She determined finally to ask her father about it. He would be sure to
know, she thought, as he and Mr. Lockwood were contemporaries. Then
she decided finally not to say anything about it at all, for Mr.
Catherwaight did not approve of the collection of dishonored honors as
it was, and she had no desire to prejudice him still further by a
recital of her afternoon's adventure, of which she had no doubt but he
would also disapprove. So she was more than usually silent during the
dinner, which was a tete-a-tete family dinner that night, and she
allowed her father to doze after it in the library in his great chair
without disturbing him with either questions or confessions.
[Illustration with caption: "What can Mr. Lockwood be calling upon me
about?"]
They had been sitting there some time, he with his hands folded on the
evening paper and with his eyes closed, when the servant brought in a
card and offered it to Mr. Catherwaight. Mr. Catherwaight fumbled over
his glasses, and read the name on the card aloud: "'Mr. Lewis L.
Lockwood.' Dear me!" he said; "what can Mr. Lockwood be calling upon
me about?"
Miss Catherwaight sat upright, and reached out for the card with a
nervous, gasping little laugh.
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