Northanger Abbey

second prevention.  But nothing of that kind occurred, no visitors
appeared to delay them, and they all three set off in good time for
the pump-room, where the ordinary course of events and conversation
took place; Mr. Allen, after drinking his glass of water, joined
some gentlemen to talk over the politics of the day and compare the
accounts of their newspapers; and the ladies walked about together,
noticing every new face, and almost every new bonnet in the room.
The female part of the Thorpe family, attended by James Morland,
appeared among the crowd in less than a quarter of an hour,
and Catherine immediately took her usual place by the side of her
friend.  James, who was now in constant attendance, maintained a
similar position, and separating themselves from the rest of their
party, they walked in that manner for some time, till Catherine
began to doubt the happiness of a situation which, confining her
entirely to her friend and brother, gave her very little share in
the notice of either.  They were always engaged in some sentimental
discussion or lively dispute, but their sentiment was conveyed
in such whispering voices, and their vivacity attended with so
much laughter, that though Catherine's supporting opinion was not
unfrequently called for by one or the other, she was never able to
give any, from not having heard a word of the subject.  At length
however she was empowered to disengage herself from her friend,
by the avowed necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney, whom she most
joyfully saw just entering the room with Mrs. Hughes, and whom she
instantly joined, with a firmer determination to be acquainted,
than she might have had courage to command, had she not been urged
by the disappointment of the day before.  Miss Tilney met her with
great civility, returned her advances with equal goodwill, and they
continued talking together as long as both parties remained in the
room; and though in all probability not an observation was made,
nor an expression used by either which had not been made and used
some thousands of times before, under that roof, in every Bath
season, yet the merit of their being spoken with simplicity and
truth, and without personal conceit, might be something uncommon.

"How well your brother dances!"  was an artless exclamation of
Catherine's towards the close of their conversation, which at once
surprised and amused her companion.

"Henry!"  she replied with a smile.  "Yes, he does dance very well."

"He must have thought it very odd to hear me say I was engaged the
other evening, when he saw me sitting down.  But I really had been
engaged the whole day to Mr. Thorpe."  Miss Tilney could only bow.
"You cannot think," added Catherine after a moment's silence, "how
surprised I was to see him again.  I felt so sure of his being
quite gone away."

"When Henry had the pleasure of seeing you before, he was in Bath
but for a couple of days.  He came only to engage lodgings for us."

"That never occurred to me; and of course, not seeing him anywhere,
I thought he must be gone.  Was not the young lady he danced with
on Monday a Miss Smith?"

"Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes."

"I dare say she was very glad to dance.  Do you think her pretty?"

"Not very."

"He never comes to the pump-room, I suppose?"

"Yes, sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my father."

Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and asked Miss Tilney if she was ready
to go.  "I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon,"
said Catherine.  "Shall you be at the cotillion ball tomorrow?"

"Perhaps we -- Yes, I think we certainly shall."

"I am glad of it, for we shall all be there."  This civility was
duly returned; and they parted -- on Miss Tilney's side with some
knowledge of her new acquaintance's feelings, and on Catherine's,
without the smallest consciousness of having explained them.

She went home very happy.  The morning had answered all her
hopes, and the evening of the following day was now the object of
expectation, the future good.  What gown and what head-dress she
should wear on the occasion became her chief concern.  She cannot
be justified in it.  Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction,
and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim.
Catherine knew all this very well; her great aunt had read her a
lecture on the subject only the Christmas before; and yet she lay
awake ten minutes on Wednesday night debating between her spotted
and her tamboured muslin, and nothing but the shortness of the time
prevented her buying a new one for the evening.  This would have
been an error in judgment, great though not uncommon, from which
one of the other sex rather than her own, a brother rather than
a great aunt, might have warned her, for man only can be aware of
the insensibility of man towards a new gown.  It would be mortifying
to the feelings of many ladies, could they be made to understand
how little the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new
in their attire; how little it is biased by the texture of their
muslin, and how unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness towards the
spotted, the sprigged, the mull, or the jackonet.  Woman is fine
for her own satisfaction alone.  No man will admire her the more,
no woman will like her the better for it.  Neatness and fashion are
enough for the former, and a something of shabbiness or impropriety
will be most endearing to the latter.  But not one of these grave