CHAPTER 12
”Mrs. Allen,” said Catherine the next morning, ”will there be any harmin my calling on Miss Tilney today? I shall not be easy till I haveexplained everything.”
”Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney alwayswears white.”
Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was moreimpatient than ever to be at the pump-room, that she might informherself of General Tilney's lodgings, for though she believed they werein Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen'swavering convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street shewas directed, and having made herself perfect in the number, hastenedaway with eager steps and a beating heart to pay her visit, explain herconduct, and be forgiven; tripping lightly through the church-yard, andresolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged tosee her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason tobelieve, were in a shop hard by. She reached the house without anyimpediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired forMiss Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was notquite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave hercard. In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look which didnot quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that MissTilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification, leftthe house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney was at home, andtoo much offended to admit her; and as she retired down the street,could not withhold one glance at the drawing-room windows, inexpectation of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them. At thebottom of the street, however, she looked back again, and then, not at awindow, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss Tilney herself. She wasfollowed by a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,and they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings. Catherine, in deepmortification, proceeded on her way. She could almost be angry herselfat such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation; sheremembered her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hersmight be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degreeof unforgivingness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours ofrudeness in return it might justly make her amenable.
Dejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not going with theothers to the theatre that night; but it must be confessed that theywere not of long continuance, for she soon recollected, in the firstplace, that she was without any excuse for staying at home; and, in thesecond, that it was a play she wanted very much to see. To the theatreaccordingly they all went; no Tilneys appeared to plague or please her;she feared that, amongst the many perfections of the family, a fondnessfor plays was not to be ranked; but perhaps it was because they werehabituated to the finer performances of the London stage, which sheknew, on Isabella's authority, rendered everything else of the kind”quite horrid.” She was not deceived in her own expectation of pleasure;the comedy so well suspended her care that no one, observing her duringthe first four acts, would have supposed she had any wretchedness abouther. On the beginning of the fifth, however, the sudden view of Mr.Henry Tilney and his father, joining a party in the opposite box,recalled her to anxiety and distress. The stage could no longer excitegenuine merriment--no longer keep her whole attention. Every other lookupon an average was directed towards the opposite box; and, for thespace of two entire scenes, did she thus watch Henry Tilney, withoutbeing once able to catch his eye. No longer could he be suspected ofindifference for a play; his notice was never withdrawn from the stageduring two whole scenes. At length, however, he did look towards her,and he bowed--but such a bow! No smile, no continued observance attendedit; his eyes were immediately returned to their former direction.Catherine was restlessly miserable; she could almost have run round tothe box in which he sat and forced him to hear her explanation. Feelingsrather natural than heroic possessed her; instead of considering herown dignity injured by this ready condemnation--instead of proudlyresolving, in conscious innocence, to show her resentment towards himwho could harbour a doubt of it, to leave to him all the troubleof seeking an explanation, and to enlighten him on the past only byavoiding his sight, or flirting with somebody else--she took to herselfall the shame of misconduct, or at least of its appearance, and was onlyeager for an opportunity of explaining its cause.
The play concluded--the curtain fell--Henry Tilney was no longer to beseen where he had hitherto sat, but his father remained, and perhaps hemight be now coming round to their box. She was right; in a few minuteshe appeared, and, making his way through the then thinning rows, spokewith like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen and her friend. Not with suchcalmness was he answered by the latter: ”Oh! Mr. Tilney, I have beenquite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have thoughtme so rude; but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs. Allen?Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were gone out in aphaeton together? And then what could I do? But I had ten thousand timesrather have been with you; now had not I, Mrs. Allen?”
”My dear, you tumble my gown,” was Mrs. Allen's reply.
Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did, was not thrown away; itbrought a more cordial, more natural smile into his countenance, andhe replied in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve:”We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us a pleasant walkafter our passing you in Argyle Street: you were so kind as to look backon purpose.”
”But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk; I never thought of sucha thing; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out tohim as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs. Allen, did not--Oh! You werenot there; but indeed I did; and, if Mr. Thorpe would only have stopped,I would have jumped out and run after you.”
Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such adeclaration? Henry Tilney at least was not. With a yet sweeter smile, hesaid everything that need be said of his sister's concern, regret, anddependence on Catherine's honour. ”Oh! Do not say Miss Tilney was notangry,” cried Catherine, ”because I know she was; for she would not seeme this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the nextminute after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted. Perhapsyou did not know I had been there.”
”I was not within at the time; but I heard of it from Eleanor, and shehas been wishing ever since to see you, to explain the reason of suchincivility; but perhaps I can do it as well. It was nothing more thanthat my father--they were just preparing to walk out, and he beinghurried for time, and not caring to have it put off--made a point of herbeing denied. That was all, I do assure you. She was very much vexed,and meant to make her apology as soon as possible.”
Catherine's mind was greatly eased by this information, yet a somethingof solicitude remained, from which sprang the following question,thoroughly artless in itself, though rather distressing to thegentleman: ”But, Mr. Tilney, why were you less generous than yoursister? If she felt such confidence in my good intentions, and couldsuppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so ready to takeoffence?”
”Me! I take offence!”
”Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you wereangry.”
”I angry! I could have no right.”
”Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your face.” Hereplied by asking her to make room for him, and talking of the play.
He remained with them some time, and was only too agreeable forCatherine to be contented when he went away. Before they parted,however, it was agreed that the projected walk should be taken as soonas possible; and, setting aside the misery of his quitting their box,she was, upon the whole, left one of the happiest creatures in theworld.
While talking to each other, she had observed with some surprise thatJohn Thorpe, who was never in the same part of the house for ten minutestogether, was engaged in conversation with General Tilney; and she feltsomething more than surprise when she thought she could perceive herselfthe object of their attention and discourse. What could they have to sayof her? She feared General Tilney did not like her appearance: she foundit was implied in his preventing her admittance to his daughter, ratherthan postpone his own walk a few minutes. ”How came Mr. Thorpe to knowyour father?” was her anxious inquiry, as she pointed them out to hercompanion. He knew nothing about it; but his father, like every militaryman, had a very large acquaintance.
When the entertainment was over, Thorpe came to assist them in gettingout. Catherine was the immediate object of his gallantry; and, whilethey waited in the lobby for a chair, he prevented the inquiry which hadtravelled from her heart almost to the tip of her tongue, by asking, ina consequential manner, whether she had seen him talking with GeneralTilney: ”He is a fine old fellow, upon my soul! Stout, active--looksas young as his son. I have a great regard for him, I assure you: agentleman-like, good sort of fellow as ever lived.”
”But how came you to know him?”
”Know him! There are few people much about town that I do not know. Ihave met him forever at the Bedford; and I knew his face again today themoment 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 almostafraid of him at first: the odds were five to four against me; and, ifI had not made one of the cleanest strokes that perhaps ever was made inthis world--I took his ball exactly--but I could not make you understandit without a table; however, I did beat him. A very fine fellow; as richas a Jew. I should like to dine with him; I dare say he gives famousdinners. But what do you think we have been talking of? You. Yes, byheavens! 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 byGeneral 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, continuedthe same kind of delicate flattery, in spite of her entreating him tohave done.
That General Tilney, instead of disliking, should admire her, was verydelightful; and she joyfully thought that there was not one of thefamily whom she need now fear to meet. The evening had done more, muchmore, for her than could have been expected.