<h2><SPAN name="link2HCH0026"></SPAN>CHAPTER 26</h2>
<p>From this time, the subject was frequently canvassed by the three young people;
and Catherine found, with some surprise, that her two young friends were
perfectly agreed in considering Isabella’s want of consequence and
fortune as likely to throw great difficulties in the way of her marrying their
brother. Their persuasion that the general would, upon this ground alone,
independent of the objection that might be raised against her character, oppose
the connection, turned her feelings moreover with some alarm towards herself.
She was as insignificant, and perhaps as portionless, as Isabella; and if the
heir of the Tilney property had not grandeur and wealth enough in himself, at
what point of interest were the demands of his younger brother to rest? The
very painful reflections to which this thought led could only be dispersed by a
dependence on the effect of that particular partiality, which, as she was given
to understand by his words as well as his actions, she had from the first been
so fortunate as to excite in the general; and by a recollection of some most
generous and disinterested sentiments on the subject of money, which she had
more than once heard him utter, and which tempted her to think his disposition
in such matters misunderstood by his children.</p>
<p>They were so fully convinced, however, that their brother would not have the
courage to apply in person for his father’s consent, and so repeatedly
assured her that he had never in his life been less likely to come to
Northanger than at the present time, that she suffered her mind to be at ease
as to the necessity of any sudden removal of her own. But as it was not to be
supposed that Captain Tilney, whenever he made his application, would give his
father any just idea of Isabella’s conduct, it occurred to her as highly
expedient that Henry should lay the whole business before him as it really was,
enabling the general by that means to form a cool and impartial opinion, and
prepare his objections on a fairer ground than inequality of situations. She
proposed it to him accordingly; but he did not catch at the measure so eagerly
as she had expected. “No,” said he, “my father’s hands
need not be strengthened, and Frederick’s confession of folly need not be
forestalled. He must tell his own story.”</p>
<p>“But he will tell only half of it.”</p>
<p>“A quarter would be enough.”</p>
<p>A day or two passed away and brought no tidings of Captain Tilney. His brother
and sister knew not what to think. Sometimes it appeared to them as if his
silence would be the natural result of the suspected engagement, and at others
that it was wholly incompatible with it. The general, meanwhile, though
offended every morning by Frederick’s remissness in writing, was free
from any real anxiety about him, and had no more pressing solicitude than that
of making Miss Morland’s time at Northanger pass pleasantly. He often
expressed his uneasiness on this head, feared the sameness of every day’s
society and employments would disgust her with the place, wished the Lady
Frasers had been in the country, talked every now and then of having a large
party to dinner, and once or twice began even to calculate the number of young
dancing people in the neighbourhood. But then it was such a dead time of year,
no wild-fowl, no game, and the Lady Frasers were not in the country. And it all
ended, at last, in his telling Henry one morning that when he next went to
Woodston, they would take him by surprise there some day or other, and eat
their mutton with him. Henry was greatly honoured and very happy, and Catherine
was quite delighted with the scheme. “And when do you think, sir, I may
look forward to this pleasure? I must be at Woodston on Monday to attend the
parish meeting, and shall probably be obliged to stay two or three days.”</p>
<p>“Well, well, we will take our chance some one of those days. There is no
need to fix. You are not to put yourself at all out of your way. Whatever you
may happen to have in the house will be enough. I think I can answer for the
young ladies making allowance for a bachelor’s table. Let me see; Monday
will be a busy day with you, we will not come on Monday; and Tuesday will be a
busy one with me. I expect my surveyor from Brockham with his report in the
morning; and afterwards I cannot in decency fail attending the club. I really
could not face my acquaintance if I stayed away now; for, as I am known to be
in the country, it would be taken exceedingly amiss; and it is a rule with me,
Miss Morland, never to give offence to any of my neighbours, if a small
sacrifice of time and attention can prevent it. They are a set of very worthy
men. They have half a buck from Northanger twice a year; and I dine with them
whenever I can. Tuesday, therefore, we may say is out of the question. But on
Wednesday, I think, Henry, you may expect us; and we shall be with you early,
that we may have time to look about us. Two hours and three quarters will carry
