Just at present it comes hard to poor James; but that will not
last forever; and I dare say he will be a discreeter man all his life,
for the foolishness of his first choice.”

This was just such a summary view of the affair as Catherine could
listen to; another sentence might have endangered her complaisance, and
made her reply less rational; for soon were all her thinking powers
swallowed up in the reflection of her own change of feelings and
spirits since last she had trodden that well-known road. It was not
three months ago since, wild with joyful expectation, she had there run
backwards and forwards some ten times a day, with an heart light, gay,
and independent; looking forward to pleasures untasted and unalloyed,
and free from the apprehension of evil as from the knowledge of it. Three months ago had seen her all this; and now, how altered a being
did she return! She was received by the Allens with all the kindness which her
unlooked-for appearance, acting on a steady affection, would naturally
call forth; and great was their surprise, and warm their displeasure,
on hearing how she had been treated—though Mrs. Morland’s account of it
was no inflated representation, no studied appeal to their passions. “Catherine took us quite by surprise yesterday evening,” said she. “She
travelled all the way post by herself, and knew nothing of coming till
Saturday night; for General Tilney, from some odd fancy or other, all
of a sudden grew tired of having her there, and almost turned her out
of the house. Very unfriendly, certainly; and he must be a very odd
man; but we are so glad to have her amongst us again! and it is a great
comfort to find that she is not a poor helpless creature, but can shift
very well for herself.”

Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with the reasonable
resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allen thought his expressions
quite good enough to be immediately made use of again by herself. His
wonder, his conjectures, and his explanations became in succession
hers, with the addition of this single remark—“I really have not
patience with the General”—to fill up every accidental pause. And, “I
really have not patience with the General,” was uttered twice after Mr.
Allen left the room, without any relaxation of anger, or any material
digression of thought. A more considerable degree of wandering attended
the third repetition; and, after completing the fourth, she immediately
added, “Only think, my dear, of my having got that frightful great rent
in my best Mechlin so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that one
can hardly see where it was. I must show it you some day or other. Bath
is a nice place, Catherine, after all. I assure you I did not above
half like coming away. Mrs. Thorpe’s being there was such a comfort to
us, was not it? You know, you and I were quite forlorn at first.”

“Yes, but _that_ did not last long,” said Catherine, her eyes
brightening at the recollection of what had first given spirit to her
existence there. “Very true: we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then we wanted for
nothing. My dear, do not you think these silk gloves wear very well? I
put them on new the first time of our going to the Lower Rooms, you
know, and I have worn them a great deal since. Do you remember that
evening?”

“Do I! oh! perfectly.”

“It was very agreeable, was not it? Mr. Tilney drank tea with us, and I
always thought him a great addition, he is so very agreeable. I have a
notion you danced with him, but am not quite sure. I remember I had my
favourite gown on.”

Catherine could not answer; and, after a short trial of other subjects,
Mrs. Allen again returned to—“I really have not patience with the
General! such an agreeable, worthy man as he seemed to be! i do not
suppose, Mrs. Morland, you ever saw a better-bred man in your life. His
lodgings were taken the very day after he left them, Catherine. But no
wonder; Milsom Street, you know.”

As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured to impress on her
daughter’s mind the happiness of having such steady well-wishers as Mr.
and Mrs. Allen, and the very little consideration which the neglect or
unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with
her, while she could preserve the good opinion and affection of her
earliest friends. There was a great deal of good sense in all this; but
there are some situations of the human mind in which good sense has
very little power; and Catherine’s feelings contradicted almost every
position her mother advanced. It was upon the behaviour of these very
slight acquaintance that all her present happiness depended; and while
Mrs. Morland was successfully confirming her own opinions by the
justness of her own representations, Catherine was silently reflecting
that _now_ Henry must have arrived at Northanger; _now_ he must have
heard of her departure; and _now_, perhaps, they were all setting off
for Hereford. CHAPTER 30


Catherine’s disposition was not naturally sedentary, nor had her habits
been ever very industrious; but whatever might hitherto have been her
defects of that sort, her mother could not but perceive them now to be
greatly increased. She could neither sit still nor employ herself for
ten minutes together, walking round the garden and orchard again and
again, as if nothing but motion was voluntary; and it seemed as if she
could even walk about the house rather than remain fixed for any time
in the parlour. Her loss of spirits was a yet greater alteration. In
her rambling and her idleness she might only be a caricature of
herself; but in her silence and sadness she was the very reverse of all
that she had been before. For two days Mrs. Morland allowed it to pass even without a hint; but
when a third night’s rest had neither restored her cheerfulness,
improved her in useful activity, nor given her a greater inclination
for needlework, she could no longer refrain from the gentle reproof of,
“My dear Catherine, I am afraid you are growing quite a fine lady. I do
not know when poor Richard’s cravats would be done, if he had no friend
but you. Your head runs too much upon Bath; but there is a time for
everything—a time for balls and plays, and a time for work. You have
had a long run of amusement, and now you must try to be useful.”

Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a dejected voice, that
“her head did not run upon Bath—much.”

“Then you are fretting about General Tilney, and that is very simple of
you; for ten to one whether you ever see him again. You should never
fret about trifles.” After a short silence—“I hope, my Catherine, you
are not getting out of humour with home because it is not so grand as
Northanger. That would be turning your visit into an evil indeed. Wherever you are you should always be contented, but especially at
home, because there you must spend the most of your time.