บทที่ บทที่ 7 · 第7章

Half a minute conducted them through the pump-yard to the archway,

opposite Union Passage; but here they were stopped. Everybody

acquainted with Bath may remember the difficulties of crossing Cheap

Street at this point; it is indeed a street of so impertinent a nature,

so unfortunately connected with the great London and Oxford roads, and

the principal inn of the city, that a day never passes in which parties

of ladies, however important their business, whether in quest of

pastry, millinery, or even (as in the present case) of young men, are

not detained on one side or other by carriages, horsemen, or carts.

This evil had been felt and lamented, at least three times a day, by

Isabella since her residence in Bath; and she was now fated to feel and

lament it once more, for at the very moment of coming opposite to Union

Passage, and within view of the two gentlemen who were proceeding

through the crowds, and threading the gutters of that interesting

alley, they were prevented crossing by the approach of a gig, driven

along on bad pavement by a most knowing-looking coachman with all the

vehemence that could most fitly endanger the lives of himself, his

companion, and his horse.

“Oh, these odious gigs!” said Isabella, looking up. “How I detest

them.” But this detestation, though so just, was of short duration, for

she looked again and exclaimed, “Delightful! mr. Morland and my

brother!”

“Good heaven! ’Tis James!” was uttered at the same moment by Catherine;

and, on catching the young men’s eyes, the horse was immediately

checked with a violence which almost threw him on his haunches, and the

servant having now scampered up, the gentlemen jumped out, and the

equipage was delivered to his care.

Catherine, by whom this meeting was wholly unexpected, received her

brother with the liveliest pleasure; and he, being of a very amiable

disposition, and sincerely attached to her, gave every proof on his

side of equal satisfaction, which he could have leisure to do, while

the bright eyes of Miss Thorpe were incessantly challenging his notice;

and to her his devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of joy and

embarrassment which might have informed Catherine, had she been more

expert in the development of other people’s feelings, and less simply

engrossed by her own, that her brother thought her friend quite as

pretty as she could do herself.

John Thorpe, who in the meantime had been giving orders about the

horses, soon joined them, and from him she directly received the amends

which were her due; for while he slightly and carelessly touched the

hand of Isabella, on her he bestowed a whole scrape and half a short

bow. He was a stout young man of middling height, who, with a plain

face and ungraceful form, seemed fearful of being too handsome unless

he wore the dress of a groom, and too much like a gentleman unless he

were easy where he ought to be civil, and impudent where he might be

allowed to be easy. He took out his watch: “How long do you think we

have been running it from Tetbury, Miss Morland?”

“I do not know the distance.” Her brother told her that it was

twenty-three miles.

“_Three_-and-twenty!” cried Thorpe, “five-and-twenty if it is an inch.”

Morland remonstrated, pleaded the authority of road-books, innkeepers,

and milestones; but his friend disregarded them all; he had a surer

test of distance. “I know it must be five-and-twenty,” said he, “by the

time we have been doing it. It is now half after one; we drove out of

the inn-yard at Tetbury as the town clock struck eleven; and I defy any

man in England to make my horse go less than ten miles an hour in

harness; that makes it exactly twenty-five.”

“You have lost an hour,” said Morland; “it was only ten o’clock when we

came from Tetbury.”

“Ten o’clock! it was eleven, upon my soul! i counted every stroke. This

brother of yours would persuade me out of my senses, Miss Morland; do

but look at my horse; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in

your life?” (The servant had just mounted the carriage and was driving

off.) “Such true blood! three hours and and a half indeed coming only

three and twenty miles! look at that creature, and suppose it possible

if you can.”

“He _does_ look very hot, to be sure.”

“Hot! he had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot Church; but look

at his forehand; look at his loins; only see how he moves; that horse

_cannot_ go less than ten miles an hour: tie his legs and he will get

on. What do you think of my gig, Miss Morland? A neat one, is not it?

Well hung; town-built; I have not had it a month. It was built for a

Christchurch man, a friend of mine, a very good sort of fellow; he ran

it a few weeks, till, I believe, it was convenient to have done with

it. I happened just then to be looking out for some light thing of the

kind, though I had pretty well determined on a curricle too; but I

chanced to meet him on Magdalen Bridge, as he was driving into Oxford,

last term: ‘Ah! thorpe,’ said he, ‘do you happen to want such a little

thing as this? It is a capital one of the kind, but I am cursed tired

of it.’ ‘Oh! d—,’ said I; ‘I am your man; what do you ask?’ And how

much do you think he did, Miss Morland?”

