Washington Square Page 5

  V

  HE learned what he had asked some three or four days later, after MorrisTownsend, with his cousin, had called in Washington Square. Mrs.Penniman did not tell her brother, on the drive home, that she hadintimated to this agreeable young man, whose name she did not know, that,with her niece, she should be very glad to see him; but she was greatlypleased, and even a little flattered, when, late on a Sunday afternoon,the two gentlemen made their appearance. His coming with Arthur Townsendmade it more natural and easy; the latter young man was on the point ofbecoming connected with the family, and Mrs. Penniman had remarked toCatherine that, as he was going to marry Marian, it would be polite inhim to call. These events came to pass late in the autumn, and Catherineand her aunt had been sitting together in the closing dusk, by thefirelight, in the high back parlour.

  Arthur Townsend fell to Catherine’s portion, while his companion placedhimself on the sofa, beside Mrs. Penniman. Catherine had hitherto notbeen a harsh critic; she was easy to please—she liked to talk with youngmen. But Marian’s betrothed, this evening, made her feel vaguelyfastidious; he sat looking at the fire and rubbing his knees with hishands. As for Catherine, she scarcely even pretended to keep up theconversation her attention had fixed itself on the other side of theroom; she was listening to what went on between the other Mr. Townsendand her aunt. Every now and then he looked over at Catherine herself andsmiled, as if to show that what he said was for her benefit too.Catherine would have liked to change her place, to go and sit near them,where she might see and hear him better. But she was afraid of seemingbold—of looking eager; and, besides, it would not have been polite toMarian’s little suitor. She wondered why the other gentleman had pickedout her aunt—how he came to have so much to say to Mrs. Penniman, towhom, usually, young men were not especially devoted. She was not at alljealous of Aunt Lavinia, but she was a little envious, and above all shewondered; for Morris Townsend was an object on which she found that herimagination could exercise itself indefinitely. His cousin had beendescribing a house that he had taken in view of his union with Marian,and the domestic conveniences he meant to introduce into it; how Marianwanted a larger one, and Mrs. Almond recommended a smaller one, and howhe himself was convinced that he had got the neatest house in New York.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said; “it’s only for three or four years. At theend of three or four years we’ll move. That’s the way to live in NewYork—to move every three or four years. Then you always get the lastthing. It’s because the city’s growing so quick—you’ve got to keep upwith it. It’s going straight up town—that’s where New York’s going. IfI wasn’t afraid Marian would be lonely, I’d go up there—right up to thetop—and wait for it. Only have to wait ten years—they’d all come upafter you. But Marian says she wants some neighbours—she doesn’t want tobe a pioneer. She says that if she’s got to be the first settler she hadbetter go out to Minnesota. I guess we’ll move up little by little; whenwe get tired of one street we’ll go higher. So you see we’ll always havea new house; it’s a great advantage to have a new house; you get all thelatest improvements. They invent everything all over again about everyfive years, and it’s a great thing to keep up with the new things. Ialways try and keep up with the new things of every kind. Don’t youthink that’s a good motto for a young couple—to keep ‘going higher’?That’s the name of that piece of poetry—what do they callit?—_Excelsior_!”

  Catherine bestowed on her junior visitor only just enough attention tofeel that this was not the way Mr. Morris Townsend had talked the othernight, or that he was talking now to her fortunate aunt. But suddenlyhis aspiring kinsman became more interesting. He seemed to have becomeconscious that she was affected by his companion’s presence, and hethought it proper to explain it.

  “My cousin asked me to bring him, or I shouldn’t have taken the liberty.He seemed to want very much to come; you know he’s awfully sociable. Itold him I wanted to ask you first, but he said Mrs. Penniman had invitedhim. He isn’t particular what he says when he wants to come somewhere!But Mrs. Penniman seems to think it’s all right.”

  “We are very glad to see him,” said Catherine. And she wished to talkmore about him; but she hardly knew what to say. “I never saw himbefore,” she went on presently.

  Arthur Townsend stared.

  “Why, he told me he talked with you for over half an hour the othernight.”

  “I mean before the other night. That was the first time.”

  “Oh, he has been away from New York—he has been all round the world. Hedoesn’t know many people here, but he’s very sociable, and he wants toknow every one.”

  “Every one?” said Catherine.

  “Well, I mean all the good ones. All the pretty young ladies—like Mrs.Penniman!” and Arthur Townsend gave a private laugh.

  “My aunt likes him very much,” said Catherine.

  “Most people like him—he’s so brilliant.”

  “He’s more like a foreigner,” Catherine suggested.

