XXIII
IF Morris Townsend was not to be included in this journey, no more wasMrs. Penniman, who would have been thankful for an invitation, but who(to do her justice) bore her disappointment in a perfectly ladylikemanner. “I should enjoy seeing the works of Raphael and the ruins—theruins of the Pantheon,” she said to Mrs. Almond; “but, on the other hand,I shall not be sorry to be alone and at peace for the next few months inWashington Square. I want rest; I have been through so much in the lastfour months.” Mrs. Almond thought it rather cruel that her brothershould not take poor Lavinia abroad; but she easily understood that, ifthe purpose of his expedition was to make Catherine forget her lover, itwas not in his interest to give his daughter this young man’s best friendas a companion. “If Lavinia had not been so foolish, she might visit theruins of the Pantheon,” she said to herself; and she continued to regrether sister’s folly, even though the latter assured her that she had oftenheard the relics in question most satisfactorily described by Mr.Penniman. Mrs. Penniman was perfectly aware that her brother’s motive inundertaking a foreign tour was to lay a trap for Catherine’s constancy;and she imparted this conviction very frankly to her niece.
“He thinks it will make you forget Morris,” she said (she always calledthe young man “Morris” now); “out of sight, out of mind, you know. Hethinks that all the things you will see over there will drive him out ofyour thoughts.”
Catherine looked greatly alarmed. “If he thinks that, I ought to tellhim beforehand.”
Mrs. Penniman shook her head. “Tell him afterwards, my dear! After hehas had all the trouble and the expense! That’s the way to serve him.”And she added, in a softer key, that it must be delightful to think ofthose who love us among the ruins of the Pantheon.
Her father’s displeasure had cost the girl, as we know, a great deal ofdeep-welling sorrow—sorrow of the purest and most generous kind, withouta touch of resentment or rancour; but for the first time, after he haddismissed with such contemptuous brevity her apology for being a chargeupon him, there was a spark of anger in her grief. She had felt hiscontempt; it had scorched her; that speech about her bad taste made herears burn for three days. During this period she was less considerate;she had an idea—a rather vague one, but it was agreeable to her sense ofinjury—that now she was absolved from penance, and might do what shechose. She chose to write to Morris Townsend to meet her in the Squareand take her to walk about the town. If she were going to Europe out ofrespect to her father, she might at least give herself this satisfaction.She felt in every way at present more free and more resolute; there was aforce that urged her. Now at last, completely and unreservedly, herpassion possessed her.
Morris met her at last, and they took a long walk. She told himimmediately what had happened—that her father wished to take her away.It would be for six months, to Europe; she would do absolutely whatMorris should think best. She hoped inexpressibly that he would think itbest she should stay at home. It was some time before he said what hethought: he asked, as they walked along, a great many questions. Therewas one that especially struck her; it seemed so incongruous.
“Should you like to see all those celebrated things over there?”
“Oh no, Morris!” said Catherine, quite deprecatingly.
“Gracious Heaven, what a dull woman!” Morris exclaimed to himself.
“He thinks I will forget you,” said Catherine: “that all these thingswill drive you out of my mind.”
“Well, my dear, perhaps they will!”
“Please don’t say that,” Catherine answered gently, as they walked along.“Poor father will be disappointed.”
Morris gave a little laugh. “Yes, I verily believe that your poor fatherwill be disappointed! But you will have seen Europe,” he addedhumorously. “What a take-in!”
“I don’t care for seeing Europe,” Catherine said.
“You ought to care, my dear. And it may mollify your father.”
Catherine, conscious of her obstinacy, expected little of this, and couldnot rid herself of the idea that in going abroad and yet remaining firm,she should play her father a trick. “Don’t you think it would be a kindof deception?” she asked.
“Doesn’t he want to deceive you?” cried Morris. “It will serve himright! I really think you had better go.”
“And not be married for so long?”
