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in the closing dusk, by the firelight, in the high back parlour.

Arthur Townsend fell to Catherineā€™s portion, while his companion placed himself on the sofa, beside Mrs. Penniman. Catherine had hitherto not been a harsh critic; she was easy to pleaseā€”she liked to talk with young men. But Marianā€™s betrothed, this evening, made her feel vaguely fastidious; he sat looking at the fire and rubbing his knees with his hands. As for Catherine, she scarcely even pretended to keep up the conversation; her attention had fixed itself on the other side of the room; she was listening to what went on between the other Mr. Townsend and her aunt. Every now and then he looked over at Catherine herself and smiled, as if to show that what he said was for her benefit too. Catherine would have liked to change her place, to go and sit near them, where she might see and hear him better. But she was afraid of seeming boldā€”of looking eager; and, besides, it would not have been polite to Marianā€™s little suitor. She wondered why the other gentleman had picked out her auntā€”how he came to have so much to say to Mrs. Penniman, to whom, usually, young men were not especially devoted. She was not at all jealous of Aunt Lavinia, but she was a little envious, and above all she wondered; for Morris Townsend was an object on which she found that her imagination could exercise itself indefinitely. His cousin had been describing a house that he had taken in view of his union with Marian, and the domestic conveniences he meant to introduce into it; how Marian wanted a larger one, and Mrs. Almond recommended a smaller one, and how he himself was convinced that he had got the neatest house in New York.

ā€œIt doesnā€™t matter,ā€ he said; ā€œitā€™s only for three or four years. At the end of three or four years weā€™ll move. Thatā€™s the way to live in New Yorkā€”to move every three or four years. Then you always get the last thing. Itā€™s because the cityā€™s growing so quickā€”youā€™ve got to keep up with it. Itā€™s going straight up townā€”thatā€™s where New Yorkā€™s going. If I wasnā€™t afraid Marian would be lonely, Iā€™d go up thereā€”right up to the topā€”and wait for it. Only have to wait ten yearsā€”theyā€™d all come up after you. But Marian says she wants some neighboursā€”she doesnā€™t want to be a pioneer. She says that if sheā€™s got to be the first settler she had better go out to Minnesota. I guess weā€™ll move up little by little; when we get tired of one street weā€™ll go higher. So you see weā€™ll always have a new house; itā€™s a great advantage to have a new house; you get all the latest improvements. They invent everything all over again about every five years, and itā€™s a great thing to keep up with the new things. I always try and keep up with the new things of every kind. Donā€™t you think thatā€™s a good motto for a young coupleā€”to keep ā€˜going higherā€™? Thatā€™s the name of that piece of poetryā€”what do they call it?ā€” Excelsior!ā€

Catherine bestowed on her junior visitor only just enough attention to feel that this was not the way Mr. Morris Townsend had talked the other night, or that he was talking now to her fortunate aunt. But suddenly his aspiring kinsman became more interesting. He seemed to have become conscious that she was affected by his companionā€™s presence, and he thought it proper to explain it.

ā€œMy cousin asked me to bring him, or I shouldnā€™t have taken the liberty. He seemed to want very much to come; you know heā€™s awfully sociable. I told him I wanted to ask you first, but he said Mrs. Penniman had invited him. He isnā€™t particular what he says when he wants to come somewhere! But Mrs. Penniman seems to think itā€™s all right.ā€

ā€œWe are very glad to see him,ā€ said Catherine. And she wished to talk more about him; but she hardly knew what to say. ā€œI never saw him before,ā€ she went on presently.

Arthur Townsend stared.

ā€œWhy, he told me he talked with you for over half an hour the other night.ā€

ā€œI mean before the other night. That was the first time.ā€

ā€œOh, he has been away from New Yorkā€”he has been all round the world. He doesnā€™t know many people here, but heā€™s very sociable, and he wants to know every one.ā€

ā€œEvery one?ā€ said Catherine.

ā€œWell, I mean all the good ones. All the pretty young ladiesā€”like Mrs. Penniman!ā€ and Arthur Townsend gave a private laugh.

ā€œMy aunt likes him very much,ā€ said Catherine.

ā€œMost people like himā€”heā€™s so brilliant.ā€

ā€œHeā€™s more like a foreigner,ā€ Catherine suggested.

ā€œWell, I never knew a foreigner!ā€ said young Townsend, in a tone which seemed to indicate that his ignorance had been optional.

ā€œNeither have I,ā€ Catherine confessed, with more humility. ā€œThey say they are generally brilliant,ā€ she added vaguely.

ā€œWell, the people of this city are clever enough for me. I know some of them that think they are too clever for me; but they ainā€™t!ā€

ā€œI suppose you canā€™t be too clever,ā€ said Catherine, still with humility.

ā€œI donā€™t know. I know some people that call my cousin too clever.ā€

Catherine listened to this statement with extreme interest, and a feeling that if Morris Townsend had a fault it would naturally be that one. But she did not commit herself, and in a moment she asked: ā€œNow that he has come back, will he stay here always?ā€

ā€œAh,ā€ said Arthur, ā€œif he can get something to do.ā€

ā€œSomething to do?ā€

ā€œSome place or other; some business.ā€

ā€œHasnā€™t he got any?ā€ said Catherine, who had never heard of a young manā€”of the upper classā€”in this situation.

ā€œNo; heā€™s looking round. But he canā€™t find anything.ā€

ā€œI am very sorry,ā€ Catherine permitted herself to observe.

ā€œOh, he doesnā€™t mind,ā€ said young Townsend. ā€œHe takes it easyā€”he isnā€™t in a hurry. He is very particular.ā€

Catherine thought he naturally would be, and gave herself up for some moments to the contemplation of this idea, in several of its bearings.

