Northanger Abbey

not my own fault, was it, Mrs. Allen?  Did not they tell me that
Mr. Tilney and his sister were gone out in a phaeton together?  And
then what could I do?  But I had ten thousand times rather 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;
it brought a more cordial, more natural smile into his countenance,
and he 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 walk after our passing you in Argyle Street:  you were
so kind as to look back on purpose."

"But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk; I never thought of
such a thing; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called
out to him as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs. Allen, did not --
Oh!  You were not 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 a
declaration?  Henry Tilney at least was not.  With a yet sweeter
smile, he said everything that need be said of his sister's concern,
regret, and dependence on Catherine's honour.  "Oh!  Do not say
Miss Tilney was not angry," cried Catherine, "because I know she
was; for she would not see me this morning when I called; I saw
her walk out of the house the next minute after my leaving it; I
was hurt, but I was not affronted.  Perhaps you did not know I had
been there."

"I was not within at the time; but I heard of it from Eleanor, and
she has been wishing ever since to see you, to explain the reason
of such incivility; but perhaps I can do it as well.  It was nothing
more than that my father -- they were just preparing to walk out,
and he being hurried for time, and not caring to have it put off --
made a point of her being 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
something of solicitude remained, from which sprang the following
question, thoroughly artless in itself, though rather distressing
to the gentleman:  "But, Mr. Tilney, why were you less generous than
your sister?  If she felt such confidence in my good intentions,
and could suppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so
ready to take offence?"

"Me!  I take offence!"

"Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you were
angry."

"I angry!  I could have no right."

"Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your
face."  He replied by asking her to make room for him, and talking
of the play.

He remained with them some time, and was only too agreeable for
Catherine to be contented when he went away.  Before they parted,
however, it was agreed that the projected walk should be taken
as soon as possible; and, setting aside the misery of his quitting
their box, she was, upon the whole, left one of the happiest
creatures in the world.

While talking to each other, she had observed with some surprise
that John Thorpe, who was never in the same part of the house for
ten minutes together, was engaged in conversation with General
Tilney; and she felt something more than surprise when she thought
she could perceive herself the object of their attention and
discourse.  What could they have to say of her?  She feared General
Tilney did not like her appearance:  she found it was implied in
his preventing her admittance to his daughter, rather than postpone
his own walk a few minutes.  "How came Mr. Thorpe to know your
father?"  was her anxious inquiry, as she pointed them out to her
companion.  He knew nothing about it; but his father, like every
military man, had a very large acquaintance.

When the entertainment was over, Thorpe came to assist them in
getting out.  Catherine was the immediate object of his gallantry;
and, while they waited in the lobby for a chair, he prevented the
inquiry which had travelled from her heart almost to the tip of
her tongue, by asking, in a consequential manner, whether she had
seen him talking with General Tilney:  "He is a fine old fellow,
upon my soul!  Stout, active -- looks as young as his son.  I have
a great regard for him, I assure you:  a gentleman-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.  I have met him forever at the Bedford; and I knew his face
again today 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