It was not that
Catherine was jealous; but her sense of Mrs. Penniman's innocent
falsity, which had lain dormant, began to haunt her again, and she
was glad that she was safely at home. With this, however, it was a
blessing to be able to talk of Morris, to sound his name, to be with
a person who was not unjust to him.
"You have been very kind to him," said Catherine. "He has written me
that, often. I shall never forget that, Aunt Lavinia."
"I have done what I could; it has been very little. To let him come
and talk to me, and give him his cup of tea--that was all. Your Aunt
Almond thought it was too much, and used to scold me terribly; but
she promised me, at least, not to betray me."
"To betray you?"
"Not to tell your father. He used to sit in your father's study!"
said Mrs. Penniman, with a little laugh.
Catherine was silent a moment. This idea was disagreeable to her,
and she was reminded again, with pain, of her aunt's secretive
habits. Morris, the reader may be informed, had had the tact not to
tell her that he sat in her father's study. He had known her but for
a few months, and her aunt had known her for fifteen years; and yet
he would not have made the mistake of thinking that Catherine would
see the joke of the thing. "I am sorry you made him go into father's
room," she said, after a while.
"I didn't make him go; he went himself. He liked to look at the
books, and all those things in the glass cases.
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