Washington Square

It must not be supposed that Dr. Sloper visited his disappointment upon the poor girl, or ever let her suspect that she had played him a trick.  On the contrary, for fear of being unjust to her, he did his duty with exemplary zeal, and recognised that she was a faithful and affectionate child.  Besides, he was a philosopher; he smoked a good many cigars over his disappointment, and in the fulness of time he got used to it.  He satisfied himself that he had expected nothing, though, indeed, with a certain oddity of reasoning.  “I expect nothing,” he said to himself, “so that if she gives me a surprise, it will be all clear again.  If she doesn’t, it will be no loss.”  This was about the time Catherine had reached her eighteenth year, so that it will be seen her father had not been precipitate.  At this time she seemed not only incapable of giving surprises; it was almost a question whether she could have received one—she was so quiet and irresponsive.  People who expressed themselves roughly called her stolid.  But she was irresponsive because she was shy, uncomfortably, painfully shy.  This was not always understood, and she sometimes produced an impression of insensibility.  In reality she was the softest creature in the world.

III