It seemed to her that she
had given Morris up.
She had to show herself half an hour later, and she was sustained at
table by the immensity of her desire that her father should not
perceive that anything had happened. This was a great help to her
afterwards, and it served her (though never as much as she supposed)
from the first. On this occasion Dr. Sloper was rather talkative.
He told a great many stories about a wonderful poodle that he had
seen at the house of an old lady whom he visited professionally.
Catherine not only tried to appear to listen to the anecdotes of the
poodle, but she endeavoured to interest herself in them, so as not to
think of her scene with Morris. That perhaps was an hallucination;
he was mistaken, she was jealous; people didn't change like that from
one day to another. Then she knew that she had had doubts before--
strange suspicions, that were at once vague and acute--and that he
had been different ever since her return from Europe: whereupon she
tried again to listen to her father, who told a story so remarkably
well. Afterwards she went straight to her own room; it was beyond
her strength to undertake to spend the evening with her aunt. All
the evening, alone, she questioned herself. Her trouble was
terrible; but was it a thing of her imagination, engendered by an
extravagant sensibility, or did it represent a clear-cut reality, and
had the worst that was possible actually come to pass? Mrs.
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