“Be married when you come back. You can buy your wedding clothes inParis.” And then Morris, with great kindness of tone, explained his viewof the matter. It would be a good thing that she should go; it would putthem completely in the right. It would show they were reasonable andwilling to wait. Once they were so sure of each other, they could affordto wait—what had they to fear? If there was a particle of chance thather father would be favourably affected by her going, that ought tosettle it; for, after all, Morris was very unwilling to be the cause ofher being disinherited. It was not for himself, it was for her and forher children. He was willing to wait for her; it would be hard, but hecould do it. And over there, among beautiful scenes and noble monuments,perhaps the old gentleman would be softened; such things were supposed toexert a humanising influence. He might be touched by her gentleness, herpatience, her willingness to make any sacrifice but _that_ one; and ifshe should appeal to him some day, in some celebrated spot—in Italy, say,in the evening; in Venice, in a gondola, by moonlight—if she should be alittle clever about it and touch the right chord, perhaps he would foldher in his arms and tell her that he forgave her. Catherine wasimmensely struck with this conception of the affair, which seemedeminently worthy of her lover’s brilliant intellect; though she viewed itaskance in so far as it depended upon her own powers of execution. Theidea of being “clever” in a gondola by moonlight appeared to her toinvolve elements of which her grasp was not active. But it was settledbetween them that she should tell her father that she was ready to followhim obediently anywhere, making the mental reservation that she lovedMorris Townsend more than ever.
She informed the Doctor she was ready to embark, and he made rapidarrangements for this event. Catherine had many farewells to make, butwith only two of them are we actively concerned. Mrs. Penniman took adiscriminating view of her niece’s journey; it seemed to her very properthat Mr. Townsend’s destined bride should wish to embellish her mind by aforeign tour.
“You leave him in good hands,” she said, pressing her lips to Catherine’sforehead. (She was very fond of kissing people’s foreheads; it was aninvoluntary expression of sympathy with the intellectual part.) “I shallsee him often; I shall feel like one of the vestals of old, tending thesacred flame.”
“You behave beautifully about not going with us,” Catherine answered, notpresuming to examine this analogy.
“It is my pride that keeps me up,” said Mrs. Penniman, tapping the bodyof her dress, which always gave forth a sort of metallic ring.
Catherine’s parting with her lover was short, and few words wereexchanged.
“Shall I find you just the same when I come back?” she asked; though thequestion was not the fruit of scepticism.
“The same—only more so!” said Morris, smiling.
It does not enter into our scheme to narrate in detail Dr. Sloper’sproceedings in the eastern hemisphere. He made the grand tour of Europe,travelled in considerable splendour, and (as was to have been expected ina man of his high cultivation) found so much in art and antiquity tointerest him, that he remained abroad, not for six months, but fortwelve. Mrs. Penniman, in Washington Square, accommodated herself to hisabsence. She enjoyed her uncontested dominion in the empty house, andflattered herself that she made it more attractive to their friends thanwhen her brother was at home. To Morris Townsend, at least, it wouldhave appeared that she made it singularly attractive. He was altogetherher most frequent visitor, and Mrs. Penniman was very fond of asking himto tea. He had his chair—a very easy one at the fireside in the backparlour (when the great mahogany sliding-doors, with silver
knobs andhinges, which divided this apartment from its more formal neighbour, wereclosed), and he used to smoke cigars in the Doctor’s study, where heoften spent an hour in turning over the curious collections of its absentproprietor. He thought Mrs. Penniman a goose, as we know; but he was nogoose himself, and, as a young man of luxurious tastes and scantyresources, he found the house a perfect castle of indolence. It becamefor him a club with a single member. Mrs. Penniman saw much less of hersister than while the Doctor was at home; for Mrs. Almond had felt movedto tell her that she disapproved of her relations with Mr. Townsend. Shehad no business to be so friendly to a young man of whom their brotherthought so meanly, and Mrs. Almond was surprised at her levity infoisting a most deplorable engagement upon Catherine.
“Deplorable?” cried Lavinia. “He will make her a lovely husband!”
“I don’t believe in lovely husbands,” said Mrs. Almond; “I only believein good ones. If he marries her, and she comes into Austin’s money, theymay get on. He will be an idle, amiable, selfish, and doubtlesstolerably good-natured fellow. But if she doesn’t get the money and hefinds himself tied to her, Heaven have mercy on her! He will have none.He will hate her for his disappointment, and take his revenge; he will bepitiless and cruel. Woe betide poor Catherine! I recommend you to talka little with his sister; it’s a pity Catherine can’t marry _her_!”
Mrs. Penniman had no appetite whatever for conversation with Mrs.Montgomery, whose acquaintance she made no trouble to cultivate; and theeffect of this alarming forecast of her niece’s destiny was to make herthink it indeed a thousand pities that Mr. Townsend’s generous natureshould be embittered. Bright enjoyment was his natural element, and howcould he be comfortable if there should prove to be nothing to enjoy? Itbecame a fixed idea with Mrs. Penniman that he should yet enjoy herbrother’s fortune, on which she had acuteness enough to perceive that herown claim was small.
“If he doesn’t leave it to Catherine, it certainly won’t be to leave itto me,” she said.