Chapter 10

The Allens, Thorpes, and Morlands all m et in the evening at the theatre;

and, as Catherine and Isabella sat together, there was then an opportunity for the latter to utter som e few of the m any thousand things which had been collecting within her for com m unication in the im m easurable length of tim e which had divided them . “Oh, heavens! My beloved Catherine, have I got y ou at last?” was her address on Catherine’s entering the box and sitting by her. “Now, Mr. Morland,” for he was close to her on the other side, “I shall not speak another word to y ou all the rest of the evening; so I charge y ou not to expect it. My sweetest Catherine, how have y ou been this long age? But I need not ask y ou, for y ou look delightfully. You really have done y our hair in a m ore heavenly sty le than ever; y ou m ischievous creature, do y ou want to attract every body ? I assure y ou, m y brother is quite in love with y ou already ; and as for Mr. Tilney – but that is a settled thing – even y our m odesty cannot doubt his attachm ent now; his com ing back to Bath m akes it too plain. Oh! What would not I give to see him ! I really am quite wild with im patience. My m other say s he is the m ost delightful y oung m an in the world; she saw him this m orning, y ou know; y ou m ust introduce him to m e. Is he in the house now? Look about, for heaven’s sake! I assure y ou, I can hardly exist till I see him .”

“No,” said Catherine, “he is not here; I cannot see him any where.”

“Oh, horrid! Am I never to be acquainted with him ? How do y ou like

m y gown? I think it does not look am iss; the sleeves were entirely m y own thought. Do y ou know, I get so im m oderately sick of Bath; y our brother and I were agreeing this m orning that, though it is vastly well to be here for a few weeks, we would not live here for m illions. We soon found out that our tastes were exactly alike in preferring the country to every other place; really, our opinions were so exactly the sam e, it was quite ridiculous! There was not a single point in which we differed; I would not have had y ou by for the world; y ou are such a sly thing, I am sure y ou would have m ade som e droll rem ark or other about it.”

“No, indeed I should not.”

“Oh, y es y ou would indeed; I know y ou better than y ou know y ourself.

You would have told us that we seem ed born for each other, or som e nonsense of that kind, which would have distressed m e bey ond conception; m y cheeks would have been as red as y our roses; I would not have had y ou by for the world.”

“Indeed y ou do m e inj ustice; I would not have m ade so im proper a

rem ark upon any account; and besides, I am sure it would never have entered m y head.”

Isabella sm iled incredulously and talked the rest of the evening to

Jam es.

Catherine’s resolution of endeavour-ing to m eet Miss Tilney again continued in full force the next m orning; and till the usual m om ent of going to the pum p-room , she felt som e alarm from the dread of a second prevention. But nothing of that kind occurred, no visitors appeared to delay them , and they all three set off in good tim e for the pum p-room , where the ordinary course of events and conversation took place; Mr. Allen, after drinking his glass of water, j oined som e gentlem en to talk over the politics of the day and com pare the accounts of their newspapers; and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new face, and alm ost every new bonnet in the room . The fem ale part of the Thorpe fam ily, attended by Jam es Morland, appeared am ong the crowd in less than a quarter of an hour, and Catherine im m ediately took her usual place by the side of her friend. Jam es, who was now in constant attendance, m aintained a sim ilar position, and separating them -selves from the rest of their party, they walked in that m anner for som e tim e, till Catherine began to doubt the happiness of a situation which, confining her entirely to her friend and brother, gave her very little share in the notice of either. They were alway s engaged in som e sentim ental discussion or lively dispute, but their sentim ent was convey ed in such whispering voices, and their vivacity attended with so m uch laughter, that though Catherine’s supporting opinion was not unfrequently called for by one or the other, she was never able to give any, from not having heard a word of the subj ect. At length however she was em powered to disengage herself from her friend, by the avowed necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney, whom she m ost j oy fully saw j ust entering the room with Mrs. Hughes, and whom she instantly j oined, with a firm er determ ination to be acquainted, than she m ight have had courage to com m and, had she not been urged by the disappointm ent of the day before. Miss Tilney m et her with great civility, returned her advances with equal goodwill, and they continued talking together as long as both parties rem ained in the room ; and though in all probability not an observation was m ade, nor an expression used by either which had not been m ade and used som e thousands of tim es before, under that roof, in every Bath season, y et the m erit of their being spoken with sim plicity and truth, and without personal conceit, m ight be som ething uncom m on.

