"Oh, my good brother!" murmured Mrs. Penniman, in deprecation.

"He seemed uncommonly tender. Whenever I looked at you, for half an
hour, he had the most devoted air."

"The devotion was not to me," said Mrs. Penniman. "It was to
Catherine; he talked to me of her."

Catherine had been listening with all her ears. "Oh, Aunt Penniman!"
she exclaimed faintly.

"He is very handsome; he is very clever; he expressed himself with a
great deal--a great deal of felicity," her aunt went on.

"He is in love with this regal creature, then?" the Doctor inquired
humorously.

"Oh, father," cried the girl, still more faintly, devoutly thankful
the carriage was dark.

"I don't know that; but he admired her dress."

Catherine did not say to herself in the dark, "My dress only?" Mrs.
Penniman's announcement struck her by its richness, not by its
meagreness.

"You see," said her father, "he thinks you have eighty thousand a
year."

"I don't believe he thinks of that," said Mrs. Penniman; "he is too