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Before the December snows set in Cynthia had made one firm friend, at least, in Boston; outside of the Merrill family. That friend was Miss Lucretia Penniman, editress of the Woman's Hour.
He died after three weeks' illness, during which Mrs. Penniman, as well as his daughter, had been assiduous at his bedside. On his will being opened after a decent interval, it was found to consist of two portions.
Penniman was a tall, thin, fair, rather faded woman, with a perfectly amiable disposition, a high standard of gentility, a taste for light literature, and a certain foolish indirectness and obliquity of character.
Penniman had not ventured to lay the famous explanation of Morris's motives before Mrs. Almond, though she had thought it good enough for Catherine and she pronounced her brother too consistently indifferent to what the poor creature must have suffered and must still be suffering. Dr. Sloper had his theory, and he rarely altered his theories.
Morris Townsend the name had already become very familiar to her, as if some one had been repeating it in her ear for the last half-hour Morris Townsend was giving his impressions of the company to her aunt, as he had done to herself; he was saying clever things, and Mrs. Penniman was smiling, as if she approved of them.
His debased fancy would at times further have it that Judge Penniman was Louis XVIII, though at this moment, observing that the ladies were preoccupied with one of his sons, he paused by the invalid and expertly from a corner of his mouth whispered the coarse words, "Hello, Old Flapdoodle!"
He would tell them to you, I am sure, if he thought you would listen to him kindly. With kindness you may do anything with him." The Doctor gave a laugh. "I shall request him very kindly, then, to leave Catherine alone." "Ah!" said Mrs. Penniman, shaking her forefinger at her brother, with her little finger turned out, "Catherine had probably said something to him kinder than that."
Sloper had divided into seven unequal parts, which he left, as endowments, to as many different hospitals and schools of medicine, in various cities of the Union. To Mrs. Penniman it seemed monstrous that a man should play such tricks with other people's money; for after his death, of course, as she said, it was other people's.
Then in a moment, he went on rather inconsequently, "Do you suppose there is a will already made in Catherine's favour?" "I suppose so even doctors must die; and perhaps a little in mine," Mrs. Penniman frankly added. "And you believe he would certainly change it as regards Catherine?" "Yes; and then change it back again." "Ah, but one can't depend on that!" said Morris.
Penniman and Winona arrayed themselves in choice raiment for behoof of the godly; in each were hurried steppings, as from closet to mirror; shrill whisperings of silken drapery as it fell into place. In the parlour the Merle twin sat reading an instructive book.
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