I
have met him forever at the Bedford; and I knew his face again to-day
the moment he came into the billiard-room. One of the best players we
have, by the by; and we had a little touch together, though I was
almost afraid of him at first: the odds were five to four against me;
and, if I had not made one of the cleanest strokes that perhaps ever
was made in this world—I took his ball exactly—but I could not make you
understand it without a table; however, I _did_ beat him. A very fine
fellow; as rich as a Jew. I should like to dine with him; I dare say he
gives famous dinners. But what do you think we have been talking of? You. Yes, by heavens! and the General thinks you the finest girl in
Bath.”

“Oh! nonsense! how can you say so?”

“And what do you think I said?”—lowering his voice—“well done, General,
said I; I am quite of your mind.”

Here Catherine, who was much less gratified by his admiration than by
General Tilney’s, was not sorry to be called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe,
however, would see her to her chair, and, till she entered it,
continued the same kind of delicate flattery, in spite of her
entreating him to have done. That General Tilney, instead of disliking, should admire her, was very
delightful; and she joyfully thought that there was not one of the
family whom she need now fear to meet. The evening had done more, much
more, for her than could have been expected. CHAPTER 13


Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday have now
passed in review before the reader; the events of each day, its hopes
and fears, mortifications and pleasures, have been separately stated,
and the pangs of Sunday only now remain to be described, and close the
week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relinquished, and on
the afternoon’s Crescent of this day, it was brought forward again. In
a private consultation between Isabella and James, the former of whom
had particularly set her heart upon going, and the latter no less
anxiously placed his upon pleasing her, it was agreed that, provided
the weather were fair, the party should take place on the following
morning; and they were to set off very early, in order to be at home in
good time. The affair thus determined, and Thorpe’s approbation
secured, Catherine only remained to be apprised of it. She had left
them for a few minutes to speak to Miss Tilney. In that interval the
plan was completed, and as soon as she came again, her agreement was
demanded; but instead of the gay acquiescence expected by Isabella,
Catherine looked grave, was very sorry, but could not go. The
engagement which ought to have kept her from joining in the former
attempt would make it impossible for her to accompany them now. She had
that moment settled with Miss Tilney to take their proposed walk
to-morrow; it was quite determined, and she would not, upon any account,
retract. But that she _must_ and _should_ retract, was instantly the
eager cry of both the Thorpes; they must go to Clifton to-morrow, they
would not go without her, it would be nothing to put off a mere walk
for one day longer, and they would not hear of a refusal. Catherine was
distressed, but not subdued. “Do not urge me, Isabella. I am engaged to
Miss Tilney. I cannot go.” This availed nothing. The same arguments
assailed her again; she must go, she should go, and they would not hear
of a refusal. “It would be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that you had
just been reminded of a prior engagement, and must only beg to put off
the walk till Tuesday.”

“No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There has been no prior
engagement.” But Isabella became only more and more urgent, calling on
her in the most affectionate manner, addressing her by the most
endearing names. She was sure her dearest, sweetest Catherine would not
seriously refuse such a trifling request to a friend who loved her so
dearly. She knew her beloved Catherine to have so feeling a heart, so
sweet a temper, to be so easily persuaded by those she loved. But all
in vain; Catherine felt herself to be in the right, and though pained
by such tender, such flattering supplication, could not allow it to
influence her. Isabella then tried another method. She reproached her
with having more affection for Miss Tilney, though she had known her so
little a while, than for her best and oldest friends, with being grown
cold and indifferent, in short, towards herself. “I cannot help being
jealous, Catherine, when I see myself slighted for strangers, I, who
love you so excessively! when once my affections are placed, it is not
in the power of anything to change them. But I believe my feelings are
stronger than anybody’s; I am sure they are too strong for my own
peace; and to see myself supplanted in your friendship by strangers
does cut me to the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem to swallow up
everything else.”

Catherine thought this reproach equally strange and unkind. Was it the
part of a friend thus to expose her feelings to the notice of others? Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, regardless of
everything but her own gratification. These painful ideas crossed her
mind, though she said nothing. Isabella, in the meanwhile, had applied
her handkerchief to her eyes; and Morland, miserable at such a sight,
could not help saying, “Nay, Catherine. I think you cannot stand out
any longer now. The sacrifice is not much; and to oblige such a
friend—I shall think you quite unkind, if you still refuse.”

This was the first time of her brother’s openly siding against her, and
anxious to avoid his displeasure, she proposed a compromise. If they
would only put off their scheme till Tuesday, which they might easily
do, as it depended only on themselves, she could go with them, and
everybody might then be satisfied. But “No, no, no!” was the immediate
answer; “that could not be, for Thorpe did not know that he might not
go to town on Tuesday.” Catherine was sorry, but could do no more; and
a short silence ensued, which was broken by Isabella, who in a voice of
cold resentment said, “Very well, then there is an end of the party. If
Catherine does not go, I cannot. I cannot be the only woman. I would
not, upon any account in the world, do so improper a thing.”

“Catherine, you must go,” said James. “But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say
either of them would like to go.”

“Thank ye,” cried Thorpe, “but I did not come to Bath to drive my
sisters about, and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d—— me if I
do. I only go for the sake of driving you.”

“That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure.” But her words were
lost on Thorpe, who had turned abruptly away. The three others still continued together, walking in a most
uncomfortable manner to poor Catherine; sometimes not a word was said,
sometimes she was again attacked with supplications or reproaches, and
her arm was still linked within Isabella’s, though their hearts were at
war.