“How well y our brother dances!” was an artless exclam ation of

Catherine’s towards the close of their conversation, which at once surprised and am used her com panion.

“Henry !” she replied with a sm ile. “Yes, he does dance very well.”

“He m ust have thought it very odd to hear m e say I was engaged the

other evening, when he saw m e sitting down. But I really had been engaged the whole day to Mr. Thorpe.” Miss Tilney could only bow. “You cannot think,” added Catherine after a m om ent’s silence, “how surprised I was to see him again. I felt so sure of his being quite gone away.”

“When Henry had the pleasure of seeing y ou before, he was in Bath but for a couple of day s. He cam e only to engage lodgings for us.”

“That never occurred to m e; and of course, not seeing him any where, I

thought he m ust be gone. Was not the y oung lady he danced with on Monday a Miss Sm ith?”

“Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes.”

“I dare say she was very glad to dance. Do y ou think her pretty ?”

“Not very.”

“He never com es to the pum p-room , I suppose?”

“Yes, som etim es; but he has rid out this m orning with m y father.” Mrs. Hughes now j oined them , and asked Miss Tilney if she was ready

to go. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing y ou again soon,” said Catherine. “Shall y ou be at the cotillion ball tom orrow?”

“Perhaps we... Yes, I think we certainly shall.”

“I am glad of it, for we shall all be there.” This civility was duly

returned; and they parted – on Miss Tilney ’s side with som e knowledge of her new acquaintance’s feelings, and on Catherine’s, without the sm allest conscious-ness of having explained them .

She went hom e very happy. The m orning had answered all her hopes,

and the evening of the following day was now the obj ect of expectation, the future good. What gown and what head-dress she should wear on the occasion becam e her chief concern. She cannot be j ustified in it. Dress is at all tim es a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroy s its own aim . Catherine knew all this very well; her great aunt had read her a lecture on the subj ect only the Christm as before; and y et she lay awake ten m inutes on Wednesday night debating between her spotted and her tam boured m uslin, and nothing but the shortness of the tim e prevented her buy ing a new one for the evening. This would have been an error in j udgm ent, great though not uncom m on, from which one of the other sex rather than her own, a brother rather than a great aunt, m ight have warned her, for m an only can be aware of the insensibility of m an towards a new gown. It would be m ortify ing to the feelings of m any ladies, could they be m ade to understand how little the heart of m an is affected by what is costly or new in their attire; how little it is biased by the texture of their m uslin, and how unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness towards the spotted, the sprigged, the m ull, or the j ackonet. Wom an is fine for her own satisfaction alone. No m an will adm ire her the m ore, no wom an will like her the better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the form er, and a som ething of shabbiness or im propriety will be m ost endearing to the latter. But not one of these grave reflections troubled the tranquillity of Catherine.

She entered the room s on Thursday evening with feelings very

different from what had attended her thither the Monday before. She had then been exulting in her engagem ent to Thorpe, and was now chiefly anxious to avoid his sight, lest he should engage her again; for though she could not, dared not expect that Mr. Tilney should ask her a third tim e to dance, her wishes, hopes, and plans all centred in nothing less. Every y oung lady m ay feel for m y heroine in this critical m om ent, for every y oung lady has at som e tim e or other known the sam e agitation. All have been, or at least all have believed them selves to be, in danger from the pursuit of som eone whom they wished to avoid; and all have been anxious for the attentions of som eone whom they wished to please. As soon as they were j oined by the Thorpes, Catherine’s agony began; she fidgeted about if John Thorpe cam e towards her, hid herself as m uch as possible from his view, and when he spoke to her pretended not to hear him . The cotillions were over, the country -dancing beginning, and she saw nothing of the Tilney s.

“Do not be frightened, m y dear Catherine,” whispered Isabella, “but I

am really going to dance with y our brother again. I declare positively it is quite shocking. I tell him he ought to be asham ed of him self, but y ou and John m ust keep us in countenance. Make haste, m y dear creature, and com e to us. John is j ust walked off, but he will be back in a m om ent.”

