Mrs. Penniman was smiling, as if she approved of them. As soon as
Catherine had perceived this she moved away; she would not have liked
him to turn round and see her. But it gave her pleasure--the whole
thing. That he should talk with Mrs. Penniman, with whom she lived
and whom she saw and talked with every day--that seemed to keep him
near her, and to make him even easier to contemplate than if she
herself had been the object of his civilities; and that Aunt Lavinia
should like him, should not be shocked or startled by what he said,
this also appeared to the girl a personal gain; for Aunt Lavinia's
standard was extremely high, planted as it was over the grave of her
late husband, in which, as she had convinced every one, the very
genius of conversation was buried. One of the Almond boys, as
Catherine called him, invited our heroine to dance a quadrille, and
for a quarter of an hour her feet at least were occupied. This time
she was not dizzy; her head was very clear. Just when the dance was
over, she found herself in the crowd face to face with her father.
Dr. Sloper had usually a little smile, never a very big one, and with
his little smile playing in his clear eyes and on his neatly-shaved
lips, he looked at his daughter's crimson gown.

"Is it possible that this magnificent person is my child?" he said.

You would have surprised him if you had told him so; but it is a
literal fact that he almost never addressed his daughter save in the
ironical form. Whenever he addressed her he gave her pleasure; but
she had to cut her pleasure out of the piece, as it were. There were
portions left over, light remnants and snippets of irony, which she
never knew what to do with, which seemed too delicate for her own
use; and yet Catherine, lamenting the limitations of her
understanding, felt that they were too valuable to waste and had a