As time went
on, it might have appeared to the Doctor that his daughter's account
of her rupture with Morris Townsend, mere bravado as he had deemed
it, was in some degree justified by the sequel. Morris remained as
rigidly and unremittingly absent as if he had died of a broken heart,
and Catherine had apparently buried the memory of this fruitless
episode as deep as if it had terminated by her own choice. We know
that she had been deeply and incurably wounded, but the Doctor had no
means of knowing it. He was certainly curious about it, and would
have given a good deal to discover the exact truth; but it was his
punishment that he never knew--his punishment, I mean, for the abuse
of sarcasm in his relations with his daughter. There was a good deal
of effective sarcasm in her keeping him in the dark, and the rest of
the world conspired with her, in this sense, to be sarcastic. Mrs.
Penniman told him nothing, partly because he never questioned her--he
made too light of Mrs. Penniman for that--and partly because she
flattered herself that a tormenting reserve, and a serene profession
of ignorance, would avenge her for his theory that she had meddled in
the matter. He went two or three times to see Mrs. Montgomery, but
Mrs. Montgomery had nothing to impart. She simply knew that her
brother's engagement was broken off, and now that Miss Sloper was out
of danger she preferred not to bear witness in any way against
Morris.
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