ā€œWonā€™t his father take him into his businessā€”his office?ā€ she at last inquired.

ā€œHe hasnā€™t got any fatherā€”he has only got a sister. Your sister canā€™t help you much.ā€

It seemed to Catherine that if she were his sister she would disprove this axiom. ā€œIs sheā€”is she pleasant?ā€ she asked in a moment.

ā€œI donā€™t knowā€”I believe sheā€™s very respectable,ā€ said young Townsend. And then he looked across to his cousin and began to laugh. ā€œLook here, we are talking about you,ā€ he added.

Morris Townsend paused in his conversation with Mrs. Penniman, and stared, with a little smile. Then he got up, as if he were going.

ā€œAs far as you are concerned, I canā€™t return the compliment,ā€ he said to Catherineā€™s companion. ā€œBut as regards Miss Sloper, itā€™s another affair.ā€

Catherine thought this little speech wonderfully well turned; but she was embarrassed by it, and she also got up. Morris Townsend stood looking at her and smiling; he put out his hand for farewell. He was going, without having said anything to her; but even on these terms she was glad to have seen him.

ā€œI will tell her what you have saidā€”when you go!ā€ said Mrs. Penniman, with an insinuating laugh.

Catherine blushed, for she felt almost as if they were making sport of her. What in the world could this beautiful young man have said? He looked at her still, in spite of her blush; but very kindly and respectfully.

ā€œI have had no talk with you,ā€ he said, ā€œand that was what I came for. But it will be a good reason for coming another time; a little pretextā€”if I am obliged to give one. I am not afraid of what your aunt will say when I go.ā€

With this the two young men took their departure; after which Catherine, with her blush still lingering, directed a serious and interrogative eye to Mrs. Penniman. She was incapable of elaborate artifice, and she resorted to no jocular deviceā€”to no affectation of the belief that she had been malignedā€”to learn what she desired.

ā€œWhat did you say you would tell me?ā€ she asked.

Mrs. Penniman came up to her, smiling and nodding a little, looked at her all over, and gave a twist to the knot of ribbon in her neck. ā€œItā€™s a great secret, my dear child; but he is coming a-courting!ā€

Catherine was serious still. ā€œIs that what he told you!ā€

ā€œHe didnā€™t say so exactly. But he left me to guess it. Iā€™m a good guesser.ā€

ā€œDo you mean a-courting me?ā€

ā€œNot me, certainly, miss; though I must say he is a hundred times more polite to a person who has no longer extreme youth to recommend her than most of the young men. He is thinking of some one else.ā€ And Mrs. Penniman gave her niece a delicate little kiss. ā€œYou must be very gracious to him.ā€

Catherine staredā€”she was bewildered. ā€œI donā€™t understand you,ā€ she said; ā€œhe doesnā€™t know me.ā€

ā€œOh yes, he does; more than you think. I have told him all about you.ā€

ā€œOh, Aunt Penniman!ā€ murmured Catherine, as if this had been a breach of trust. ā€œHe is a perfect strangerā€”we donā€™t know him.ā€ There was infinite, modesty in the poor girlā€™s ā€œwe.ā€

Aunt Penniman, however, took no account of it; she spoke even with a touch of acrimony. ā€œMy dear Catherine, you know very well that you admire him!ā€

ā€œOh, Aunt Penniman!ā€ Catherine could only murmur again. It might very well be that she admired himā€”though this did not seem to her a thing to talk about. But that this brilliant strangerā€”this sudden apparition, who had barely heard the sound of her voiceā€”took that sort of interest in her that was expressed by the romantic phrase of which Mrs. Penniman had just made use: this could only be a figment of the restless brain of Aunt Lavinia, whom every one knew to be a woman of powerful imagination.

CHAPTER VI

Mrs. Penniman even took for granted at times that other people had as much imagination as herself; so that when, half an hour later, her brother came in, she addressed him quite on this principle.

ā€œHe has just been here, Austin; itā€™s such a pity you missed him.ā€

ā€œWhom in the world have I missed?ā€ asked the Doctor.

ā€œMr. Morris Townsend; he has made us such a delightful visit.ā€

ā€œAnd who in the world is Mr. Morris Townsend?ā€

ā€œAunt Penniman means the gentlemanā€”the gentleman whose name I couldnā€™t remember,ā€ said Catherine.

ā€œThe gentleman at Elizabethā€™s party who was so struck with Catherine,ā€ Mrs. Penniman added.

ā€œOh, his name is Morris Townsend, is it? And did he come here to propose to you?ā€

ā€œOh, father,ā€ murmured the girl for all answer, turning away to the window, where the dusk had deepened to darkness.

ā€œI hope he wonā€™t do that without your permission,ā€ said Mrs. Penniman, very graciously.

ā€œAfter all, my dear, he seems to have yours,ā€ her brother answered.

Lavinia simpered, as if this might not be quite enough, and Catherine, with her forehead touching the window-panes, listened to this exchange of epigrams as reservedly as if they had not each been a pin-prick in her own destiny.

ā€œThe next time he comes,ā€ the Doctor added, ā€œyou had better call me. He might like to see me.ā€

Morris Townsend came again, some five days afterwards; but Dr. Sloper was not called, as he was absent from home at the time. Catherine was with her aunt when the young manā€™s name was brought in, and Mrs. Penniman, effacing herself and protesting, made a great point of her nieceā€™s going into the drawing-room alone.

ā€œThis time itā€™s for youā€”for you only,ā€ she said. ā€œBefore, when he talked

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