NORTHANGER ABBEY
PART 7
CHAPTER 15
Early the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking
peace and tenderness in every line, and entreating the immediate presence of
her friend on a matter of the utmost importance, hastened Catherine, in the
happiest state of confidence and curiosity, to Edgar's Buildings. The two
youngest Miss Thorpes were by themselves in the parlour; and, on Anne's
quitting it to call her sister, Catherine took the opportunity of asking the
other for some particulars of their yesterday's party. Maria desired no greater
pleasure than to speak of it; and Catherine immediately learnt that it had been
altogether the most delightful scheme in the world, that nobody could imagine
how charming it had been, and that it had been more delightful than anybody
could conceive. Such was the information of the first five minutes; the second
unfolded thus much in detail—that they had driven directly to the York Hotel,
ate some soup, and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the pump-room,
tasted the water, and laid out some shillings in purses and spars; thence
adjoined to eat ice at a pastry-cook's, and hurrying back to the hotel,
swallowed their dinner in haste, to prevent being in the dark; and then had a
delightful drive back, only the moon was not up, and it rained a little, and
Mr. Morland's horse was so tired he could hardly get it along.
Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It
appeared that Blaize Castle had never been thought of; and, as for all the
rest, there was nothing to regret for half an instant. Maria's intelligence
concluded with a tender effusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she
represented as insupportably cross, from being excluded the party.
"She will never forgive me, I am sure; but,
you know, how could I help it? John would have me go, for he vowed he would not
drive her, because she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in
good humour again this month; but I am determined I will not be cross; it is
not a little matter that puts me out of temper."
Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step,
and a look of such happy importance, as engaged all her friend's notice. Maria
was without ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began:
"Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not
deceived you. Oh! That arch eye of yours! It sees through everything."
Catherine replied only by a look of wondering
ignorance.
"Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend,"
continued the other, "compose yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as you
perceive. Let us sit down and talk in comfort. Well, and so you guessed it the
moment you had my note? Sly creature! Oh! My dear Catherine, you alone, who
know my heart, can judge of my present happiness. Your brother is the most
charming of men. I only wish I were more worthy of him. But what will your
excellent father and mother say? Oh! Heavens! When I think of them I am so
agitated!"
Catherine's understanding began to awake: an idea
of the truth suddenly darted into her mind; and, with the natural blush of so
new an emotion, she cried out, "Good heaven! My dear Isabella, what do you
mean? Can you—can you really be in love with James?"
This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt
comprehended but half the fact. The anxious affection, which she was accused of
having continually watched in Isabella's every look and action, had, in the
course of their yesterday's party, received the delightful confession of an
equal love. Her heart and faith were alike engaged to James. Never had
Catherine listened to anything so full of interest, wonder, and joy. Her
brother and her friend engaged! New to such circumstances, the importance of it
appeared unspeakably great, and she contemplated it as one of those grand
events, of which the ordinary course of life can hardly afford a return. The
strength of her feelings she could not express; the nature of them, however,
contented her friend. The happiness of having such a sister was their first
effusion, and the fair ladies mingled in embraces and tears of joy.
Delighting, however, as Catherine sincerely did in
the prospect of the connection, it must be acknowledged that Isabella far
surpassed her in tender anticipations. "You will be so infinitely dearer
to me, my Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much
more attached to my dear Morland's family than to my own."
This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine.
"You are so like your dear brother,"
continued Isabella, "that I quite doted on you the first moment I saw you.
But so it always is with me; the first moment settles everything. The very
first day that Morland came to us last Christmas—the very first moment I beheld
him—my heart was irrecoverably gone. I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my
hair done up in braids; and when I came into the drawing-room, and John
introduced him, I thought I never saw anybody so handsome before."
Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of
love; for, though exceedingly fond of her brother, and partial to all his
endowments, she had never in her life thought him handsome.
