very quickly. "Did HE say that?"
Mrs. Penniman hesitated a moment. "I will tell you what he said. He
said he feared only one thing--that you would be afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of your father."
Catherine turned back to the fire again, and then, after a pause, she
said--"I AM afraid of my father."
Mrs. Penniman got quickly up from her chair and approached her niece.
"Do you mean to give him up, then?"
Catherine for some time never moved; she kept her eyes on the coals.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137