seemed so hopeless that Mrs. Penniman fixed her attention exclusively upon the latter branch of her argument. If Morris had been her son, she would certainly have sacrificed Catherine to a superior conception of his future; and to be ready to do so as the case stood was therefore even a finer degree of devotion. Nevertheless, it checked her breath a little to have the sacrificial knife, as it were, suddenly thrust into her hand. Morris walked along a moment, and then he repeated, harshly—
"I must give her up!"
"I think I understand you," said Mrs. Penniman, gently.
"I certainly say it distinctly enough—brutally and vulgarly enough."
He was ashamed of himself, and his shame was uncomfortable; and as he was extremely intolerant of discomfort, he felt vicious and cruel. He wanted to abuse somebody, and he began, cautiously—for he was always cautious—with himself.
"Couldn't you take her down a little?" he asked.
"Take her down?"
"Prepare her—try and ease me off."
