No More Learning

Allen,” said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; “I
must say it, though I am his mother, that there is not a more agreeable
young man in the world. ”

This inapplicable answer might have been too much for the comprehension
of many; but it did not puzzle Mrs. Allen, for after only a moment’s
consideration, she said, in a whisper to Catherine, “I dare say she
thought I was speaking of her son. ”

Catherine was disappointed and vexed. She seemed to have missed by so
little the very object she had had in view; and this persuasion did not
incline her to a very gracious reply, when John Thorpe came up to her
soon afterwards and said, “Well, Miss Morland, I suppose you and I are
to stand up and jig it together again. ”

“Oh, no; I am much obliged to you, our two dances are over; and,
besides, I am tired, and do not mean to dance any more. ”

“Do not you? Then let us walk about and quiz people. Come along with
me, and I will show you the four greatest quizzers in the room; my two
younger sisters and their partners. I have been laughing at them this
half hour. ”

Again Catherine excused herself; and at last he walked off to quiz his
sisters by himself. The rest of the evening she found very dull; Mr.
Tilney was drawn away from their party at tea, to attend that of his
partner; Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her, and
James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing together that the
latter had no leisure to bestow more on her friend than one smile, one
squeeze, and one “dearest Catherine. ”




CHAPTER 9


The progress of Catherine’s unhappiness from the events of the evening
was as follows. It appeared first in a general dissatisfaction with
everybody about her, while she remained in the rooms, which speedily
brought on considerable weariness and a violent desire to go home. This,
on arriving in Pulteney Street, took the direction of extraordinary
hunger, and when that was appeased, changed into an earnest longing to
be in bed; such was the extreme point of her distress; for when there
she immediately fell into a sound sleep which lasted nine hours, and
from which she awoke perfectly revived, in excellent spirits, with fresh
hopes and fresh schemes. The first wish of her heart was to improve her
acquaintance with Miss Tilney, and almost her first resolution, to seek
her for that purpose, in the pump-room at noon. In the pump-room, one
so newly arrived in Bath must be met with, and that building she had
already found so favourable for the discovery of female excellence,
and the completion of female intimacy, so admirably adapted for secret
discourses and unlimited confidence, that she was most reasonably
encouraged to expect another friend from within its walls. Her plan
for the morning thus settled, she sat quietly down to her book after
breakfast, resolving to remain in the same place and the same employment
till the clock struck one; and from habitude very little incommoded by
the remarks and ejaculations of Mrs. Allen, whose vacancy of mind and
incapacity for thinking were such, that as she never talked a great
deal, so she could never be entirely silent; and, therefore, while she
sat at her work, if she lost her needle or broke her thread, if she
heard a carriage in the street, or saw a speck upon her gown, she must
observe it aloud, whether there were anyone at leisure to answer her or
not. At about half past twelve, a remarkably loud rap drew her in haste
to the window, and scarcely had she time to inform Catherine of there
being two open carriages at the door, in the first only a servant,
her brother driving Miss Thorpe in the second, before John Thorpe came
running upstairs, calling out, “Well, Miss Morland, here I am. Have
you been waiting long? We could not come before; the old devil of a
coachmaker was such an eternity finding out a thing fit to be got into,
and now it is ten thousand to one but they break down before we are out
of the street. How do you do, Mrs. Allen? A famous ball last night, was
not it? Come, Miss Morland, be quick, for the others are in a confounded
hurry to be off. They want to get their tumble over. ”

“What do you mean? ” said Catherine. “Where are you all going to? ”

“Going to? Why, you have not forgot our engagement! Did not we agree
together to take a drive this morning? What a head you have! We are
going up Claverton Down. ”

“Something was said about it, I remember,” said Catherine, looking at
Mrs. Allen for her opinion; “but really I did not expect you. ”

“Not expect me! That’s a good one! And what a dust you would have made,
if I had not come. ”

