Penniman could do. "You can explain to her why it is. It's because
I can't bring myself to step in between her and her father--to give
him the pretext he grasps at--so eagerly (it's a hideous sight) for
depriving her of her rights."
Mrs. Penniman felt with remarkable promptitude the charm of this
formula.
"That's so like you," she said; "it's so finely felt."
Morris gave his stick an angry swing.
"Oh, botheration!" he exclaimed perversely.
Mrs. Penniman, however, was not discouraged.
"It may turn out better than you think. Catherine is, after all, so
very peculiar." And she thought she might take it upon herself to
assure him that, whatever happened, the girl would be very quiet--she
wouldn't make a noise. They extended their walk, and, while they
proceeded, Mrs. Penniman took upon herself other things besides, and
ended by having assumed a considerable burden; Morris being ready
enough, as may be imagined, to put everything off upon her. But he
was not for a single instant the dupe of her blundering alacrity; he
knew that of what she promised she was competent to perform but an
insignificant fraction, and the more she professed her willingness to
serve him, the greater fool he thought her.
"What will you do if you don't marry her?" she ventured to inquire in
the course of this conversation.
"Something brilliant," said Morris. "Shouldn't you like me to do
something brilliant?"
The idea gave Mrs.
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