“I am sure I cannot guess at all.”

“Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing-board,

lamps, silver moulding, all you see complete; the iron-work as good as

new, or better. He asked fifty guineas; I closed with him directly,

threw down the money, and the carriage was mine.”

“And I am sure,” said Catherine, “I know so little of such things that

I cannot judge whether it was cheap or dear.”

“Neither one nor t’other; I might have got it for less, I dare say; but

I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted cash.”

“That was very good-natured of you,” said Catherine, quite pleased.

“Oh! d—— it, when one has the means of doing a kind thing by a friend,

I hate to be pitiful.”

An inquiry now took place into the intended movements of the young

ladies; and, on finding whither they were going, it was decided that

the gentlemen should accompany them to Edgar’s Buildings, and pay their

respects to Mrs. Thorpe. James and Isabella led the way; and so well

satisfied was the latter with her lot, so contentedly was she

endeavouring to ensure a pleasant walk to him who brought the double

recommendation of being her brother’s friend, and her friend’s brother,

so pure and uncoquettish were her feelings, that, though they overtook

and passed the two offending young men in Milsom Street, she was so far

from seeking to attract their notice, that she looked back at them only

three times.

John Thorpe kept of course with Catherine, and, after a few minutes’

silence, renewed the conversation about his gig. “You will find,

however, Miss Morland, it would be reckoned a cheap thing by some

people, for I might have sold it for ten guineas more the next day;

Jackson, of Oriel, bid me sixty at once; Morland was with me at the

time.”

“Yes,” said Morland, who overheard this; “but you forget that your

horse was included.”

“My horse! oh, d—— it! i would not sell my horse for a hundred. Are you

fond of an open carriage, Miss Morland?”

“Yes, very; I have hardly ever an opportunity of being in one; but I am

particularly fond of it.”

“I am glad of it; I will drive you out in mine every day.”

“Thank you,” said Catherine, in some distress, from a doubt of the

propriety of accepting such an offer.

“I will drive you up Lansdown Hill to-morrow.”

“Thank you; but will not your horse want rest?”

“Rest! he has only come three and twenty miles to-day; all nonsense;

nothing ruins horses so much as rest; nothing knocks them up so soon.

No, no; I shall exercise mine at the average of four hours every day

while I am here.”

“Shall you indeed!” said Catherine very seriously. “That will be forty

miles a day.”

“Forty! aye, fifty, for what I care. Well, I will drive you up Lansdown

to-morrow; mind, I am engaged.”

“How delightful that will be!” cried Isabella, turning round. “My

dearest Catherine, I quite envy you; but I am afraid, brother, you will

not have room for a third.”

“A third indeed! no, no; I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters

about; that would be a good joke, faith! morland must take care of

you.”

This brought on a dialogue of civilities between the other two; but

Catherine heard neither the particulars nor the result. Her companion’s

discourse now sunk from its hitherto animated pitch to nothing more

than a short decisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of

every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and agreeing as

long as she could, with all the civility and deference of the youthful

female mind, fearful of hazarding an opinion of its own in opposition

to that of a self-assured man, especially where the beauty of her own

sex is concerned, ventured at length to vary the subject by a question

which had been long uppermost in her thoughts; it was, “Have you ever

read Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe?”

“Udolpho! oh, Lord! not I; I never read novels; I have something else

to do.”

Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologize for her

question, but he prevented her by saying, “Novels are all so full of

nonsense and stuff; there has not been a tolerably decent one come out

since Tom Jones, except The Monk; I read that t’other day; but as for

all the others, they are the stupidest things in creation.”

“I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read it; it is so very

interesting.”

“Not I, faith! no, if I read any, it shall be Mrs. Radcliffe’s; her

novels are amusing enough; they are worth reading; some fun and nature

in _them_.”

“Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe,” said Catherine, with some

hesitation, from the fear of mortifying him.

“No, sure; was it? Aye, I remember, so it was; I was thinking of that

other stupid book, written by that woman they make such a fuss about,

she who married the French emigrant.”

“I suppose you mean Camilla?”

