“He would be master of all that money? By no means. He would be master of the ten thousand a year that she has from her mother; but I should leave every penny of my own fortune, earned in the laborious exercise of my profession, to public institutions.” Mrs. Montgomery dropped her eyes at this, and sat for some time gazing at the straw matting which covered her floor. “I suppose it seems to you,” said the Doctor, laughing, “that in so doing I should play your brother a very shabby trick.” “Not at all. That is too much money to get possession of so easily, by marrying. I don’t think it would be right.” “It’s right to get all one can. But in this case your brother wouldn’t be able. If Catherine marries without my consent, she doesn’t get a penny from my own pocket.” “Is that certain?” asked Mrs. Montgomery, looking up. “As certain as that I sit here!” “Even if she should pine away?” “Even if she should pine to a shadow, which isn’t probable.” “Does Morris know this?” “I shall be most happy to inform him!” the Doctor exclaimed. Mrs. Montgomery resumed her meditations, and her visitor, who was prepared to give time to the affair, asked himself whether, in spite of her little conscientious air, she was not playing into her brother’s hands. At the same time he was half ashamed of the ordeal to which he had subjected her, and was touched by the gentleness with which she bore it. “If she were a humbug,” he said, “she would get angry; unless she be very deep indeed. It is not probable that she is as deep as that.” “What makes you dislike Morris so much?” she presently asked, emerging from her reflexions. “I don’t dislike him in the least as a friend, as a companion. He seems to me a charming fellow, and I should think he would be excellent company. I dislike him, exclusively, as a son-in-law. If the only office of a son-in-law were to dine at the paternal table, I should set a high value upon your brother. He dines capitally. But that is a small part of his function, which, in general, is to be a protector and caretaker of my child, who is singularly ill-adapted to take care of herself. It is there that he doesn’t satisfy me. I confess I have nothing but my impression to go by; but I am in the habit of trusting my impression. Of course you are at liberty to contradict it flat. He strikes me as selfish and shallow.” Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes expanded a little, and the Doctor fancied he saw the light of admiration in them. “I wonder you have discovered he is selfish!” she exclaimed. “Do you think he hides it so well?” “Very well indeed,” said Mrs. Montgomery. “And I think we are all rather selfish,” she added quickly. “I think so too; but I have seen people hide it better than he. You see I am helped by a habit I have of dividing people into classes, into types. I may easily be mistaken about your brother as an individual, but his type is written on his whole person.” “He is very good-looking,” said Mrs. Montgomery.