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.