"I remember too, Miss Andrews drank tea with
us that evening, and wore her puce-coloured sarsenet; and she looked so
heavenly that I thought your brother must certainly fall in love with her; I
could not sleep a wink all right for thinking of it. Oh! Catherine, the many
sleepless nights I have had on your brother's account! I would not have you
suffer half what I have done! I am grown wretchedly thin, I know; but I will
not pain you by describing my anxiety; you have seen enough of it. I feel that
I have betrayed myself perpetually—so unguarded in speaking of my partiality
for the church! But my secret I was always sure would be safe with you."
Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer;
but ashamed of an ignorance little expected, she dared no longer contest the
point, nor refuse to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate
sympathy as Isabella chose to consider her. Her brother, she found, was
preparing to set off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his situation
and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agitation to the mind of
Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she was herself persuaded,
that her father and mother would never oppose their son's wishes. "It is
impossible," said she, "for parents to be more kind, or more desirous
of their children's happiness; I have no doubt of their consenting
immediately."
"Morland says exactly the same," replied
Isabella; "and yet I dare not expect it; my fortune will be so small; they
never can consent to it. Your brother, who might marry anybody!"
Here Catherine again discerned the force of love.
"Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The
difference of fortune can be nothing to signify."
"Oh! My sweet Catherine, in your generous
heart I know it would signify nothing; but we must not expect such
disinterestedness in many. As for myself, I am sure I only wish our situations
were reversed. Had I the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole
world, your brother would be my only choice."
This charming sentiment, recommended as much by
sense as novelty, gave Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the
heroines of her acquaintance; and she thought her friend never looked more
lovely than in uttering the grand idea. "I am sure they will
consent," was her frequent declaration; "I am sure they will be
delighted with you."
"For my own part," said Isabella,
"my wishes are so moderate that the smallest income in nature would be
enough for me. Where people are really attached, poverty itself is wealth;
grandeur I detest: I would not settle in London for the universe. A cottage in
some retired village would be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas
about Richmond."
"Richmond!" cried Catherine. "You
must settle near Fullerton. You must be near us."
"I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not.
If I can but be near you, I shall be satisfied. But this is idle talking! I
will not allow myself to think of such things, till we have your father's
answer. Morland says that by sending it tonight to Salisbury, we may have it
tomorrow. Tomorrow? I know I shall never have courage to open the letter. I
know it will be the death of me."
A reverie succeeded this conviction—and when
Isabella spoke again, it was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown.
Their conference was put an end to by the anxious
young lover himself, who came to breathe his parting sigh before he set off for
Wiltshire. Catherine wished to congratulate him, but knew not what to say, and
her eloquence was only in her eyes. From them, however, the eight parts of
speech shone out most expressively, and James could combine them with ease.
Impatient for the realization of all that he hoped at home, his adieus were not
long; and they would have been yet shorter, had he not been frequently detained
by the urgent entreaties of his fair one that he would go. Twice was he called
almost from the door by her eagerness to have him gone. "Indeed, Morland,
I must drive you away. Consider how far you have to ride. I cannot bear to see
you linger so. For heaven's sake, waste no more time. There, go, go—I insist on
it."
The two friends, with hearts now more united than
ever, were inseparable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the
hours flew along. Mrs. Thorpe and her son, who were acquainted with everything,
and who seemed only to want Mr. Morland's consent, to consider Isabella's
engagement as the most fortunate circumstance imaginable for their family, were
allowed to join their counsels, and add their quota of significant looks and mysterious
expressions to fill up the measure of curiosity to be raised in the
unprivileged younger sisters. To Catherine's simple feelings, this odd sort of
reserve seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported; and its
unkindness she would hardly have forborne pointing out, had its inconsistency
been less their friend; but Anne and Maria soon set her heart at ease by the
sagacity of their "I know what"; and the evening was spent in a sort
of war of wit, a display of family ingenuity, on one side in the mystery of an
affected secret, on the other of undefined discovery, all equally acute.
Catherine was with her friend again the next day,
endeavouring to support her spirits and while away the many tedious hours
before the delivery of the letters; a needful exertion, for as the time of
reasonable expectation drew near, Isabella became more and more desponding, and
before the letter arrived, had worked herself into a state of real distress.