  “Well, I never knew a foreigner!” said young Townsend, in a tone whichseemed to indicate that his ignorance had been optional.

  “Neither have I,” Catherine confessed, with more humility. “They saythey are generally brilliant,” she added vaguely.

  “Well, the people of this city are clever enough for me. I know some ofthem that think they are too clever for me; but they ain’t!”

  “I suppose you can’t be too clever,” said Catherine, still with humility.

  “I don’t know. I know some people that call my cousin too clever.”

  Catherine listened to this statement with extreme interest, and a feelingthat if Morris Townsend had a fault it would naturally be that one. Butshe did not commit herself, and in a moment she asked: “Now that he hascome back, will he stay here always?”

  “Ah,” said Arthur, “if he can get something to do.”

  “Something to do?”

  “Some place or other; some business.”

  “Hasn’t he got any?” said Catherine, who had never heard of a youngman—of the upper class—in this situation.

  “No; he’s looking round. But he can’t find anything.”

  “I am very sorry,” Catherine permitted herself to observe.

  “Oh, he doesn’t mind,” said young Townsend. “He takes it easy—he isn’tin a hurry. He is very particular.”

  Catherine thought he naturally would be, and gave herself up for somemoments to the contemplation of this idea, in several of its bearings.

  “Won’t his father take him into his business—his office?” she at lastinquired.

  “He hasn’t got any father—he has only got a sister. Your sister can’thelp you much.”

  It seemed to Catherine that if she were his sister she would disprovethis axiom. “Is she—is she pleasant?” she asked in a moment.

  “I don’t know—I believe she’s very respectable,” said young Townsend.And then he looked across to his cousin and began to laugh. “Look here,we are talking about you,” he added.

  Morris Townsend paused in his conversation with Mrs. Penniman, andstared, with a little smile. Then he got up, as if he were going.

  “As far as you are concerned, I can’t return the compliment,” he said toCatherine’s companion. “But as regards Miss Sloper, it’s anotheraffair.”

  Catherine thought this little speech wonderfully well turned; but she wasembarrassed by it, and she also got up. Morris Townsend stood looking ather and smiling; he put out his hand for farewell. He was going, withouthaving said anything to her; but even on these terms she was glad to haveseen him.

  “I will tell her what you have said—when you go!” said Mrs. Penniman,with an insinuating laugh.

  Catherine blushed, for she felt almost as if they were making sport ofher. What in the world could this beautiful young man have said? Helooked at her still, in spite of her blush; but very kindly andrespectfully.

  “I have had no talk
with you,” he said, “and that was what I came for.But it will be a good reason for coming another time; a little pretext—ifI am obliged to give one. I am not afraid of what your aunt will saywhen I go.”

  With this the two young men took their departure; after which Catherine,with her blush still lingering, directed a serious and interrogative eyeto Mrs. Penniman. She was incapable of elaborate artifice, and sheresorted to no jocular device—to no affectation of the belief that shehad been maligned—to learn what she desired.

  “What did you say you would tell me?” she asked.

  Mrs. Penniman came up to her, smiling and nodding a little, looked at herall over, and gave a twist to the knot of ribbon in her neck. “It’s agreat secret, my dear child; but he is coming a-courting!”

  Catherine was serious still. “Is that what he told you!”

  “He didn’t say so exactly. But he left me to guess it. I’m a goodguesser.”

  “Do you mean a-courting me?”

  “Not me, certainly, miss; though I must say he is a hundred times morepolite to a person who has no longer extreme youth to recommend her thanmost of the young men. He is thinking of some one else.” And Mrs.Penniman gave her niece a delicate little kiss. “You must be verygracious to him.”

  Catherine stared—she was bewildered. “I don’t understand you,” she said;“he doesn’t know me.”

  “Oh yes, he does; more than you think. I have told him all about you.”

  “Oh, Aunt Penniman!” murmured Catherine, as if this had been a breach oftrust. “He is a perfect stranger—we don’t know him.” There wasinfinite, modesty in the poor girl’s “we.”

  Aunt Penniman, however, took no account of it; she spoke even with atouch of acrimony. “My dear Catherine, you know very well that youadmire him!”

  “Oh, Aunt Penniman!” Catherine could only murmur again. It might verywell be that she admired him—though this did not seem to her a thing totalk about. But that this brilliant stranger—this sudden apparition, whohad barely heard the sound of her voice—took that sort of interest in herthat was expressed by the romantic phrase of which Mrs. Penniman had justmade use: this could only be a figment of the restless brain of AuntLavinia, whom every one knew to be a woman of powerful imagination.