Catherine’s silent appeal to her friend, meanwhile, was entirely thrown
away, for Mrs. Allen, not being at all in the habit of conveying any
expression herself by a look, was not aware of its being ever intended
by anybody else; and Catherine, whose desire of seeing Miss Tilney again
could at that moment bear a short delay in favour of a drive, and who
thought there could be no impropriety in her going with Mr. Thorpe, as
Isabella was going at the same time with James, was therefore obliged to
speak plainer. “Well, ma’am, what do you say to it? Can you spare me for
an hour or two? Shall I go? ”

“Do just as you please, my dear,” replied Mrs. Allen, with the most
placid indifference. Catherine took the advice, and ran off to get
ready. In a very few minutes she reappeared, having scarcely allowed
the two others time enough to get through a few short sentences in her
praise, after Thorpe had procured Mrs. Allen’s admiration of his gig;
and then receiving her friend’s parting good wishes, they both hurried
downstairs. “My dearest creature,” cried Isabella, to whom the duty
of friendship immediately called her before she could get into the
carriage, “you have been at least three hours getting ready. I was
afraid you were ill. What a delightful ball we had last night. I have a
thousand things to say to you; but make haste and get in, for I long to
be off. ”

Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not too soon to hear
her friend exclaim aloud to James, “What a sweet girl she is! I quite
dote on her. ”

“You will not be frightened, Miss Morland,” said Thorpe, as he handed
her in, “if my horse should dance about a little at first setting off.
He will, most likely, give a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest
for a minute; but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits,
playful as can be, but there is no vice in him. ”

Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one, but it was too
late to retreat, and she was too young to own herself frightened; so,
resigning herself to her fate, and trusting to the animal’s boasted
knowledge of its owner, she sat peaceably down, and saw Thorpe sit down
by her. Everything being then arranged, the servant who stood at the
horse’s head was bid in an important voice “to let him go,” and off they
went in the quietest manner imaginable, without a plunge or a caper, or
anything like one. Catherine, delighted at so happy an escape, spoke
her pleasure aloud with grateful surprise; and her companion immediately
made the matter perfectly simple by assuring her that it was entirely
owing to the peculiarly judicious manner in which he had then held the
reins, and the singular discernment and dexterity with which he had
directed his whip. Catherine, though she could not help wondering that
with such perfect command of his horse, he should think it necessary to
alarm her with a relation of its tricks, congratulated herself sincerely
on being under the care of so excellent a coachman; and perceiving that
the animal continued to go on in the same quiet manner, without
showing the smallest propensity towards any unpleasant vivacity, and
(considering its inevitable pace was ten miles an hour) by no means
alarmingly fast, gave herself up to all the enjoyment of air and
exercise of the most invigorating kind, in a fine mild day of February,
with the consciousness of safety. A silence of several minutes succeeded
their first short dialogue; it was broken by Thorpe’s saying very
abruptly, “Old Allen is as rich as a Jew--is not he? ” Catherine did not
understand him--and he repeated his question, adding in explanation,
“Old Allen, the man you are with. ”

“Oh! Mr. Allen, you mean. Yes, I believe, he is very rich. ”

“And no children at all? ”

“No--not any. ”

“A famous thing for his next heirs. He is your godfather, is not he? ”

“My godfather! No. ”

“But you are always very much with them. ”

“Yes, very much. ”

“Aye, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of old fellow enough,
and has lived very well in his time, I dare say; he is not gouty for
nothing. Does he drink his bottle a day now? ”

“His bottle a day! No. Why should you think of such a thing? He is a
very temperate man, and you could not fancy him in liquor last night? ”

“Lord help you! You women are always thinking of men’s being in liquor.
Why, you do not suppose a man is overset by a bottle? I am sure of
this--that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would not
be half the disorders in the world there are now. It would be a famous
good thing for us all. ”

“I cannot believe it. ”

