Every five
minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater openings for her
charms. She was now seen by many young men who had not been near her
before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding
her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once
called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and
had the company only seen her three years before, they would _now_ have
thought her exceedingly handsome. She _was_ looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in her own
hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty girl. Such words
had their due effect; she immediately thought the evening pleasanter
than she had found it before—her humble vanity was contented—she felt
more obliged to the two young men for this simple praise than a
true quality heroine would have been for fifteen sonnets in celebration
of her charms, and went to her chair in good humour with everybody, and
perfectly satisfied with her share of public attention. CHAPTER 3


Every morning now brought its regular duties—shops were to be visited;
some new part of the town to be looked at; and the Pump-room to be
attended, where they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at
everybody and speaking to no one. The wish of a numerous acquaintance
in Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she repeated it after
every fresh proof, which every morning brought, of her knowing nobody
at all. They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here fortune was
more favourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies introduced
to her a very gentleman-like young man as a partner; his name was
Tilney. He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall,
had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if
not quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and
Catherine felt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for
speaking while they danced; but when they were seated at tea, she found
him as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being. He
talked with fluency and spirit—and there was an archness and pleasantry
in his manner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her. After chatting some time on such matters as naturally arose from the
objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with—“I have hitherto
been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I
have not yet asked you how long you have been in Bath; whether you were
ever here before; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, the
theatre, and the concert; and how you like the place altogether. I have
been very negligent—but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these
particulars? If you are I will begin directly.”

“You need not give yourself that trouble, sir.”

“No trouble, I assure you, madam.” Then forming his features into a set
smile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added, with a simpering
air, “Have you been long in Bath, madam?”

“About a week, sir,” replied Catherine, trying not to laugh. “Really!” with affected astonishment. “Why should you be surprised, sir?”

“Why, indeed!” said he, in his natural tone. “But some emotion must
appear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed,
and not less reasonable than any other. Now let us go on. Were you
never here before, madam?”

“Never, sir.”

“Indeed! have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?”

“Yes, sir, I was there last Monday.”

“Have you been to the theatre?”

“Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday.”

“To the concert?”

“Yes, sir, on Wednesday.”

“And are you altogether pleased with Bath?”

“Yes—I like it very well.”

“Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again.”
Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture
to laugh. “I see what you think of me,” said he gravely—“I shall make
but a poor figure in your journal to-morrow.”

“My journal!”

“Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower
Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings—plain black
shoes—appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a
queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and
distressed me by his nonsense.”

“Indeed I shall say no such thing.”

“Shall I tell you what you ought to say?”

“If you please.”

“I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had
a great deal of conversation with him—seems a most extraordinary
genius—hope I may know more of him. _That_, madam, is what I _wish_ you
to say.”

“But, perhaps, I keep no journal.”

“Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. These are points in which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a
journal! how are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your
life in Bath without one? How are the civilities and compliments of
every day to be related as they ought to be, unless noted down every
evening in a journal? How are your various dresses to be remembered,
and the particular state of your complexion, and curl of your hair to
be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse
to a journal? My dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies’ ways
as you wish to believe me; it is this delightful habit of journaling
which largely contributes to form the easy style of writing for which
ladies are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows that the talent of
writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature may have done
something, but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by the
practice of keeping a journal.”

“I have sometimes thought,” said Catherine, doubtingly, “whether ladies
do write so much better letters than gentlemen! that is—I should not
think the superiority was always on our side.”

“As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the
usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three
particulars.”

“And what are they?”

“A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a
very frequent ignorance of grammar.”

“Upon my word! i need not have been afraid of disclaiming the
compliment. You do not think too highly of us in that way.”

“I should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write better
letters than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better
landscapes. In every power, of which taste is the foundation,
excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.”

They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen: “My dear Catherine,” said she, “do
take this pin out of my sleeve; I am afraid it has torn a hole already;
I shall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a favourite gown, though
it cost but nine shillings a yard.”

“That is exactly what I should have guessed it, madam,” said Mr.
Tilney, looking at the muslin. “Do you understand muslins, sir?”

“Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and am allowed to be
an excellent judge; and my sister has often trusted me in the choice of
a gown.