But there was no impatience in his rejoinder—none, at least, save what was expressed in a little appealing sigh.
Mrs. Montgomery, however, smiled not at all; it was obvious that she could not take the humorous view of his appeal.
Catherine was far from saying to herself that this was an ingenious sophism; but she met the appeal none the less squarely.
Her hands were raised in supplication, but he sternly evaded this appeal.
The statement failed to appeal to her credence, and it was not grateful to any resentment that she entertained.
There was nothing in it that appealed for pity, and he was even a little disappointed at her not giving him an opportunity to make up for his harshness by some manifestation of liberality which should operate as a compensation.
She looked at him at last, with a long silent gaze, which, in spite of her pride and her resolution, uttered part of the appeal she had tried not to make.
At present, for a long time after she received it, all she had to help her was the determination, daily more rigid, to make no appeal to the compassion of her father.
Catherine went on with growing vehemence, pouring out in her bitterness and in the clairvoyance of her passion (which suddenly, jumping all processes, made her judge her aunt finally and without appeal) the uneasiness which had lain for so many months upon her heart.
He might be touched by her gentleness, her patience, her willingness to make any sacrifice but THAT one; and if she should appeal to him some day, in some celebrated spot—in Italy, say, in the evening; in Venice, in a gondola, by moonlight—if she should be a little clever about it and touch the right chord, perhaps he would fold her in his arms and tell her that he forgave her.