“Oh! Lord, it would be the saving of thousands. There is not the
hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought to
be. Our foggy climate wants help. ”

“And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of wine drunk in
Oxford. ”

“Oxford! There is no drinking at Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody drinks
there. You would hardly meet with a man who goes beyond his four pints
at the utmost. Now, for instance, it was reckoned a remarkable thing, at
the last party in my rooms, that upon an average we cleared about five
pints a head. It was looked upon as something out of the common way.
Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would not often meet with
anything like it in Oxford--and that may account for it. But this will
just give you a notion of the general rate of drinking there. ”

“Yes, it does give a notion,” said Catherine warmly, “and that is, that
you all drink a great deal more wine than I thought you did. However, I
am sure James does not drink so much. ”

This declaration brought on a loud and overpowering reply, of which
no part was very distinct, except the frequent exclamations, amounting
almost to oaths, which adorned it, and Catherine was left, when it
ended, with rather a strengthened belief of there being a great deal
of wine drunk in Oxford, and the same happy conviction of her brother’s
comparative sobriety.

Thorpe’s ideas then all reverted to the merits of his own equipage, and
she was called on to admire the spirit and freedom with which his horse
moved along, and the ease which his paces, as well as the excellence of
the springs, gave the motion of the carriage. She followed him in all
his admiration as well as she could. To go before or beyond him was
impossible. His knowledge and her ignorance of the subject, his rapidity
of expression, and her diffidence of herself put that out of her power;
she could strike out nothing new in commendation, but she readily echoed
whatever he chose to assert, and it was finally settled between them
without any difficulty that his equipage was altogether the most
complete of its kind in England, his carriage the neatest, his horse the
best goer, and himself the best coachman. “You do not really think,
Mr. Thorpe,” said Catherine, venturing after some time to consider the
matter as entirely decided, and to offer some little variation on the
subject, “that James’s gig will break down? ”

“Break down! Oh! Lord! Did you ever see such a little tittuppy thing in
your life? There is not a sound piece of iron about it. The wheels have
been fairly worn out these ten years at least--and as for the body! Upon
my soul, you might shake it to pieces yourself with a touch. It is the
most devilish little rickety business I ever beheld! Thank God! we
have got a better. I would not be bound to go two miles in it for fifty
thousand pounds. ”

“Good heavens! ” cried Catherine, quite frightened. “Then pray let us
turn back; they will certainly meet with an accident if we go on. Do let
us turn back, Mr. Thorpe; stop and speak to my brother, and tell him how
very unsafe it is. ”

“Unsafe! Oh, lord! What is there in that? They will only get a roll if
it does break down; and there is plenty of dirt; it will be excellent
falling. Oh, curse it! The carriage is safe enough, if a man knows how
to drive it; a thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty
years after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you! I would undertake for
five pounds to drive it to York and back again, without losing a nail. ”

Catherine listened with astonishment; she knew not how to reconcile two
such very different accounts of the same thing; for she had not been
brought up to understand the propensities of a rattle, nor to know to
how many idle assertions and impudent falsehoods the excess of vanity
will lead. Her own family were plain, matter-of-fact people who seldom
aimed at wit of any kind; her father, at the utmost, being contented
with a pun, and her mother with a proverb; they were not in the habit
therefore of telling lies to increase their importance, or of asserting
at one moment what they would contradict the next. She reflected on the
affair for some time in much perplexity, and was more than once on the
point of requesting from Mr. Thorpe a clearer insight into his real
opinion on the subject; but she checked herself, because it appeared to
her that he did not excel in giving those clearer insights, in making
those things plain which he had before made ambiguous; and, joining to
this, the consideration that he would not really suffer his sister and
his friend to be exposed to a danger from which he might easily preserve
them, she concluded at last that he must know the carriage to be in fact
perfectly safe, and therefore would alarm herself no longer. By him
the whole matter seemed entirely forgotten; and all the rest of his
conversation, or rather talk, began and ended with himself and his own
concerns. He told her of horses which he had bought for a trifle and
sold for incredible sums; of racing matches, in which his judgment had
infallibly foretold the winner; of shooting parties, in which he had
killed more birds (though without having one good shot) than all his
companions together; and described to her some famous day’s sport, with
the fox-hounds, in which his foresight and skill in directing the dogs
had repaired the mistakes of the most experienced huntsman, and in which
the boldness of his riding, though it had never endangered his own life
for a moment, had been constantly leading others into difficulties,
which he calmly concluded had broken the necks of many.

