“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 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.