been dining together in a great dim, musty sitting-room; and then the cloth had been removed, and the Doctor walked slowly up and down. Catherine at last took her candle to go to bed, but her father motioned her to stay.
"What do you mean to do when you get home?" he asked, while she stood there with her candle in her hand.
"Do you mean about Mr. Townsend?"
"About Mr. Townsend."
"We shall probably marry."
The Doctor took several turns again while she waited. "Do you hear from him as much as ever?", "Yes; twice a month," said Catherine, promptly.
"And does he always talk about marriage?"
"Oh, yes! That is, he talks about other things too, but he always says something about that."
"I am glad to hear he varies his subjects; his letters might otherwise be monotonous."
"He writes beautifully," said Catherine, who was very glad of a chance to say it.
"They always write beautifully. However, in a given case that doesn't diminish the merit. So,
