“If your brother had not got such a d—— beast to drive,” said he soon
afterwards, “we might have done it very well. My horse would have
trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to himself, and I have
almost broke my arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded
jade’s pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his
own.”

“No, he is not,” said Catherine warmly, “for I am sure he could not
afford it.”

“And why cannot he afford it?”

“Because he has not money enough.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Nobody’s, that I know of.” Thorpe then said something in the loud,
incoherent way to which he had often recourse, about its being a
d—— thing to be miserly; and that if people who rolled in money could not
afford things, he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even
endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to have been the
consolation for her first disappointment, she was less and less
disposed either to be agreeable herself or to find her companion so;
and they returned to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words. As she entered the house, the footman told her that a gentleman and
lady had called and inquired for her a few minutes after her setting
off; that, when he told them she was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady
had asked whether any message had been left for her; and on his saying
no, had felt for a card, but said she had none about her, and went
away. Pondering over these heart-rending tidings, Catherine walked
slowly upstairs. At the head of them she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on
hearing the reason of their speedy return, said, “I am glad your
brother had so much sense; I am glad you are come back. It was a
strange, wild scheme.”

They all spent the evening together at Thorpe’s. Catherine was
disturbed and out of spirits; but Isabella seemed to find a pool of
commerce, in the fate of which she shared, by private partnership with
Morland, a very good equivalent for the quiet and country air of an inn
at Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not being at the Lower Rooms was
spoken more than once. “How I pity the poor creatures that are going
there! how glad I am that I am not amongst them! i wonder whether it
will be a full ball or not! they have not begun dancing yet. I would
not be there for all the world. It is so delightful to have an evening
now and then to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball. I
know the Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I pity everybody that
is. But I dare say, Mr. Morland, you long to be at it, do not you? I am
sure you do. Well, pray do not let anybody here be a restraint on you. I dare say we could do very well without you; but you men think
yourselves of such consequence.”

Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being wanting in
tenderness towards herself and her sorrows, so very little did they
appear to dwell on her mind, and so very inadequate was the comfort she
offered. “Do not be so dull, my dearest creature,” she whispered. “You
will quite break my heart. It was amazingly shocking, to be sure; but
the Tilneys were entirely to blame. Why were not they more punctual? It
was dirty, indeed, but what did that signify? I am sure John and I
should not have minded it. I never mind going through anything, where a
friend is concerned; that is my disposition, and John is just the same;
he has amazing strong feelings. Good heavens! what a delightful hand
you have got! kings, I vow! i never was so happy in my life! i would
fifty times rather you should have them than myself.”

And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the
true heroine’s portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with
tears. And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night’s
rest in the course of the next three months. CHAPTER 12


“Mrs. Allen,” said Catherine the next morning, “will there be any harm
in my calling on Miss Tilney to-day? I shall not be easy till I have
explained everything.”

“Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney
always wears white.”

Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was more
impatient than ever to be at the pump-room, that she might inform
herself of General Tilney’s lodgings, for though she believed they were
in Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen’s
wavering convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she
was directed, and having made herself perfect in the number, hastened
away with eager steps and a beating heart to pay her visit, explain her
conduct, and be forgiven; tripping lightly through the church-yard, and
resolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see
her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason to
believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached the house without any
impediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired for
Miss Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not
quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave her
card. In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look which did
not quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss
Tilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification, left
the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney _was_ at home,
and too much offended to admit her; and as she retired down the street,
could not withhold one glance at the drawing-room windows, in
expectation of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them. At the
bottom of the street, however, she looked back again, and then, not at
a window, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss Tilney herself. She
was followed by a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,
and they turned up towards Edgar’s Buildings. Catherine, in deep
mortification, proceeded on her way. She could almost be angry herself
at such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation; she
remembered her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers
might be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degree of
unforgivingness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours of
rudeness in return it might justly make her amenable. Dejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not going with the
others to the theatre that night; but it must be confessed that they
were not of long continuance, for she soon recollected, in the first
place, that she was without any excuse for staying at home; and, in the
second, that it was a play she wanted very much to see.