“Oh, no; Catherine
was sure they would not have the least objection, and she should have
great pleasure in coming.” The General attended her himself to the
street-door, saying everything gallant as they went downstairs,
admiring the elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with
the spirit of her dancing, and making her one of the most graceful bows
she had ever beheld, when they parted. Catherine, delighted by all that had passed, proceeded gaily to
Pulteney Street, walking, as she concluded, with great elasticity,
though she had never thought of it before. She reached home without
seeing anything more of the offended party; and now that she had been
triumphant throughout, had carried her point, and was secure of her
walk, she began (as the flutter of her spirits subsided) to doubt
whether she had been perfectly right. A sacrifice was always noble; and
if she had given way to their entreaties, she should have been spared
the distressing idea of a friend displeased, a brother angry, and a
scheme of great happiness to both destroyed, perhaps through her means. To ease her mind, and ascertain by the opinion of an unprejudiced
person what her own conduct had really been, she took occasion to
mention before Mr. Allen the half-settled scheme of her brother and the
Thorpes for the following day. Mr. Allen caught at it directly. “Well,”
said he, “and do you think of going too?”

“No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they
told me of it; and therefore you know I could not go with them, could
I?”

“No, certainly not; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes
are not at all the thing. Young men and women driving about the country
in open carriages! now and then it is very well; but going to inns and
public places together! it is not right; and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe
should allow it. I am glad you do not think of going; I am sure Mrs.
Morland would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of
thinking? Do not you think these kind of projects objectionable?”

“Yes, very much so indeed. Open carriages are nasty things. A clean
gown is not five minutes’ wear in them. You are splashed getting in and
getting out; and the wind takes your hair and your bonnet in every
direction. I hate an open carriage myself.”

“I know you do; but that is not the question. Do not you think it has
an odd appearance, if young ladies are frequently driven about in them
by young men, to whom they are not even related?”

“Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance indeed. I cannot bear to see it.”

“Dear madam,” cried Catherine, “then why did not you tell me so before? I am sure if I had known it to be improper, I would not have gone with
Mr. Thorpe at all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you thought
I was doing wrong.”

“And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for as I told Mrs.
Morland at parting, I would always do the best for you in my power. But
one must not be over particular. Young people _will_ be young people,
as your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first
came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young people do
not like to be always thwarted.”

“But this was something of real consequence; and I do not think you
would have found me hard to persuade.”

“As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm done,” said Mr.
Allen; “and I would only advise you, my dear, not to go out with Mr.
Thorpe any more.”

“That is just what I was going to say,” added his wife. Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella, and after a
moment’s thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it would not be both proper
and kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of
which she must be as insensible as herself; for she considered that
Isabella might otherwise perhaps be going to Clifton the next day, in
spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, however, discouraged her from
doing any such thing. “You had better leave her alone, my dear; she is
old enough to know what she is about, and if not, has a mother to
advise her. Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt; but, however,
you had better not interfere. She and your brother choose to go, and
you will be only getting ill will.”

Catherine submitted, and though sorry to think that Isabella should be
doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by Mr. Allen’s approbation of her
own conduct, and truly rejoiced to be preserved by his advice from the
danger of falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being one
of the party to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for what would the
Tilneys have thought of her, if she had broken her promise to them in
order to do what was wrong in itself, if she had been guilty of one
breach of propriety, only to enable her to be guilty of another? CHAPTER 14


The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another attack
from the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no
dread of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, where
victory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoiced therefore at
neither seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called for her
at the appointed time; and no new difficulty arising, no sudden
recollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to
disconcert their measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able to
fulfil her engagement, though it was made with the hero himself. They
determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whose
beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an object
from almost every opening in Bath. “I never look at it,” said Catherine, as they walked along the side of
the river, “without thinking of the south of France.”

“You have been abroad then?” said Henry, a little surprised. “Oh! no, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in mind
of the country that Emily and her father travelled through, in The
Mysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?”

“Why not?”

“Because they are not clever enough for you—gentlemen read better
books.”

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good
novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe’s
works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho,
when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember
finishing it in two days—my hair standing on end the whole time.”

“Yes,” added Miss Tilney, “and I remember that you undertook to read it
aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to
answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the
Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it.”

“Thank you, Eleanor—a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss Morland,
the injustice of your suspicions.