“Yes, that’s the book; such unnatural stuff! an old man playing at

see-saw, I took up the first volume once and looked it over, but I soon

found it would not do; indeed I guessed what sort of stuff it must be

before I saw it: as soon as I heard she had married an emigrant, I was

sure I should never be able to get through it.”

“I have never read it.”

“You had no loss, I assure you; it is the horridest nonsense you can

imagine; there is nothing in the world in it but an old man’s playing

at see-saw and learning Latin; upon my soul there is not.”

This critique, the justness of which was unfortunately lost on poor

Catherine, brought them to the door of Mrs. Thorpe’s lodgings, and the

feelings of the discerning and unprejudiced reader of Camilla gave way

to the feelings of the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs.

Thorpe, who had descried them from above, in the passage. “Ah, Mother!

How do you do?” said he, giving her a hearty shake of the hand. “Where

did you get that quiz of a hat? It makes you look like an old witch.

Here is Morland and I come to stay a few days with you, so you must

look out for a couple of good beds somewhere near.” And this address

seemed to satisfy all the fondest wishes of the mother’s heart, for she

received him with the most delighted and exulting affection. On his two

younger sisters he then bestowed an equal portion of his fraternal

tenderness, for he asked each of them how they did, and observed that

they both looked very ugly.

These manners did not please Catherine; but he was James’s friend and

Isabella’s brother; and her judgment was further bought off by

Isabella’s assuring her, when they withdrew to see the new hat, that

John thought her the most charming girl in the world, and by John’s

engaging her before they parted to dance with him that evening. Had she

been older or vainer, such attacks might have done little; but, where

youth and diffidence are united, it requires uncommon steadiness of

reason to resist the attraction of being called the most charming girl

in the world, and of being so very early engaged as a partner; and the

consequence was that, when the two Morlands, after sitting an hour with

the Thorpes, set off to walk together to Mr. Allen’s, and James, as the

door was closed on them, said, “Well, Catherine, how do you like my

friend Thorpe?” instead of answering, as she probably would have done,

had there been no friendship and no flattery in the case, “I do not

like him at all,” she directly replied, “I like him very much; he seems

very agreeable.”

“He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle;

but that will recommend him to your sex, I believe: and how do you like

the rest of the family?”

“Very, very much indeed: Isabella particularly.”

“I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the kind of young woman

I could wish to see you attached to; she has so much good sense, and is

so thoroughly unaffected and amiable; I always wanted you to know her;

and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things in your

praise that could possibly be; and the praise of such a girl as Miss

Thorpe even you, Catherine,” taking her hand with affection, “may be

proud of.”

“Indeed I am,” she replied; “I love her exceedingly, and am delighted

to find that you like her too. You hardly mentioned anything of her

when you wrote to me after your visit there.”

“Because I thought I should soon see you myself. I hope you will be a

great deal together while you are in Bath. She is a most amiable girl;

such a superior understanding! how fond all the family are of her; she

is evidently the general favourite; and how much she must be admired in

such a place as this—is not she?”

“Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest

girl in Bath.”

“I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge of

beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask you whether you are happy here,

my dear Catherine; with such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe,

it would be impossible for you to be otherwise; and the Allens, I am

sure, are very kind to you?”

“Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and now you are come it

will be more delightful than ever; how good it is of you to come so far

on purpose to see _me_.”

James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified his conscience

for accepting it too, by saying with perfect sincerity, “Indeed,

Catherine, I love you dearly.”

Inquiries and communications concerning brothers and sisters, the

situation of some, the growth of the rest, and other family matters now

passed between them, and continued, with only one small digression on

James’s part, in praise of Miss Thorpe, till they reached Pulteney

Street, where he was welcomed with great kindness by Mr. and Mrs.

Allen, invited by the former to dine with them, and summoned by the

latter to guess the price and weigh the merits of a new muff and

tippet. A pre-engagement in Edgar’s Buildings prevented his accepting

the invitation of one friend, and obliged him to hurry away as soon as

he had satisfied the demands of the other. The time of the two parties

uniting in the Octagon Room being correctly adjusted, Catherine was

then left to the luxury of a raised, restless, and frightened

imagination over the pages of Udolpho, lost from all worldly concerns

of dressing and dinner, incapable of soothing Mrs. Allen’s fears on the

delay of an expected dressmaker, and having only one minute in sixty to

bestow even on the reflection of her own felicity, in being already

engaged for the evening.