Chương Chương 18 · 第18章

With a mind thus full of happiness, Catherine was hardly aware that two

or three days had passed away, without her seeing Isabella for more

than a few minutes together. She began first to be sensible of this,

and to sigh for her conversation, as she walked along the pump-room one

morning, by Mrs. Allen’s side, without anything to say or to hear; and

scarcely had she felt a five minutes’ longing of friendship, before the

object of it appeared, and inviting her to a secret conference, led the

way to a seat. “This is my favourite place,” said she as they sat down

on a bench between the doors, which commanded a tolerable view of

everybody entering at either; “it is so out of the way.”

Catherine, observing that Isabella’s eyes were continually bent towards

one door or the other, as in eager expectation, and remembering how

often she had been falsely accused of being arch, thought the present a

fine opportunity for being really so; and therefore gaily said, “Do not

be uneasy, Isabella, James will soon be here.”

“Psha! my dear creature,” she replied, “do not think me such a

simpleton as to be always wanting to confine him to my elbow. It would

be hideous to be always together; we should be the jest of the place.

And so you are going to Northanger! i am amazingly glad of it. It is

one of the finest old places in England, I understand. I shall depend

upon a most particular description of it.”

“You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are you

looking for? Are your sisters coming?”

“I am not looking for anybody. One’s eyes must be somewhere, and you

know what a foolish trick I have of fixing mine, when my thoughts are

an hundred miles off. I am amazingly absent; I believe I am the most

absent creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the case with

minds of a certain stamp.”

“But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular to tell me?”

“Oh yes, and so I have. But here is a proof of what I was saying. My

poor head, I had quite forgot it. Well, the thing is this: I have just

had a letter from John; you can guess the contents.”

“No, indeed, I cannot.”

“My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected. What can he write

about, but yourself? You know he is over head and ears in love with

you.”

“With _me_, dear Isabella!”

“Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd! modesty, and

all that, is very well in its way, but really a little common honesty

is sometimes quite as becoming. I have no idea of being so

overstrained! it is fishing for compliments. His attentions were such

as a child must have noticed. And it was but half an hour before he

left Bath that you gave him the most positive encouragement. He says so

in this letter, says that he as good as made you an offer, and that you

received his advances in the kindest way; and now he wants me to urge

his suit, and say all manner of pretty things to you. So it is in vain

to affect ignorance.”

Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed her

astonishment at such a charge, protesting her innocence of every

thought of Mr. Thorpe’s being in love with her, and the consequent

impossibility of her having ever intended to encourage him. “As to any

attentions on his side, I do declare, upon my honour, I never was

sensible of them for a moment—except just his asking me to dance the

first day of his coming. And as to making me an offer, or anything like

it, there must be some unaccountable mistake. I could not have

misunderstood a thing of that kind, you know! and, as I ever wish to be

believed, I solemnly protest that no syllable of such a nature ever

passed between us. The last half hour before he went away! it must be

all and completely a mistake—for I did not see him once that whole

morning.”

“But _that_ you certainly did, for you spent the whole morning in

Edgar’s Buildings—it was the day your father’s consent came—and I am

pretty sure that you and John were alone in the parlour some time

before you left the house.”

“Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say—but for the life

of me, I cannot recollect it. I _do_ remember now being with you, and

seeing him as well as the rest—but that we were ever alone for five

minutes— However, it is not worth arguing about, for whatever might pass

on his side, you must be convinced, by my having no recollection of it,

that I never thought, nor expected, nor wished for anything of the kind

from him. I am excessively concerned that he should have any regard for

me—but indeed it has been quite unintentional on my side; I never had

the smallest idea of it. Pray undeceive him as soon as you can, and

tell him I beg his pardon—that is—I do not know what I ought to say—but

make him understand what I mean, in the properest way. I would not

speak disrespectfully of a brother of yours, Isabella, I am sure; but

you know very well that if I could think of one man more than

another—_he_ is not the person.” Isabella was silent. “My dear friend,

you must not be angry with me. I cannot suppose your brother cares so

very much about me. And, you know, we shall still be sisters.”

“Yes, yes” (with a blush), “there are more ways than one of our being

sisters. But where am I wandering to? Well, my dear Catherine, the case

seems to be that you are determined against poor John—is not it so?”

“I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant

to encourage it.”

“Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you any further.

John desired me to speak to you on the subject, and therefore I have.

