But I do assure you that he must be entirely
misunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any
woman at all, or an unkind one of me.”

It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never
be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must
always be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as
ready to admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and
though it ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too; her
friends attended her into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they
parted, addressing herself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen
as to Catherine, petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner
on the day after the next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen’s side,
and the only difficulty on Catherine’s was in concealing the excess of
her pleasure. The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish all her
friendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or James
had crossed her during their walk. When the Tilneys were gone, she
became amiable again, but she was amiable for some time to little
effect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her
anxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards the end of the
morning, however, Catherine, having occasion for some indispensable
yard of ribbon which must be bought without a moment’s delay, walked
out into the town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe
as she was loitering towards Edgar’s Buildings between two of the
sweetest girls in the world, who had been her dear friends all the
morning. From her, she soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken
place. “They set off at eight this morning,” said Miss Anne, “and I am
sure I do not envy them their drive. I think you and I are very well
off to be out of the scrape. It must be the dullest thing in the world,
for there is not a soul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle went
with your brother, and John drove Maria.”

Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of
the arrangement. “Oh! yes,” rejoined the other, “Maria is gone. She was quite wild to
go. She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire
her taste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go,
if they pressed me ever so much.”

Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, “I wish
you could have gone too. It is a pity you could not all go.”

“Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, I
would not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophia
when you overtook us.”

Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the
friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu
without much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party had
not been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily
wishing that it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella
to resent her resistance any longer. CHAPTER 15


Early the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking peace and tenderness
in every line, and entreating the immediate presence of her friend on a
matter of the utmost importance, hastened Catherine, in the happiest
state of confidence and curiosity, to Edgar’s Buildings. The two
youngest Miss Thorpes were by themselves in the parlour; and, on Anne’s
quitting it to call her sister, Catherine took the opportunity of
asking the other for some particulars of their yesterday’s party. Maria
desired no greater pleasure than to speak of it; and Catherine
immediately learnt that it had been altogether the most delightful
scheme in the world, that nobody could imagine how charming it had
been, and that it had been more delightful than anybody could conceive. Such was the information of the first five minutes; the second unfolded
thus much in detail—that they had driven directly to the York Hotel,
ate some soup, and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the
pump-room, tasted the water, and laid out some shillings in purses and
spars; thence adjourned to eat ice at a pastry-cook’s, and hurrying
back to the hotel, swallowed their dinner in haste, to prevent being in
the dark; and then had a delightful drive back, only the moon was not
up, and it rained a little, and Mr. Morland’s horse was so tired he
could hardly get it along. Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It appeared that Blaize
Castle had never been thought of; and, as for all the rest, there was
nothing to regret for half an instant. Maria’s intelligence concluded
with a tender effusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she
represented as insupportably cross, from being excluded the party. “She will never forgive me, I am sure; but, you know, how could I help
it? John would have me go, for he vowed he would not drive her, because
she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in good humour
again this month; but I am determined I will not be cross; it is not a
little matter that puts me out of temper.”

Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and a look of such
happy importance, as engaged all her friend’s notice. Maria was without
ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began:
“Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not
deceived you. Oh, that arch eye of yours! it sees through everything.”

Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance. “Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend,” continued the other, “compose
yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as you perceive. Let us sit down and
talk in comfort. Well, and so you guessed it the moment you had my
note? Sly creature! oh! my dear Catherine, you alone, who know my
heart, can judge of my present happiness. Your brother is the most
charming of men. I only wish I were more worthy of him. But what will
your excellent father and mother say? Oh! heavens! when I think of them
I am so agitated!”

Catherine’s understanding began to awake: an idea of the truth suddenly
darted into her mind; and, with the natural blush of so new an emotion,
she cried out, “Good heaven! my dear Isabella, what do you mean? Can
you—can you really be in love with James?”

This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt comprehended but half the
fact. The anxious affection, which she was accused of having
continually watched in Isabella’s every look and action, had, in the
course of their yesterday’s party, received the delightful confession
of an equal love. Her heart and faith were alike engaged to James. Never had Catherine listened to anything so full of interest, wonder,
and joy. Her brother and her friend engaged! new to such circumstances,
the importance of it appeared unspeakably great, and she contemplated
it as one of those grand events, of which the ordinary course of life
can hardly afford a return. The strength of her feelings she could not
express; the nature of them, however, contented her friend.