eye. "Why have you never married?" he asked abruptly. "You have had opportunities."
"I didn't wish to marry."
"Yes, you are rich, you are free; you had nothing to gain."
"I had nothing to gain," said Catherine.
Morris looked vaguely round him, and gave a deep sigh. "Well, I was in hopes that we might still have been friends."
"I meant to tell you, by my aunt, in answer to your message—if you had waited for an answer—that it was unnecessary for you to come in that hope."
"Good-bye, then," said Morris. "Excuse my indiscretion."
He bowed, and she turned away—standing there, averted, with her eyes on the ground, for some moments after she had heard him close the door of the room.
In the hall he found Mrs. Penniman, fluttered and eager; she appeared to have been hovering there under the irreconcilable promptings of her curiosity and her dignity.
"That was a precious plan of yours!" said Morris, clapping on his hat.