Little as Catherine was in the habit of judging for herself, and unfixed
as were her general notions of what men ought to be, she could not
entirely repress a doubt, while she bore with the effusions of his
endless conceit, of his being altogether completely agreeable. It was a
bold surmise, for he was Isabella’s brother; and she had been assured by
James that his manners would recommend him to all her sex; but in spite
of this, the extreme weariness of his company, which crept over her
before they had been out an hour, and which continued unceasingly to
increase till they stopped in Pulteney Street again, induced her, in
some small degree, to resist such high authority, and to distrust his
powers of giving universal pleasure.

When they arrived at Mrs. Allen’s door, the astonishment of Isabella was
hardly to be expressed, on finding that it was too late in the day for
them to attend her friend into the house: “Past three o’clock! ” It was
inconceivable, incredible, impossible! And she would neither believe her
own watch, nor her brother’s, nor the servant’s; she would believe no
assurance of it founded on reason or reality, till Morland produced his
watch, and ascertained the fact; to have doubted a moment longer then
would have been equally inconceivable, incredible, and impossible; and
she could only protest, over and over again, that no two hours and a
half had ever gone off so swiftly before, as Catherine was called on to
confirm; Catherine could not tell a falsehood even to please Isabella;
but the latter was spared the misery of her friend’s dissenting voice,
by not waiting for her answer. Her own feelings entirely engrossed
her; her wretchedness was most acute on finding herself obliged to go
directly home. It was ages since she had had a moment’s conversation
with her dearest Catherine; and, though she had such thousands of things
to say to her, it appeared as if they were never to be together again;
so, with smiles of most exquisite misery, and the laughing eye of utter
despondency, she bade her friend adieu and went on.

Catherine found Mrs. Allen just returned from all the busy idleness of
the morning, and was immediately greeted with, “Well, my dear, here
you are,” a truth which she had no greater inclination than power to
dispute; “and I hope you have had a pleasant airing? ”

“Yes, ma’am, I thank you; we could not have had a nicer day. ”

“So Mrs. Thorpe said; she was vastly pleased at your all going. ”

“You have seen Mrs. Thorpe, then? ”

“Yes, I went to the pump-room as soon as you were gone, and there I met
her, and we had a great deal of talk together. She says there was hardly
any veal to be got at market this morning, it is so uncommonly scarce. ”

“Did you see anybody else of our acquaintance? ”

“Yes; we agreed to take a turn in the Crescent, and there we met Mrs.
Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney walking with her. ”

“Did you indeed? And did they speak to you? ”

“Yes, we walked along the Crescent together for half an hour. They seem
very agreeable people. Miss Tilney was in a very pretty spotted
muslin, and I fancy, by what I can learn, that she always dresses very
handsomely. Mrs. Hughes talked to me a great deal about the family. ”

“And what did she tell you of them? ”

“Oh! A vast deal indeed; she hardly talked of anything else. ”

“Did she tell you what part of Gloucestershire they come from? ”

“Yes, she did; but I cannot recollect now. But they are very good kind
of people, and very rich. Mrs. Tilney was a Miss Drummond, and she
and Mrs. Hughes were schoolfellows; and Miss Drummond had a very large
fortune; and, when she married, her father gave her twenty thousand
pounds, and five hundred to buy wedding-clothes. Mrs. Hughes saw all the
clothes after they came from the warehouse. ”

