Free Washington Square by Henry James Page B

say it,” he added.
    â€œIt will be easy to be prepared for that,” Catherine said.
“I shall simply say that he is mistaken—that other men may be that way, but that you are not.”
    â€œYou must make a great point of that, for it will be his own great
point.”
    Catherine looked at her lover a minute, and then she said, “I shall persuade him. But I am glad we shall be rich,” she added.
    Morris turned away, looking into the crown of his hat. “No, it’s a misfortune,” he said at last. “It is from
that our difficulty will come.”
    â€œWell, if it is the worst misfortune, we are not so unhappy. Many people would not think it so bad. I will persuade him, and after that we shall be very glad we have money.”
    Morris Townsend listened to this robust logic in silence. “I will leave my defense to you; it’s a charge that a man has to stoop to defend himself from.”
    Catherine on her side was silent for awhile; she was looking at him while he looked, with a good deal of fixedness, out of the window. “Morris,” she said, abruptly, “are you very sure you love me?”
    He turned round, and in a moment he was bending over her. “My own dearest, can you doubt it?”
    â€œI have only known it five days,” she said, “but now it seems to me as if I could never do without it.”
    â€œYou will never be called upon to try.” And he gave a little tender, reassuring laugh. Then, in a moment, he added, “There is something you must tell me, too.” She had closed her eyes after the last words she uttered, and kept them closed; and at this she nodded her head, without opening them. “You must tell me,” he went on, “that if your father is dead against me, if he absolutely forbids our marriage, you will still be faithful.”
    Catherine opened her eyes, gazing at him, and she could give no better promise than what he read there.
    â€œYou will cleave to me?” said Morris. “You know you are your own mistress—you are of age.”
    â€œAh, Morris!” she murmured, for all answer; or rather not at all, for she put her hand into his own. He kept it awhile, and presently he kissed her again. This is all that need be recorded of their conversation; but Mrs. Penniman, if she had been present, would probably have admitted that it was as well it had not taken place beside the fountain in Washington Square.

C HAPTER 11
    Catherine listened for her father when he came in that evening, and she heard him go to his study. She sat quiet, though her heart was beating fast, for nearly half an hour; then she went and knocked at his door—a ceremony without which she never crossed the threshold of this apartment. On entering it now, she found him in his chair beside the fire, entertaining himself with a cigar and the evening paper.
    â€œI have something to say to you,” she began very gently; and she sat down in the first place that offered.
    â€œI shall be very happy to hear it, my dear,” said her father. He waited—waited, looking at her—while she stared, in a long silence, at the fire. He was curious and impatient, for he was sure she was going to speak of Morris Townsend; but he let her take her own time, for he was determined to be very mild.
    â€œI am engaged to be married!” Catherine announced at last, still staring at the fire.
    The doctor was startled; the accomplished fact was more than he had expected; but he betrayed no surprise. “You do right to tell me,” he simply said. “And who is the happy mortal whom you have honored with your choice?”
    â€œMr. Morris Townsend.” And as she pronounced her lover’s name Catherine looked at him. What she saw was her father’s still gray eye and his clear-cut, definite smile. She contemplated these objects for a moment, and then she looked back at the fire; it was much warmer.
    â€œWhen was