infinite, modesty in the poor girl's "we."

Aunt Penniman, however, took no account of it; she spoke even with a
touch of acrimony. "My dear Catherine, you know very well that you
admire him!"

"Oh, Aunt Penniman!" Catherine could only murmur again. It might
very well be that she admired him--though this did not seem to her a
thing to talk about. But that this brilliant stranger--this sudden
apparition, who had barely heard the sound of her voice--took that
sort of interest in her that was expressed by the romantic phrase of
which Mrs. Penniman had just made use: this could only be a figment
of the restless brain of Aunt Lavinia, whom every one knew to be a
woman of powerful imagination.



CHAPTER VI



Mrs. Penniman even took for granted at times that other people had as
much imagination as herself; so that when, half an hour later, her
brother came in, she addressed him quite on this principle.

"He has just been here, Austin; it's such a pity you missed him."

"Whom in the world have I missed?" asked the Doctor.

"Mr. Morris Townsend; he has made us such a delightful visit."