Northanger Abbey
satisfaction. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness. It was “dear
John” and “dear Catherine” at every word; “dear Anne and dear Maria”
must immediately be made sharers in their felicity; and two “dears” at
once before the name of Isabella were not more than that beloved child
had now well earned. John himself was no skulker in joy. He not only
bestowed on Mr. Morland the high commendation of being one of the
finest fellows in the world, but swore off many sentences in his
praise.
The letter, whence sprang all this felicity, was short, containing
little more than this assurance of success; and every particular was
deferred till James could write again. But for particulars Isabella
could well afford to wait. The needful was comprised in Mr. Morland’s
promise; his honour was pledged to make everything easy; and by what
means their income was to be formed, whether landed property were to be
resigned, or funded money made over, was a matter in which her
disinterested spirit took no concern. She knew enough to feel secure of
an honourable and speedy establishment, and her imagination took a
rapid flight over its attendant felicities. She saw herself at the end
of a few weeks, the gaze and admiration of every new acquaintance at
Fullerton, the envy of every valued old friend in Putney, with a
carriage at her command, a new name on her tickets, and a brilliant
exhibition of hoop rings on her finger.
When the contents of the letter were ascertained, John Thorpe, who had
only waited its arrival to begin his journey to London, prepared to set
off. “Well, Miss Morland,” said he, on finding her alone in the
parlour, “I am come to bid you good-bye.” Catherine wished him a good
journey. Without appearing to hear her, he walked to the window,
fidgeted about, hummed a tune, and seemed wholly self-occupied.
“Shall not you be late at Devizes?” said Catherine. He made no answer;
but after a minute’s silence burst out with, “A famous good thing this
marrying scheme, upon my soul! a clever fancy of Morland’s and Belle’s.
What do you think of it, Miss Morland? _I_ say it is no bad notion.”
“I am sure I think it a very good one.”
“Do you? That’s honest, by heavens! i am glad you are no enemy to
matrimony, however. Did you ever hear the old song, ‘Going to One
Wedding Brings on Another?’ I say, you will come to Belle’s wedding, I
hope.”
“Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if possible.”
“And then you know”—twisting himself about and forcing a foolish
laugh—“I say, then you know, we may try the truth of this same old
song.”
“May we? But I never sing. Well, I wish you a good journey. I dine with
Miss Tilney to-day, and must now be going home.”
“Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry. Who knows when we may be
together again? Not but that I shall be down again by the end of a
fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight it will appear to me.”
“Then why do you stay away so long?” replied Catherine—finding that he
waited for an answer.
“That is kind of you, however—kind and good-natured. I shall not forget
it in a hurry. But you have more good nature and all that, than anybody
living, I believe. A monstrous deal of good nature, and it is not only
good nature, but you have so much, so much of everything; and then you
have such—upon my soul, I do not know anybody like you.”
“Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a
great deal better. Good morning to you.”
“But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my respects at Fullerton
before it is long, if not disagreeable.”
“Pray do. My father and mother will be very glad to see you.”
“And I hope—I hope, Miss Morland, _you_ will not be sorry to see me.”
“Oh! dear, not at all. There are very few people I am sorry to see.
Company is always cheerful.”
“That is just my way of thinking. Give me but a little cheerful
company, let me only have the company of the people I love, let me only
be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say
I. And I am heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a
notion, Miss Morland, you and I think pretty much alike upon most
matters.”
“Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to _most
matters_, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own mind
about.”
“By Jove, no more do I. It is not my way to bother my brains with what
does not concern me. My notion of things is simple enough. Let me only
have the girl I like, say I, with a comfortable house over my head, and
what care I for all the rest? Fortune is nothing. I am sure of a good
income of my own; and if she had not a penny, why, so much the better.”
“Very true. I think like you there. If there is a good fortune on one
side, there can be no occasion for any on the other. No matter which
has it, so that there is enough. I hate the idea of one great fortune
looking out for another. And to marry for money I think the wickedest
thing in existence. Good day. We shall be very glad to see you at
Fullerton, whenever it is convenient.” And away she went. It was not in
the power of all his gallantry to detain her longer. With such news to
communicate, and such a visit to prepare for, her departure was not to
be delayed by anything in his nature to urge; and she hurried away,
leaving him to the undivided consciousness of his own happy address,
and her explicit encouragement.
The agitation which she had herself experienced on first learning her
brother’s engagement made her expect to raise no inconsiderable emotion
in Mr. and Mrs. Allen, by the communication of the wonderful event. How
great was her disappointment! the important affair, which many words of
preparation ushered in, had been foreseen by them both ever since her
brother’s arrival; and all that they felt on the occasion was
comprehended in a wish for the young people’s happiness, with a remark,
on the gentleman’s side, in favour of Isabella’s beauty, and on the
lady’s, of her great good luck. It was to Catherine the most surprising
insensibility. The disclosure, however, of the great secret of James’s
going to Fullerton the day before, did raise some emotion in Mrs.