“And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in Bath? ”

“Yes, I fancy they are, but I am not quite certain. Upon recollection,
however, I have a notion they are both dead; at least the mother is;
yes, I am sure Mrs. Tilney is dead, because Mrs. Hughes told me there
was a very beautiful set of pearls that Mr. Drummond gave his daughter
on her wedding-day and that Miss Tilney has got now, for they were put
by for her when her mother died. ”

“And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, the only son? ”

“I cannot be quite positive about that, my dear; I have some idea he is;
but, however, he is a very fine young man, Mrs. Hughes says, and likely
to do very well. ”

Catherine inquired no further; she had heard enough to feel that
Mrs. Allen had no real intelligence to give, and that she was most
particularly unfortunate herself in having missed such a meeting with
both brother and sister. Could she have foreseen such a circumstance,
nothing should have persuaded her to go out with the others; and, as
it was, she could only lament her ill luck, and think over what she had
lost, till it was clear to her that the drive had by no means been very
pleasant and that John Thorpe himself was quite disagreeable.
CHAPTER 10


The Allens, Thorpes, and Morlands all met in the evening at the
theatre; and, as Catherine and Isabella sat together, there was then an
opportunity for the latter to utter some few of the many thousand
things which had been collecting within her for communication in the
immeasurable length of time which had divided them. “Oh, heavens!
My beloved Catherine, have I got you 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 you all the rest of the evening; so I charge you not to expect it. My
sweetest Catherine, how have you been this long age? But I need not ask
you, for you look delightfully. You really have done your hair in a
more heavenly style than ever; you mischievous creature, do you want to
attract everybody? I assure you, my brother is quite in love with you
already; and as for Mr. Tilney--but that is a settled thing--even your
modesty cannot doubt his attachment now; his coming back to Bath makes
it too plain. Oh! What would not I give to see him! I really am quite
wild with impatience. My mother says he is the most delightful young man
in the world; she saw him this morning, you know; you must introduce him
to me. Is he in the house now? Look about, for heaven’s sake! I assure
you, I can hardly exist till I see him. ”

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

“Oh, horrid! Am I never to be acquainted with him? How do you like my
gown? I think it does not look amiss; the sleeves were entirely my own
thought. Do you know, I get so immoderately sick of Bath; your brother
and I were agreeing this morning that, though it is vastly well to be
here for a few weeks, we would not live here for millions. 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 same, it was
quite ridiculous! There was not a single point in which we differed; I
would not have had you by for the world; you are such a sly thing, I am
sure you would have made some droll remark or other about it. ”

“No, indeed I should not. ”

“Oh, yes you would indeed; I know you better than you know yourself. You
would have told us that we seemed born for each other, or some nonsense
of that kind, which would have distressed me beyond conception; my
cheeks would have been as red as your roses; I would not have had you by
for the world. ”

“Indeed you do me injustice; I would not have made so improper a remark
upon any account; and besides, I am sure it would never have entered my
head. ”

Isabella smiled incredulously and talked the rest of the evening to
James.

Catherine’s resolution of endeavouring to meet Miss Tilney again
continued in full force the next morning; and till the usual moment of
going to the pump-room, she felt some 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 time for the pump-room,
where the ordinary course of events and conversation took place; Mr.
Allen, after drinking his glass of water, joined some gentlemen to
talk over the politics of the day and compare the accounts of their
newspapers; and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new
face, and almost every new bonnet in the room. The female part of the
Thorpe family, attended by James Morland, appeared among the crowd in
less than a quarter of an hour, and Catherine immediately took her
usual place by the side of her friend. James, who was now in constant
attendance, maintained a similar position, and separating themselves
from the rest of their party, they walked in that manner for some
time, 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 always engaged in
some sentimental discussion or lively dispute, but their sentiment was
conveyed in such whispering voices, and their vivacity attended with
so much 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 subject. At length however
she was empowered to disengage herself from her friend, by the avowed
necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney, whom she most joyfully saw just
entering the room with Mrs. Hughes, and whom she instantly joined, with
a firmer determination to be acquainted, than she might have had courage
to command, had she not been urged by the disappointment of the day
before. Miss Tilney met her with great civility, returned her advances
with equal goodwill, and they continued talking together as long as
both parties remained in the room; and though in all probability not
an observation was made, nor an expression used by either which had not
been made and used some thousands of times before, under that roof, in
every Bath season, yet the merit of their being spoken with simplicity
and truth, and without personal conceit, might be something uncommon.

