A neighbour of ours, Dr.
Skinner, was here for his health last winter, and came away quite
stout.”

“That circumstance must give great encouragement.”

“Yes, sir—and Dr. Skinner and his family were here three months; so I
tell Mr. Allen he must not be in a hurry to get away.”

Here they were interrupted by a request from Mrs. Thorpe to Mrs. Allen,
that she would move a little to accommodate Mrs. Hughes and Miss Tilney
with seats, as they had agreed to join their party. This was
accordingly done, Mr. Tilney still continuing standing before them; and
after a few minutes’ consideration, he asked Catherine to dance with
him. This compliment, delightful as it was, produced severe
mortification to the lady; and in giving her denial, she expressed her
sorrow on the occasion so very much as if she really felt it, that had
Thorpe, who joined her just afterwards, been half a minute earlier, he
might have thought her sufferings rather too acute. The very easy
manner in which he then told her that he had kept her waiting did not
by any means reconcile her more to her lot; nor did the particulars
which he entered into while they were standing up, of the horses and
dogs of the friend whom he had just left, and of a proposed exchange of
terriers between them, interest her so much as to prevent her looking
very often towards that part of the room where she had left Mr. Tilney. Of her dear Isabella, to whom she particularly longed to point out that
gentleman, she could see nothing. They were in different sets. She was
separated from all her party, and away from all her acquaintance; one
mortification succeeded another, and from the whole she deduced this
useful lesson, that to go previously engaged to a ball does not
necessarily increase either the dignity or enjoyment of a young lady. From such a moralizing strain as this, she was suddenly roused by a
touch on the shoulder, and turning round, perceived Mrs. Hughes
directly behind her, attended by Miss Tilney and a gentleman. “I beg
your pardon, Miss Morland,” said she, “for this liberty—but I cannot
anyhow get to Miss Thorpe, and Mrs. Thorpe said she was sure you would
not have the least objection to letting in this young lady by you.”
Mrs. Hughes could not have applied to any creature in the room more
happy to oblige her than Catherine. The young ladies were introduced to
each other, Miss Tilney expressing a proper sense of such goodness,
Miss Morland with the real delicacy of a generous mind making light of
the obligation; and Mrs. Hughes, satisfied with having so respectably
settled her young charge, returned to her party. Miss Tilney had a good figure, a pretty face, and a very agreeable
countenance; and her air, though it had not all the decided pretension,
the resolute stylishness of Miss Thorpe’s, had more real elegance. Her
manners showed good sense and good breeding; they were neither shy nor
affectedly open; and she seemed capable of being young, attractive, and
at a ball without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her,
and without exaggerated feelings of ecstatic delight or inconceivable
vexation on every little trifling occurrence. Catherine, interested at
once by her appearance and her relationship to Mr. Tilney, was desirous
of being acquainted with her, and readily talked therefore whenever she
could think of anything to say, and had courage and leisure for saying
it. But the hindrance thrown in the way of a very speedy intimacy, by
the frequent want of one or more of these requisites, prevented their
doing more than going through the first rudiments of an acquaintance,
by informing themselves how well the other liked Bath, how much she
admired its buildings and surrounding country, whether she drew, or
played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on horseback. The two dances were scarcely concluded before Catherine found her arm
gently seized by her faithful Isabella, who in great spirits exclaimed,
“At last I have got you. My dearest creature, I have been looking for
you this hour. What could induce you to come into this set, when you
knew I was in the other? I have been quite wretched without you.”

“My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get at you? I could
not even see where you were.”

“So I told your brother all the time—but he would not believe me. Do go
and see for her, Mr. Morland, said I—but all in vain—he would not stir
an inch. Was not it so, Mr. Morland? But you men are all so
immoderately lazy! i have been scolding him to such a degree, my dear
Catherine, you would be quite amazed. You know I never stand upon
ceremony with such people.”

“Look at that young lady with the white beads round her head,”
whispered Catherine, detaching her friend from James. “It is Mr.
Tilney’s sister.”

“Oh! heavens! you don’t say so! let me look at her this moment. What a
delightful girl! i never saw anything half so beautiful! but where is
her all-conquering brother? Is he in the room? Point him out to me this
instant, if he is. I die to see him. Mr. Morland, you are not to
listen. We are not talking about you.”

“But what is all this whispering about? What is going on?”

“There now, I knew how it would be. You men have such restless
curiosity! talk of the curiosity of women, indeed! ’Tis nothing. But be
satisfied, for you are not to know anything at all of the matter.”

“And is that likely to satisfy me, do you think?”

“Well, I declare I never knew anything like you. What can it signify to
you, what we are talking of. Perhaps we are talking about you;
therefore I would advise you not to listen, or you may happen to hear
something not very agreeable.”

In this commonplace chatter, which lasted some time, the original
subject seemed entirely forgotten; and though Catherine was very well
pleased to have it dropped for a while, she could not avoid a little
suspicion at the total suspension of all Isabella’s impatient desire to
see Mr. Tilney. When the orchestra struck up a fresh dance, James would
have led his fair partner away, but she resisted. “I tell you, Mr.
Morland,” she cried, “I would not do such a thing for all the world. How can you be so teasing; only conceive, my dear Catherine, what your
brother wants me to do. He wants me to dance with him again, though I
tell him that it is a most improper thing, and entirely against the
rules. It would make us the talk of the place, if we were not to change
partners.”

“Upon my honour,” said James, “in these public assemblies, it is as
often done as not.”

“Nonsense, how can you say so? But when you men have a point to carry,
you never stick at anything. My sweet Catherine, do support me;
persuade your brother how impossible it is. Tell him that it would
quite shock you to see me do such a thing; now would not it?”

“No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had much better
change.”

“There,” cried Isabella, “you hear what your sister says, and yet you
will not mind her.