Allen. She could not listen to that with perfect calmness, but
repeatedly regretted the necessity of its concealment, wished she could
have known his intention, wished she could have seen him before he
went, as she should certainly have troubled him with her best regards
to his father and mother, and her kind compliments to all the Skinners.
CHAPTER 16
Catherine’s expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom Street
were so very high that disappointment was inevitable; and accordingly,
though she was most politely received by General Tilney, and kindly
welcomed by his daughter, though Henry was at home, and no one else of
the party, she found, on her return, without spending many hours in the
examination of her feelings, that she had gone to her appointment
preparing for happiness which it had not afforded. Instead of finding
herself improved in acquaintance with Miss Tilney, from the intercourse
of the day, she seemed hardly so intimate with her as before; instead
of seeing Henry Tilney to greater advantage than ever, in the ease of a
family party, he had never said so little, nor been so little
agreeable; and, in spite of their father’s great civilities to her—in
spite of his thanks, invitations, and compliments—it had been a release
to get away from him. It puzzled her to account for all this. It could
not be General Tilney’s fault. That he was perfectly agreeable and
good-natured, and altogether a very charming man, did not admit of a
doubt, for he was tall and handsome, and Henry’s father. _He_ could not
be accountable for his children’s want of spirits, or for her want of
enjoyment in his company. The former she hoped at last might have been
accidental, and the latter she could only attribute to her own
stupidity. Isabella, on hearing the particulars of the visit, gave a
different explanation: “It was all pride, pride, insufferable
haughtiness and pride! she had long suspected the family to be very
high, and this made it certain. Such insolence of behaviour as Miss
Tilney’s she had never heard of in her life! not to do the honours of
her house with common good breeding! to behave to her guest with such
superciliousness! hardly even to speak to her!”
“But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no
superciliousness; she was very civil.”
“Oh, don’t defend her! and then the brother, he, who had appeared so
attached to you! good heavens! well, some people’s feelings are
incomprehensible. And so he hardly looked once at you the whole day?”
“I do not say so; but he did not seem in good spirits.”
“How contemptible! of all things in the world inconstancy is my
aversion. Let me entreat you never to think of him again, my dear
Catherine; indeed he is unworthy of you.”
“Unworthy! i do not suppose he ever thinks of me.”
“That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you. Such fickleness!
Oh! how different to your brother and to mine! i really believe John
has the most constant heart.”
“But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be impossible for
anybody to behave to me with greater civility and attention; it seemed
to be his only care to entertain and make me happy.”
“Oh! i know no harm of him; I do not suspect him of pride. I believe he
is a very gentleman-like man. John thinks very well of him, and John’s
judgment—”
“Well, I shall see how they behave to me this evening; we shall meet
them at the rooms.”
“And must I go?”
“Do not you intend it? I thought it was all settled.”
“Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse you nothing. But
do not insist upon my being very agreeable, for my heart, you know,
will be some forty miles off. And as for dancing, do not mention it, I
beg; _that_ is quite out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me
to death, I dare say; but I shall cut him very short. Ten to one but he
guesses the reason, and that is exactly what I want to avoid, so I
shall insist on his keeping his conjecture to himself.”
Isabella’s opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her friend; she was
sure there had been no insolence in the manners either of brother or
sister; and she did not credit there being any pride in their hearts.
The evening rewarded her confidence; she was met by one with the same
kindness, and by the other with the same attention, as heretofore: Miss
Tilney took pains to be near her, and Henry asked her to dance.
Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that their elder brother,
Captain Tilney, was expected almost every hour, she was at no loss for
the name of a very fashionable-looking, handsome young man, whom she
had never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their party.
She looked at him with great admiration, and even supposed it possible
that some people might think him handsomer than his brother, though, in
her eyes, his air was more assuming, and his countenance less
prepossessing. His taste and manners were beyond a doubt decidedly
inferior; for, within her hearing, he not only protested against every
thought of dancing himself, but even laughed openly at Henry for
finding it possible. From the latter circumstance it may be presumed
that, whatever might be our heroine’s opinion of him, his admiration of
her was not of a very dangerous kind; not likely to produce animosities
between the brothers, nor persecutions to the lady. _He_ cannot be the
instigator of the three villains in horsemen’s greatcoats, by whom she
will hereafter be forced into a traveling-chaise and four, which will
drive off with incredible speed. Catherine, meanwhile, undisturbed by
presentiments of such an evil, or of any evil at all, except that of