"I think we shall marry before very long. And probably, meanwhile, I shall see him rather often; about once a week, not more."
The Doctor looked at her coldly from head to foot, as if she had been a stranger. It was the first time his eyes had rested on her for a week, which was fortunate, if that was to be their expression. "Why not three times a day?" he asked. "What prevents your meeting as often as you choose?"
She turned away a moment; there were tears in her eyes. Then she said, "It is better once a week."
"I don't see how it is better. It is as bad as it can be. If you flatter yourself that I care for little modifications of that sort, you are very much mistaken. It is as wrong of you to see him once a week as it would be to see him all day long. Not that it matters to me, however."
Catherine tried to follow these words, but they seemed to lead towards a vague horror from which she recoiled. "I think we shall marry pretty soon," she repeated at last.
Her father gave her his dreadful look again, as if she were some one else. "Why do you tell me that? It's no concern of mine."