us to Woodston, I suppose; we shall be in the carriage by ten; so, about a
quarter before one on Wednesday, you may look for us.”</p>
<p>A ball itself could not have been more welcome to Catherine than this little
excursion, so strong was her desire to be acquainted with Woodston; and her
heart was still bounding with joy when Henry, about an hour afterwards, came
booted and greatcoated into the room where she and Eleanor were sitting, and
said, “I am come, young ladies, in a very moralizing strain, to observe
that our pleasures in this world are always to be paid for, and that we often
purchase them at a great disadvantage, giving ready-monied actual happiness for
a draft on the future, that may not be honoured. Witness myself, at this
present hour. Because I am to hope for the satisfaction of seeing you at
Woodston on Wednesday, which bad weather, or twenty other causes, may prevent,
I must go away directly, two days before I intended it.”</p>
<p>“Go away!” said Catherine, with a very long face. “And
why?”</p>
<p>“Why! How can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost in
frightening my old housekeeper out of her wits, because I must go and prepare a
dinner for you, to be sure.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Not seriously!”</p>
<p>“Aye, and sadly too—for I had much rather stay.”</p>
<p>“But how can you think of such a thing, after what the general said? When
he so particularly desired you not to give yourself any trouble, because
<i>anything</i> would do.”</p>
<p>Henry only smiled. “I am sure it is quite unnecessary upon your
sister’s account and mine. You must know it to be so; and the general
made such a point of your providing nothing extraordinary: besides, if he had
not said half so much as he did, he has always such an excellent dinner at
home, that sitting down to a middling one for one day could not signify.”</p>
<p>“I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my own. Good-bye. As
tomorrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I shall not return.”</p>
<p>He went; and, it being at any time a much simpler operation to Catherine to
doubt her own judgment than Henry’s, she was very soon obliged to give
him credit for being right, however disagreeable to her his going. But the
inexplicability of the general’s conduct dwelt much on her thoughts. That
he was very particular in his eating, she had, by her own unassisted
observation, already discovered; but why he should say one thing so positively,
and mean another all the while, was most unaccountable! How were people, at
that rate, to be understood? Who but Henry could have been aware of what his
father was at?</p>
<p>From Saturday to Wednesday, however, they were now to be without Henry. This
was the sad finale of every reflection: and Captain Tilney’s letter would
certainly come in his absence; and Wednesday she was very sure would be wet.
The past, present, and future were all equally in gloom. Her brother so
unhappy, and her loss in Isabella so great; and Eleanor’s spirits always
affected by Henry’s absence! What was there to interest or amuse her? She
was tired of the woods and the shrubberies—always so smooth and so dry;
and the abbey in itself was no more to her now than any other house. The
painful remembrance of the folly it had helped to nourish and perfect was the
only emotion which could spring from a consideration of the building. What a
revolution in her ideas! She, who had so longed to be in an abbey! Now, there
was nothing so charming to her imagination as the unpretending comfort of a
well-connected parsonage, something like Fullerton, but better: Fullerton had
its faults, but Woodston probably had none. If Wednesday should ever come!</p>
<p>It did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably looked for. It
came—it was fine—and Catherine trod on air. By ten o’clock,
the chaise and four conveyed the trio from the abbey; and, after an agreeable
drive of almost twenty miles, they entered Woodston, a large and populous
village, in a situation not unpleasant. Catherine was ashamed to say how pretty
she thought it, as the general seemed to think an apology necessary for the
flatness of the country, and the size of the village; but in her heart she
preferred it to any place she had ever been at, and looked with great
admiration at every neat house above the rank of a cottage, and at all the
little chandler’s shops which they passed. At the further end of the
village, and tolerably disengaged from the rest of it, stood the parsonage, a
new-built substantial stone house, with its semicircular sweep and green gates;
and, as they drove up to the door, Henry, with the friends of his solitude, a
large Newfoundland puppy and two or three terriers, was ready to receive and
make much of them.</p>
<p>Catherine’s mind was too full, as she entered the house, for her either
to observe or to say a great deal; and, till called on by the general for her
opinion of it, she had very little idea of the room in which she was sitting.
