“I suppose it seems to you a kind of curse,” said Morris. “It must be very dismal. But don’t you think,” he went on presently, “that if you were to try to be very clever, and to set rightly about it, you might in the end conjure it away? Don’t you think,” he continued further, in a tone of sympathetic speculation, “that a really clever woman, in your place, might bring him round at last? Don’t you think?” Here, suddenly, Morris was interrupted; these ingenious inquiries had not reached Catherine’s ears. The terrible word “disinheritance,” with all its impressive moral reprobation, was still ringing there; seemed indeed to gather force as it lingered. The mortal chill of her situation struck more deeply into her child-like heart, and she was overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and danger. But her refuge was there, close to her, and she put out her hands to grasp it. “Ah, Morris,” she said, with a shudder, “I will marry you as soon as you please.” And she surrendered herself, leaning her head on his shoulder. “My dear good girl!” he exclaimed, looking down at his prize. And then he looked up again, rather vaguely, with parted lips and lifted eyebrows. XXI DR. SLOPER very soon imparted his conviction to Mrs. Almond, in the same terms in which he had announced it to himself. “She’s going to stick, by Jove! she’s going to stick.” “Do you mean that she is going to marry him?” Mrs. Almond inquired. “I don’t know that; but she is not going to break down. She is going to drag out the engagement, in the hope of making me relent.” “And shall you not relent?” “Shall a geometrical proposition relent? I am not so superficial.” “Doesn’t geometry treat of surfaces?” asked Mrs. Almond, who, as we know, was clever, smiling. “Yes; but it treats of them profoundly. Catherine and her young man are my surfaces; I have taken their measure.” “You speak as if it surprised you.” “It is immense; there will be a great deal to observe.” “You are shockingly cold-blooded!” said Mrs. Almond. “I need to be with all this hot blood about me. Young Townsend indeed is cool; I must allow him that merit.” “I can’t judge him,” Mrs. Almond answered; “but I am not at all surprised at Catherine.” “I confess I am a little; she must have been so deucedly divided and bothered.” “Say it amuses you outright! I don’t see why it should be such a joke that your daughter adores you.” “It is the point where the adoration stops that I find it interesting to fix.” “It stops where the other sentiment begins.” “Not at all—that would be simple enough. The two things are extremely mixed up, and the mixture is extremely odd. It will produce some third element, and that’s what I am waiting to see. I wait with suspense—with positive excitement; and that is a sort of emotion that I didn’t suppose Catherine would ever provide for me. I am really very much obliged to her.” “She will cling,” said Mrs. Almond; “she will certainly cling.”