“I am delighted he is not to marry her,” said Mrs. Almond, “but he ought to be horsewhipped all the same.” Mrs. Penniman, who was shocked at her sister’s coarseness, replied that he had been actuated by the noblest of motives—the desire not to impoverish Catherine. “I am very happy that Catherine is not to be impoverished—but I hope he may never have a penny too much! And what does the poor girl say to _you_?” Mrs. Almond asked. “She says I have a genius for consolation,” said Mrs. Penniman. This was the account of the matter that she gave to her sister, and it was perhaps with the consciousness of genius that, on her return that evening to Washington Square, she again presented herself for admittance at Catherine’s door. Catherine came and opened it; she was apparently very quiet. “I only want to give you a little word of advice,” she said. “If your father asks you, say that everything is going on.” Catherine stood there, with her hand on the knob looking at her aunt, but not asking her to come in. “Do you think he will ask me?” “I am sure he will. He asked me just now, on our way home from your Aunt Elizabeth’s. I explained the whole thing to your Aunt Elizabeth. I said to your father I know nothing about it.” “Do you think he will ask me when he sees—when he sees—?” But here Catherine stopped. “The more he sees the more disagreeable he will be,” said her aunt. “He shall see as little as possible!” Catherine declared. “Tell him you are to be married.” “So I am,” said Catherine softly; and she closed the door upon her aunt.