edifying, and he had an idea of the beauty of REASON, which was, on
the whole, meagrely gratified by what he observed in his female
patients. His wife had been a reasonable woman, but she was a bright
exception; among several things that he was sure of, this was perhaps
the principal. Such a conviction, of course, did little either to
mitigate or to abbreviate his widowhood; and it set a limit to his
recognition, at the best, of Catherine's possibilities and of Mrs.
Penniman's ministrations. He, nevertheless, at the end of six
months, accepted his sister's permanent presence as an accomplished
fact, and as Catherine grew older perceived that there were in effect
good reasons why she should have a companion of her own imperfect
sex. He was extremely polite to Lavinia, scrupulously, formally
polite; and she had never seen him in anger but once in her life,
when he lost his temper in a theological discussion with her late
husband. With her he never discussed theology, nor, indeed,
discussed anything; he contented himself with making known, very
distinctly, in the form of a lucid ultimatum, his wishes with regard
to Catherine.

Once, when the girl was about twelve years old, he had said to her:

"Try and make a clever woman of her, Lavinia; I should like her to be
a clever woman."

Mrs. Penniman, at this, looked thoughtful a moment. "My dear
Austin," she then inquired, "do you think it is better to be clever
than to be good?"

"Good for what?" asked the Doctor. "You are good for nothing unless
you are clever."