Catherine had neither tim e nor inclination to answer. The others walked

away, John Thorpe was still in view, and she gave herself up for lost. That she m ight not appear, however, to observe or expect him , she kept her ey es intently fixed on her fan; and a self-condem nation for her folly, in supposing that am ong such a crowd they should even m eet with the Tilney s in any reasonable tim e, had j ust passed through her m ind, when she suddenly found herself addressed and again solicited to dance, by Mr. Tilney him self. With what sparkling ey es and ready m otion she granted his request, and with how pleasing a flutter of heart she went with him to the set, m ay be easily im agined. To escape, and, as she believed, so narrowly escape John Thorpe, and to be asked, so im m ediately on his j oining her, asked by Mr. Tilney, as if he had sought her on purpose! it did not appear to her that life could supply any greater felicity.

Scarcely had they worked them selves into the quiet possession of a

place, however, when her attention was claim ed by John Thorpe, who stood behind her. “Hey day, Miss Morland!” said he. “What is the m eaning of this? I thought y ou and I were to dance together.”

“I wonder y ou should think so, for y ou never asked m e.”

“That is a good one, by Jove! I asked y ou as soon as I cam e into the

room , and I was j ust going to ask y ou again, but when I turned round, y ou were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only cam e for the sake of dancing with y ou, and I firm ly believe y ou were engaged to m e ever since Monday. Yes; I rem em ber, I asked y ou while y ou were waiting in the lobby for y our cloak. And here have I been telling all m y acquaintance that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room ; and when they see y ou standing up with som ebody else, they will quiz m e fam ously.”

“Oh, no; they will never think of m e, after such a description as that.”

“By heavens, if they do not, I will kick them out of the room for

blockheads. What chap have y ou there?” Catherine satisfied his curiosity. “Tilney,” he repeated. “Hum , I do not know him . A good figure of a m an; well put together. Does he want a horse? Here is a friend of m ine, Sam Fletcher, has got one to sell that would suit any body. A fam ous clever anim al for the road – only forty guineas. I had fifty m inds to buy it m y self, for it is one of m y m axim s alway s to buy a good horse when I m eet with one; but it would not answer m y purpose, it would not do for the field. I would give any m oney for a real good hunter. I have three now, the best that ever were backed. I would not take eight hundred guineas for them . Fletcher and I m ean to get a house in Leicestershire, against the next season. It is so d... uncom fortable, living at an inn.”

This was the last sentence by which he could weary Catherine’s

attention, for he was j ust then borne off by the resistless pressure of a long string of passing ladies. Her partner now drew near, and said, “That gentlem an would have put m e out of patience, had he stay ed with y ou half a m inute longer. He has no business to withdraw the attention of m y partner from m e. We have entered into a contract of m utual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that tim e. Nobody can fasten them selves on the notice of one, without inj uring the rights of the other. I consider a country -dance as an em blem of m arriage. Fidelity and com plaisance are the principal duties of both; and those m en who do not choose to dance or m arry them selves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbours.”

“But they are such very different things!”

“That y ou think they cannot be com pared together.”

“To be sure not. People that m arry can never part, but m ust go and keep

house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a long room for half an hour.”

“And such is y our definition of m atrim ony and dancing. Taken in that

light certainly, their resem blance is not striking; but I think I could place them in such a view. You will allow, that in both, m an has the advantage of choice, wom an only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagem ent between m an and wom an, form ed for the advantage of each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the m om ent of its dissolution; that it is their duty, each to endeavour to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed them selves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own im aginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbours, or fancy ing that they should have been better off with any one else. You will allow all this?”

“Yes, to be sure, as y ou state it, all this sounds very well; but still they

are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the sam e light, nor think the sam e duties belong to them .”

“In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In m arriage, the m an is

supposed to provide for the support of the wom an, the wom an to m ake the hom e agreeable to the m an; he is to purvey, and she is to sm ile. But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the com pliance are expected from him , while she furnishes the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck y ou, as rendering the conditions incapable of com parison.”

“No, indeed, I never thought of that.”

“Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I m ust observe. This

disposition on y our side is rather alarm ing. You totally disallow any sim ilarity in the obligations; and m ay I not thence infer that y our notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as y our partner m ight wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentlem an who spoke to y ou j ust now were to return, or if any other gentlem an were to address y ou, there would be nothing to restrain y ou from conversing with him as long as y ou chose?”

“Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of m y brother’s, that if he

talks to m e, I m ust talk to him again; but there are hardly three y oung m en in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with.”

“And is that to be m y only security ? Alas, alas!”

“Nay, I am sure y ou cannot have a better; for if I do not know any body,

it is im possible for m e to talk to them ; and, besides, I do not want to talk to any body.”

