Catherine got up; she was suffocating. But she folded her work, deliberately and correctly, bending her burning face upon it. Her father stood where he had planted himself; she hoped he would go, but he smoothed and buttoned his gloves, and then he rested his hands upon his hips.
"It would be a convenience to me to know when I may expect to have an empty house," he went on. "When you go, your aunt marches."
She looked at him at last, with a long silent gaze, which, in spite of her pride and her resolution, uttered part of the appeal she had tried not to make. Her father's cold gray eye sounded her own, and he insisted on his point.
"Is it to-morrow? Is it next week, or the week after?"
"I shall not go away!" said Catherine. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Has he backed out?"
"I have broken off my engagement."
"Broken it off?"
"I have asked him to leave New York, and he has gone away for a long time."
The Doctor was both puzzled and disappointed,