But when it did come, where could distress be found? "I have had no
difficulty in gaining the consent of my kind parents, and am promised that
everything in their power shall be done to forward my happiness," were the
first three lines, and in one moment all was joyful security. The brightest
glow was instantly spread over Isabella's features, all care and anxiety seemed
removed, her spirits became almost too high for control, and she called herself
without scruple the happiest of mortals.
Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her
daughter, her son, her visitor, and could have embraced half the inhabitants of
Bath with 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 today, 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 having but a short set to dance down,
enjoyed her usual happiness with Henry Tilney, listening with sparkling eyes to
everything he said; and, in finding him irresistible, becoming so herself.
At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came
towards them again, and, much to Catherine's dissatisfaction, pulled his
brother away. They retired whispering together; and, though her delicate
sensibility did not take immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain
Tilney must have heard some malevolent misrepresentation of her, which he now
hastened to communicate to his brother, in the hope of separating them forever,
she could not have her partner conveyed from her sight without very uneasy
sensations. Her suspense was of full five minutes' duration; and she was
beginning to think it a very long quarter of an hour, when they both returned,
and an explanation was given, by Henry's requesting to know if she thought her
friend, Miss Thorpe, would have any objection to dancing, as his brother would
be most happy to be introduced to her. Catherine, without hesitation, replied
that she was very sure Miss Thorpe did not mean to dance at all. The cruel
reply was passed on to the other, and he immediately walked away.
"Your brother will not mind it, I know,"
said she, "because I heard him say before that he hated dancing; but it
was very good-natured in him to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting
down, and fancied she might wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for
she would not dance upon any account in the world."
Henry smiled, and said, "How very little
trouble it can give you to understand the motive of other people's
actions."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"With you, it is not, How is such a one likely
to be influenced, What is the inducement most likely to act upon such a
person's feelings, age, situation, and probable habits of life considered—but,
How should I be influenced, What would be my inducement in acting so and
so?"
"I do not understand you."
"Then we are on very unequal terms, for I
understand you perfectly well."
"Me? Yes; I cannot speak well enough to be
unintelligible."
"Bravo! An excellent satire on modern
language."
"But pray tell me what you mean."
"Shall I indeed? Do you really desire it? But
you are not aware of the consequences; it will involve you in a very cruel
embarrassment, and certainly bring on a disagreement between us.
"No, no; it shall not do either; I am not
afraid."
"Well, then, I only meant that your
attributing my brother's wish of dancing with Miss Thorpe to good nature alone
convinced me of your being superior in good nature yourself to all the rest of
the world."
Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the
gentleman's predictions were verified. There was a something, however, in his
words which repaid her for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied
her mind so much that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to
listen, and almost forgetting where she was; till, roused by the voice of
Isabella, she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to give them
hands across.
Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the
only explanation of this extraordinary change which could at that time be
given; but as it was not quite enough for Catherine's comprehension, she spoke
her astonishment in very plain terms to her partner.
"I cannot think how it could happen! Isabella
was so determined not to dance."
"And did Isabella never change her mind
before?"
"Oh! But, because—And your brother! After what
you told him from me, how could he think of going to ask her?"
"I cannot take surprise to myself on that
head. You bid me be surprised on your friend's account, and therefore I am; but
as for my brother, his conduct in the business, I must own, has been no more
than I believed him perfectly equal to. The fairness of your friend was an open
attraction; her firmness, you know, could only be understood by yourself."
"You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella
is very firm in general."
"It is as much as should be said of anyone. To
be always firm must be to be often obstinate. When properly to relax is the
trial of judgment; and, without reference to my brother, I really think Miss
Thorpe has by no means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour."
The friends were not able to get together for any
confidential discourse till all the dancing was over; but then, as they walked
about the room arm in arm, Isabella thus explained herself: "I do not
wonder at your surprise; and I am really fatigued to death. He is such a
rattle! Amusing enough, if my mind had been disengaged; but I would have given
the world to sit still."
"Then why did not you?"
"Oh! My dear! It would have looked so
particular; and you know how I abhor doing that. I refused him as long as I
possibly could, but he would take no denial. You have no idea how he pressed
me. I begged him to excuse me, and get some other partner—but no, not he; after
aspiring to my hand, there was nobody else in the room he could bear to think
of; and it was not that he wanted merely to dance, he wanted to be with me. Oh!
