Bab Bab 19 · 第19章

A few days passed away, and Catherine, though not allowing herself to

suspect her friend, could not help watching her closely. The result of

her observations was not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered

creature. When she saw her, indeed, surrounded only by their immediate

friends in Edgar’s Buildings or Pulteney Street, her change of manners

was so trifling that, had it gone no farther, it might have passed

unnoticed. A something of languid indifference, or of that boasted

absence of mind which Catherine had never heard of before, would

occasionally come across her; but had nothing worse appeared, _that_

might only have spread a new grace and inspired a warmer interest. But

when Catherine saw her in public, admitting Captain Tilney’s attentions

as readily as they were offered, and allowing him almost an equal share

with James in her notice and smiles, the alteration became too positive

to be passed over. What could be meant by such unsteady conduct, what

her friend could be at, was beyond her comprehension. Isabella could

not be aware of the pain she was inflicting; but it was a degree of

wilful thoughtlessness which Catherine could not but resent. James was

the sufferer. She saw him grave and uneasy; and however careless of his

present comfort the woman might be who had given him her heart, to

_her_ it was always an object. For poor Captain Tilney too she was

greatly concerned. Though his looks did not please her, his name was a

passport to her goodwill, and she thought with sincere compassion of

his approaching disappointment; for, in spite of what she had believed

herself to overhear in the pump-room, his behaviour was so incompatible

with a knowledge of Isabella’s engagement that she could not, upon

reflection, imagine him aware of it. He might be jealous of her brother

as a rival, but if more had seemed implied, the fault must have been in

her misapprehension. She wished, by a gentle remonstrance, to remind

Isabella of her situation, and make her aware of this double

unkindness; but for remonstrance, either opportunity or comprehension

was always against her. If able to suggest a hint, Isabella could never

understand it. In this distress, the intended departure of the Tilney

family became her chief consolation; their journey into Gloucestershire

was to take place within a few days, and Captain Tilney’s removal would

at least restore peace to every heart but his own. But Captain Tilney

had at present no intention of removing; he was not to be of the party

to Northanger; he was to continue at Bath. When Catherine knew this,

her resolution was directly made. She spoke to Henry Tilney on the

subject, regretting his brother’s evident partiality for Miss Thorpe,

and entreating him to make known her prior engagement.

“My brother does know it,” was Henry’s answer.

“Does he? Then why does he stay here?”

He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of something else; but she

eagerly continued, “Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer

he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his

own sake, and for everybody’s sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence

will in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here,

and it is only staying to be miserable.”

Henry smiled and said, “I am sure my brother would not wish to do

that.”

“Then you will persuade him to go away?”

“Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even

endeavour to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is

engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master.”

“No, he does not know what he is about,” cried Catherine; “he does not

know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me

so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable.”

“And are you sure it is my brother’s doing?”

“Yes, very sure.”

“Is it my brother’s attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe’s

admission of them, that gives the pain?”

“Is not it the same thing?”

“I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended

by another man’s admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only

who can make it a torment.”

Catherine blushed for her friend, and said, “Isabella is wrong. But I

am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my

brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and

while my father’s consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost

into a fever. You know she must be attached to him.”

“I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick.”

“Oh no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with

another.”

“It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well,

as she might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a

little.”

After a short pause, Catherine resumed with, “Then you do not believe

Isabella so very much attached to my brother?”

“I can have no opinion on that subject.”

“But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can

he mean by his behaviour?”

“You are a very close questioner.”

“Am I? I only ask what I want to be told.”

“But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?”

“Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother’s heart.”

“My brother’s heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure

you I can only guess at.”

“Well?”

“Well! nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves.

To be guided by second-hand conjecture is pitiful. The premises are

before you. My brother is a lively and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless

young man; he has had about a week’s acquaintance with your friend, and

he has known her engagement almost as long as he has known her.”

“Well,” said Catherine, after some moments’ consideration, “_you_ may

be able to guess at your brother’s intentions from all this; but I am

sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not

he want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak

to him, he would go.”

“My dear Miss Morland,” said Henry, “in this amiable solicitude for

your brother’s comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not

carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account

or Miss Thorpe’s, for supposing that her affection, or at least her

good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain

Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him

only when unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this—and you may

be sure that he would not have you think it. I will not say, ‘Do not be

uneasy,’ because I know that you are so, at this moment; but be as

little uneasy as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of

your brother and your friend; depend upon it, therefore, that real

jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no

disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open

to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what

is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain that one will

never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant.”

Perceiving her still to look doubtful and grave, he added, “Though

Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will probably remain but a

very short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of

absence will soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what

will then be their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella

Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor

Tilney’s passion for a month.”

Catherine would contend no longer against comfort. She had resisted its

approaches during the whole length of a speech, but it now carried her

captive. Henry Tilney must know best. She blamed herself for the extent

of her fears, and resolved never to think so seriously on the subject

again.

Her resolution was supported by Isabella’s behaviour in their parting

interview. The Thorpes spent the last evening of Catherine’s stay in

Pulteney Street, and nothing passed between the lovers to excite her

uneasiness, or make her quit them in apprehension. James was in

excellent spirits, and Isabella most engagingly placid. Her tenderness

for her friend seemed rather the first feeling of her heart; but that

at such a moment was allowable; and once she gave her lover a flat

contradiction, and once she drew back her hand; but Catherine

remembered Henry’s instructions, and placed it all to judicious

affection. The embraces, tears, and promises of the parting fair ones

may be fancied.