father might after all come round, and she articulated, with an awkward sense of her helplessness in doing so, a wish that this miracle might happen.
"Do you think it is in the least degree likely?" Morris asked.
"It would be, if he could only know you?"
"He can know me if he will. What is to prevent it?"
"His ideas, his reasons," said Catherine. "They are so—so terribly strong." She trembled with the recollection of them yet.
"Strong?" cried Morris. "I would rather you should think them weak."
"Oh, nothing about my father is weak!" said the girl. Morris turned away, walking to the window, where he stood looking out. "You are terribly afraid of him!" he remarked at last.
She felt no impulse to deny it, because she had no shame in it; for if it was no honour to herself, at least it was an honour to him. "I suppose I must be," she said, simply.
"Then you don't love me—not as I love you.