Such nonsense! I told him he had taken a very unlikely way to prevail upon me;
for, of all things in the world, I hated fine speeches and compliments; and so—and
so then I found there would be no peace if I did not stand up. Besides, I
thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced him, might take it ill if I did not: and
your dear brother, I am sure he would have been miserable if I had sat down the
whole evening. I am so glad it is over! My spirits are quite jaded with
listening to his nonsense: and then, being such a smart young fellow, I saw
every eye was upon us."
"He is very handsome indeed."
"Handsome! Yes, I suppose he may. I dare say
people would admire him in general; but he is not at all in my style of beauty.
I hate a florid complexion and dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well.
Amazingly conceited, I am sure. I took him down several times, you know, in my
way."
When the young ladies next met, they had a far more
interesting subject to discuss. James Morland's second letter was then
received, and the kind intentions of his father fully explained. A living, of
which Mr. Morland was himself patron and incumbent, of about four hundred
pounds yearly value, was to be resigned to his son as soon as he should be old
enough to take it; no trifling deduction from the family income, no niggardly
assignment to one of ten children. An estate of at least equal value, moreover,
was assured as his future inheritance.
James expressed himself on the occasion with
becoming gratitude; and the necessity of waiting between two and three years
before they could marry, being, however unwelcome, no more than he had
expected, was borne by him without discontent. Catherine, whose expectations
had been as unfixed as her ideas of her father's income, and whose judgment was
now entirely led by her brother, felt equally well satisfied, and heartily
congratulated Isabella on having everything so pleasantly settled.
"It is very charming indeed," said
Isabella, with a grave face. "Mr. Morland has behaved vastly handsome
indeed," said the gentle Mrs. Thorpe, looking anxiously at her daughter.
"I only wish I could do as much. One could not expect more from him, you
know. If he finds he can do more by and by, I dare say he will, for I am sure
he must be an excellent good-hearted man. Four hundred is but a small income to
begin on indeed, but your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, you do not
consider how little you ever want, my dear."
"It is not on my own account I wish for more;
but I cannot bear to be the means of injuring my dear Morland, making him sit
down upon an income hardly enough to find one in the common necessaries of
life. For myself, it is nothing; I never think of myself."
"I know you never do, my dear; and you will
always find your reward in the affection it makes everybody feel for you. There
never was a young woman so beloved as you are by everybody that knows you; and
I dare say when Mr. Morland sees you, my dear child—but do not let us distress
our dear Catherine by talking of such things. Mr. Morland has behaved so very
handsome, you know. I always heard he was a most excellent man; and you know,
my dear, we are not to suppose but what, if you had had a suitable fortune, he
would have come down with something more, for I am sure he must be a most
liberal-minded man."
"Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I
do, I am sure. But everybody has their failing, you know, and everybody has a
right to do what they like with their own money." Catherine was hurt by
these insinuations. "I am very sure," said she, "that my father
has promised to do as much as he can afford."
Isabella recollected herself. "As to that, my
sweet Catherine, there cannot be a doubt, and you know me well enough to be
sure that a much smaller income would satisfy me. It is not the want of more
money that makes me just at present a little out of spirits; I hate money; and
if our union could take place now upon only fifty pounds a year, I should not
have a wish unsatisfied. Ah! my Catherine, you have found me out. There's the
sting. The long, long, endless two years and half that are to pass before your
brother can hold the living."
"Yes, yes, my darling Isabella," said
Mrs. Thorpe, "we perfectly see into your heart. You have no disguise. We
perfectly understand the present vexation; and everybody must love you the
better for such a noble honest affection."
Catherine's uncomfortable feelings began to lessen.
She endeavoured to believe that the delay of the marriage was the only source
of Isabella's regret; and when she saw her at their next interview as cheerful
and amiable as ever, endeavoured to forget that she had for a minute thought
otherwise. James soon followed his letter, and was received with the most
gratifying kindness.
