He believes that you never
understood him--that you never judged him rightly, and the belief has
always weighed upon him terribly. He wishes to justify himself; he
believes that in a very few words he could do so. He wishes to meet
you as a friend."
Catherine listened to this wonderful speech without pausing in her
work; she had now had several days to accustom herself to think of
Morris Townsend again as an actuality. When it was over she said
simply, "Please say to Mr. Townsend that I wish he would leave me
alone."
She had hardly spoken when a sharp, firm ring at the door vibrated
through the summer night. Catherine looked up at the clock; it
marked a quarter-past nine--a very late hour for visitors, especially
in the empty condition of the town. Mrs. Penniman at the same moment
gave a little start, and then Catherine's eyes turned quickly to her
aunt. They met Mrs. Penniman's and sounded them for a moment,
sharply. Mrs. Penniman was blushing; her look was a conscious one;
it seemed to confess something. Catherine guessed its meaning, and
rose quickly from her chair.
"Aunt Penniman," she said, in a tone that scared her companion, "have
you taken the LIBERTY . . . ?"
"My dearest Catherine," stammered Mrs. Penniman, "just wait till you
see him!"
Catherine had frightened her aunt, but she was also frightened
herself; she was on the point of rushing to give orders to the
servant, who was passing to the door, to admit no one; but the fear
of meeting her visitor checked her.
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