Upon looking round it then, she perceived in a moment that it was the most
comfortable room in the world; but she was too guarded to say so, and the
coldness of her praise disappointed him.</p>
<p>“We are not calling it a good house,” said he. “We are not
comparing it with Fullerton and Northanger—we are considering it as a
mere parsonage, small and confined, we allow, but decent, perhaps, and
habitable; and altogether not inferior to the generality; or, in other words, I
believe there are few country parsonages in England half so good. It may admit
of improvement, however. Far be it from me to say otherwise; and anything in
reason—a bow thrown out, perhaps—though, between ourselves, if
there is one thing more than another my aversion, it is a patched-on
bow.”</p>
<p>Catherine did not hear enough of this speech to understand or be pained by it;
and other subjects being studiously brought forward and supported by Henry, at
the same time that a tray full of refreshments was introduced by his servant,
the general was shortly restored to his complacency, and Catherine to all her
usual ease of spirits.</p>
<p>The room in question was of a commodious, well-proportioned size, and
handsomely fitted up as a dining-parlour; and on their quitting it to walk
round the grounds, she was shown, first into a smaller apartment, belonging
peculiarly to the master of the house, and made unusually tidy on the occasion;
and afterwards into what was to be the drawing-room, with the appearance of
which, though unfurnished, Catherine was delighted enough even to satisfy the
general. It was a prettily shaped room, the windows reaching to the ground, and
the view from them pleasant, though only over green meadows; and she expressed
her admiration at the moment with all the honest simplicity with which she felt
it. “Oh! Why do not you fit up this room, Mr. Tilney? What a pity not to
have it fitted up! It is the prettiest room I ever saw; it is the prettiest
room in the world!”</p>
<p>“I trust,” said the general, with a most satisfied smile,
“that it will very speedily be furnished: it waits only for a
lady’s taste!”</p>
<p>“Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else. Oh! What a
sweet little cottage there is among the trees—apple trees, too! It is the
prettiest cottage!”</p>
<p>“You like it—you approve it as an object—it is enough. Henry,
remember that Robinson is spoken to about it. The cottage remains.”</p>
<p>Such a compliment recalled all Catherine’s consciousness, and silenced
her directly; and, though pointedly applied to by the general for her choice of
the prevailing colour of the paper and hangings, nothing like an opinion on the
subject could be drawn from her. The influence of fresh objects and fresh air,
however, was of great use in dissipating these embarrassing associations; and,
having reached the ornamental part of the premises, consisting of a walk round
two sides of a meadow, on which Henry’s genius had begun to act about
half a year ago, she was sufficiently recovered to think it prettier than any
pleasure-ground she had ever been in before, though there was not a shrub in it
higher than the green bench in the corner.</p>
<p>A saunter into other meadows, and through part of the village, with a visit to
the stables to examine some improvements, and a charming game of play with a
litter of puppies just able to roll about, brought them to four o’clock,
when Catherine scarcely thought it could be three. At four they were to dine,
and at six to set off on their return. Never had any day passed so quickly!</p>
<p>She could not but observe that the abundance of the dinner did not seem to
create the smallest astonishment in the general; nay, that he was even looking
at the side-table for cold meat which was not there. His son and
daughter’s observations were of a different kind. They had seldom seen
him eat so heartily at any table but his own, and never before known him so
little disconcerted by the melted butter’s being oiled.</p>
<p>At six o’clock, the general having taken his coffee, the carriage again
received them; and so gratifying had been the tenor of his conduct throughout
the whole visit, so well assured was her mind on the subject of his
expectations, that, could she have felt equally confident of the wishes of his
son, Catherine would have quitted Woodston with little anxiety as to the How or
the When she might return to it.</p>
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