“How well your brother dances! ” was an artless exclamation of
Catherine’s towards the close of their conversation, which at once
surprised and amused her companion.

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

“He must have thought it very odd to hear me say I was engaged the other
evening, when he saw me 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 moment’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 you before, he was in Bath but
for a couple of days. He came only to engage lodgings for us. ”

“That never occurred to me; and of course, not seeing him anywhere, I
thought he must be gone. Was not the young lady he danced with on Monday
a Miss Smith? ”

“Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes. ”

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

“Not very. ”

“He never comes to the pump-room, I suppose? ”

“Yes, sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my father. ”

Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and asked Miss Tilney if she was ready to
go. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon,” said
Catherine. “Shall you be at the cotillion ball tomorrow? ”

“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 some knowledge
of her new acquaintance’s feelings, and on Catherine’s, without the
smallest consciousness of having explained them.

She went home very happy. The morning had answered all her hopes, and
the evening of the following day was now the object of expectation,
the future good. What gown and what head-dress she should wear on the
occasion became her chief concern. She cannot be justified in it. Dress
is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about
it often destroys its own aim. Catherine knew all this very well; her
great aunt had read her a lecture on the subject only the Christmas
before; and yet she lay awake ten minutes on Wednesday night debating
between her spotted and her tamboured muslin, and nothing but the
shortness of the time prevented her buying a new one for the evening.
This would have been an error in judgment, great though not uncommon,
from which one of the other sex rather than her own, a brother rather
than a great aunt, might have warned her, for man only can be aware of
the insensibility of man towards a new gown. It would be mortifying to
the feelings of many ladies, could they be made to understand how little
the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in their attire;
how little it is biased by the texture of their muslin, and how
unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness towards the spotted, the sprigged,
the mull, or the jackonet. Woman is fine for her own satisfaction alone.
No man will admire her the more, no woman will like her the better for
it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the former, and a something of
shabbiness or impropriety will be most endearing to the latter. But not
one of these grave reflections troubled the tranquillity of Catherine.

She entered the rooms on Thursday evening with feelings very different
from what had attended her thither the Monday before. She had then been
exulting in her engagement 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 time to
dance, her wishes, hopes, and plans all centred in nothing less. Every
young lady may feel for my heroine in this critical moment, for every
young lady has at some time or other known the same agitation. All have
been, or at least all have believed themselves to be, in danger from the
pursuit of someone whom they wished to avoid; and all have been anxious
for the attentions of someone whom they wished to please. As soon as
they were joined by the Thorpes, Catherine’s agony began; she fidgeted
about if John Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much 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 Tilneys.

“Do not be frightened, my dear Catherine,” whispered Isabella, “but I am
really going to dance with your brother again. I declare positively it
is quite shocking. I tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself, but you
and John must keep us in countenance. Make haste, my dear creature, and
come to us. John is just walked off, but he will be back in a moment. ”