But I confess, as soon as I read his letter, I thought it a very

foolish, imprudent business, and not likely to promote the good of

either; for what were you to live upon, supposing you came together?

You have both of you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that

will support a family nowadays; and after all that romancers may say,

there is no doing without money. I only wonder John could think of it;

he could not have received my last.”

“You _do_ acquit me, then, of anything wrong?—You are convinced that I

never meant to deceive your brother, never suspected him of liking me

till this moment?”

“Oh! as to that,” answered Isabella laughingly, “I do not pretend to

determine what your thoughts and designs in time past may have been.

All that is best known to yourself. A little harmless flirtation or so

will occur, and one is often drawn on to give more encouragement than

one wishes to stand by. But you may be assured that I am the last

person in the world to judge you severely. All those things should be

allowed for in youth and high spirits. What one means one day, you

know, one may not mean the next. Circumstances change, opinions alter.”

“But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the

same. You are describing what never happened.”

“My dearest Catherine,” continued the other without at all listening to

her, “I would not for all the world be the means of hurrying you into

an engagement before you knew what you were about. I do not think

anything would justify me in wishing you to sacrifice all your

happiness merely to oblige my brother, because he is my brother, and

who perhaps after all, you know, might be just as happy without you,

for people seldom know what they would be at, young men especially,

they are so amazingly changeable and inconstant. What I say is, why

should a brother’s happiness be dearer to me than a friend’s? You know

I carry my notions of friendship pretty high. But, above all things, my

dear Catherine, do not be in a hurry. Take my word for it, that if you

are in too great a hurry, you will certainly live to repent it. Tilney

says there is nothing people are so often deceived in as the state of

their own affections, and I believe he is very right. Ah! here he

comes; never mind, he will not see us, I am sure.”

Catherine, looking up, perceived Captain Tilney; and Isabella,

earnestly fixing her eye on him as she spoke, soon caught his notice.

He approached immediately, and took the seat to which her movements

invited him. His first address made Catherine start. Though spoken low,

she could distinguish, “What! always to be watched, in person or by

proxy!”

“Psha, nonsense!” was Isabella’s answer in the same half whisper. “Why

do you put such things into my head? If I could believe it—my spirit,

you know, is pretty independent.”

“I wish your heart were independent. That would be enough for me.”

“My heart, indeed! what can you have to do with hearts? You men have

none of you any hearts.”

“If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment enough.”

“Do they? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find anything so

disagreeable in me. I will look another way. I hope this pleases you”

(turning her back on him); “I hope your eyes are not tormented now.”

“Never more so; for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in view—at

once too much and too little.”

Catherine heard all this, and quite out of countenance, could listen no

longer. Amazed that Isabella could endure it, and jealous for her

brother, she rose up, and saying she should join Mrs. Allen, proposed

their walking. But for this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so

amazingly tired, and it was so odious to parade about the pump-room;

and if she moved from her seat she should miss her sisters; she was

expecting her sisters every moment; so that her dearest Catherine must

excuse her, and must sit quietly down again. But Catherine could be

stubborn too; and Mrs. Allen just then coming up to propose their

returning home, she joined her and walked out of the pump-room, leaving

Isabella still sitting with Captain Tilney. With much uneasiness did

she thus leave them. It seemed to her that Captain Tilney was falling

in love with Isabella, and Isabella unconsciously encouraging him;

unconsciously it must be, for Isabella’s attachment to James was as

certain and well acknowledged as her engagement. To doubt her truth or

good intentions was impossible; and yet, during the whole of their

conversation her manner had been odd. She wished Isabella had talked

more like her usual self, and not so much about money, and had not

looked so well pleased at the sight of Captain Tilney. How strange that

she should not perceive his admiration! catherine longed to give her a

hint of it, to put her on her guard, and prevent all the pain which her

too lively behaviour might otherwise create both for him and her

brother.

The compliment of John Thorpe’s affection did not make amends for this

thoughtlessness in his sister. She was almost as far from believing as

from wishing it to be sincere; for she had not forgotten that he could

mistake, and his assertion of the offer and of her encouragement

convinced her that his mistakes could sometimes be very egregious. In

vanity, therefore, she gained but little; her chief profit was in

wonder. That he should think it worth his while to fancy himself in

love with her was a matter of lively astonishment. Isabella talked of

his attentions; _she_ had never been sensible of any; but Isabella had

said many things which she hoped had been spoken in haste, and would

never be said again; and upon this she was glad to rest altogether for

present ease and comfort.