“Now y ou have given m e a security worth having; and I shall proceed

with courage. Do y ou find Bath as agreeable as when I had the honour of m aking the inquiry before?”

“Yes, quite. More so, indeed.”

“More so! Take care, or y ou will forget to be tired of it at the proper

tim e. You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks.”

“I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay here six m onths.”

“Bath, com pared with London, has little variety, and so every body finds

out every y ear. ‘For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough; but bey ond that, it is the m ost tiresom e place in the world.’ You would be told so by people of all descriptions, who com e regularly every winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go away at last because they can afford to stay no longer.”

“Well, other people m ust j udge for them selves, and those who go to

London m ay think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a sm all retired village in the country, can never find greater sam eness in such a place as this than in m y own hom e; for here are a variety of am usem ents, a variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know nothing of there.”

“You are not fond of the country.”

“Yes, I am . I have alway s lived there, and alway s been very happy.

But certainly there is m uch m ore sam eness in a country life than in a Bath life. One day in the country is exactly like another.”

“But then y ou spend y our tim e so m uch m ore rationally in the

country.”

“Do I?”

“Do y ou not?”

“I do not believe there is m uch difference.”

“Here y ou are in pursuit only of am usem ent all day long.”

“And so I am at hom e – only I do not find so m uch of it. I walk about

here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people in every street, and there I can only go and call on Mrs. Allen.”

Mr. Tilney was very m uch am used.

“Only go and call on Mrs. Allen!” he repeated. “What a picture of

intellectual poverty ! However, when y ou sink into this aby ss again, y ou will have m ore to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all that y ou did here.”

“Oh! Yes. I shall never be in want of som ething to talk of again to Mrs.

Allen, or any body else. I really believe I shall alway s be talking of Bath, when I am at hom e again – I do like it so very m uch. If I could but have Papa and Mam m a, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be too happy ! Jam es’s com ing (m y eldest brother) is quite delightful – and especially as it turns out that the very fam ily we are j ust got so intim ate with are his intim ate friends already. Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?”

“Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as y ou do.

But papas and m am m as, and brothers, and intim ate friends are a good deal gone by, to m ost of the frequenters of Bath – and the honest relish of balls and play s, and every day sights, is past with them .” Here their conversation closed, the dem ands of the dance becom ing now too im portunate for a divided attention.

Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Catherine perceived

herself to be earnestly regarded by a gentlem an who stood am ong the lookers-on, im m ediately behind her partner. He was a very handsom e m an, of a com m anding aspect, past the bloom , but not past the vigour of life; and with his ey e still directed towards her, she saw him presently address Mr. Tilney in a fam iliar whisper. Confused by his notice, and blushing from the fear of its being excited by som ething wrong in her appearance, she turned away her head. But while she did so, the gentlem an retreated, and her partner, com ing nearer, said, “I see that y ou guess what I have j ust been asked. That gentlem an knows y our nam e, and y ou have a right to know his. It is General Tilney, m y father.”

Catherine’s answer was only “Oh!” – but it was an “Oh!” expressing

every thing needful: attention to his words, and perfect reliance on their truth. With real interest and strong adm iration did her ey e now follow the general, as he m oved through the crowd, and “How handsom e a fam ily they are!” was her secret rem ark.

In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening concluded, a new

source of felicity arose to her. She had never taken a country walk since her arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom all the com m only frequented environs were fam iliar, spoke of them in term s which m ade her all eagerness to know them too; and on her openly fearing that she m ight find nobody to go with her, it was proposed by the brother and sister that they should j oin in a walk, som e m orning or other. “I shall like it,” she cried, “bey ond any thing in the world; and do not let us put it off – let us go tom orrow.” This was readily agreed to, with only a proviso of Miss Tilney ’s, that it did not rain, which Catherine was sure it would not. At twelve o’clock, they were to call for her in Pulteney Street; and “Rem em ber – twelve o’clock,” was her parting speech to her new friend. Of her other, her older, her m ore established friend, Isabella, of whose fidelity and worth she had enj oy ed a fortnight’s experience, she scarcely saw any thing during the evening. Yet, though longing to m ake her acquainted with her happiness, she cheerfully subm itted to the wish of Mr. Allen, which took them rather early away, and her spirits danced within her, as she danced in her chair all the way hom e.