Catherine had neither time nor inclination to answer. The others walked
away, John Thorpe was still in view, and she gave herself up for lost.
That she might not appear, however, to observe or expect him, she kept
her eyes intently fixed on her fan; and a self-condemnation for her
folly, in supposing that among such a crowd they should even meet with
the Tilneys in any reasonable time, had just passed through her mind,
when she suddenly found herself addressed and again solicited to dance,
by Mr. Tilney himself. With what sparkling eyes and ready motion she
granted his request, and with how pleasing a flutter of heart she went
with him to the set, may be easily imagined. To escape, and, as
she believed, so narrowly escape John Thorpe, and to be asked, so
immediately on his joining 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 themselves into the quiet possession of a
place, however, when her attention was claimed by John Thorpe, who stood
behind her. “Heyday, Miss Morland! ” said he. “What is the meaning of
this? I thought you and I were to dance together. ”

“I wonder you should think so, for you never asked me. ”

“That is a good one, by Jove! I asked you as soon as I came into the
room, and I was just going to ask you again, but when I turned round,
you were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake
of dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever
since Monday. Yes; I remember, I asked you while you were waiting in the
lobby for your cloak. And here have I been telling all my acquaintance
that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room; and
when they see you standing up with somebody else, they will quiz me
famously. ”

“Oh, no; they will never think of me, 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 you there? ” Catherine satisfied his
curiosity. “Tilney,” he repeated. “Hum--I do not know him. A good figure
of a man; well put together. Does he want a horse? Here is a friend
of mine, Sam Fletcher, has got one to sell that would suit anybody. A
famous clever animal for the road--only forty guineas. I had fifty minds
to buy it myself, for it is one of my maxims always to buy a good horse
when I meet with one; but it would not answer my purpose, it would not
do for the field. I would give any money 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 mean to get a house in
Leicestershire, against the next season. It is so d--uncomfortable,
living at an inn. ”

This was the last sentence by which he could weary Catherine’s
attention, for he was just then borne off by the resistless pressure of
a long string of passing ladies. Her partner now drew near, and said,
“That gentleman would have put me out of patience, had he stayed with
you half a minute longer. He has no business to withdraw the attention
of my partner from me. We have entered into a contract of mutual
agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness
belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves
on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other.
I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and
complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do not
choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners
or wives of their neighbours. ”

“But they are such very different things! ”

“--That you think they cannot be compared together. ”

“To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and keep
house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a
long room for half an hour. ”

“And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing. Taken in that
light certainly, their resemblance is not striking; but I think I could
place them in such a view. You will allow, that in both, man has the
advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both,
it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of
each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each
other till the moment 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 themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own
imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbours,
or fancying that they should have been better off with anyone else. You
will allow all this? ”

“Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still
they are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same
light, nor think the same duties belong to them. ”

“In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man
is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, the woman to make
the home agreeable to the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile.
But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the
compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the
lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which
struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison. ”

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

“Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This
disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any
similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your
notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your
partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who
spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to
address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with
him as long as you chose? ”

“Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother’s, that if he
talks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three young
men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with. ”

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

“Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody,
it is impossible for me to talk to them; and, besides, I do not want to
talk to anybody. ”

“Now you have given me a security worth having; and I shall proceed
with courage. Do you find Bath as agreeable as when I had the honour of
making the inquiry before? ”

“Yes, quite--more so, indeed. ”

“More so! Take care, or you will forget to be tired of it at the proper
time. 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 months. ”

“Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds
out every year. ‘For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough; but
beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world. ’ You would be
told so by people of all descriptions, who come 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 must judge for themselves, and those who go to
London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired
village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place
as this than in my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, 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 always lived there, and always been very happy. But
certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath
life. One day in the country is exactly like another. ”

“But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the country. ”

“Do I? ”

“Do you not? ”

“I do not believe there is much difference. ”

“Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long. ”

“And so I am at home--only I do not find so much 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 much amused.

“Only go and call on Mrs. Allen! ” he repeated. “What a picture of
intellectual poverty! However, when you sink into this abyss again, you
will have more to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all that
you did here. ”

“Oh! Yes. I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to Mrs.
Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking of
Bath, when I am at home again--I do like it so very much. If I could but
have Papa and Mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be
too happy!