Catherine had many farewells to make, but with only two of them are we actively concerned. Mrs. Penniman took a discriminating view of her niece's journey; it seemed to her very proper that Mr. Townsend's destined bride should wish to embellish her mind by a foreign tour.
"You leave him in good hands," she said, pressing her lips to Catherine's forehead. (She was very fond of kissing people's foreheads; it was an involuntary expression of sympathy with the intellectual part.) "I shall see him often; I shall feel like one of the vestals of old, tending the sacred flame."
"You behave beautifully about not going with us," Catherine answered, not presuming to examine this analogy.
"It is my pride that keeps me up," said Mrs. Penniman, tapping the body of her dress, which always gave forth a sort of metallic ring.
Catherine's parting with her lover was short, and few words were exchanged.
"Shall I find you just the same when I come back?" she asked; though the question was not the fruit of scepticism.
"The same—only more so!" said Morris, smiling.
