‘Do be serious, Henry,’ she said with a smile.
‘I was never more so.’
‘Very well, then, have it your own way, a love of Mrs Radcliffe is the most important asset to happiness in a long life lived together.’
‘A long life lived together? My dear sister, what are you thinking?’
‘That you are destined for Miss Morland; or, perhaps I should say, that she is destined for you.’
‘Poor Eleanor, you are sadly deceived. She is but one of my flirts.’
Eleanor laughed.
‘Oh, no, Henry, you will have to do better than that. When I spoke of your favourite, you immediately assumed I was speaking of Miss Morland, not Miss Smith or Miss Crane or Miss Parsons, and why would you do that unless you favoured the lady above all others?’
‘My dear Eleanor, you have found me out. I have tried very hard to love Miss Parsons, her name being so suitable for a clergyman’s wife, but her tendency to flirt with every other man when my back is turned is decidedly against the plan.’
‘Which brings us back to Miss Thorpe.’
I glanced again at Miss Thorpe, who was practically sitting on Frederick’s knee, she was so close to him. His mouth was almost touching her ear, whispering, I am sure, the flattering nothings of which he is such a master.
‘Is she tired of her betrothed already, or was there never much love there, do you think?’ I asked.
‘The latter, I think,’ said Eleanor.
‘Then why did she consent to marry him? I know that every young woman likes to be asked for her hand, it is a trophy for her to parade around all her friends, but unless she is particularly stupid she does not give it, not without love, or at the very least, a desire for a respectable establishment.’
‘I am puzzled by that myself,’ said Eleanor. ‘Mr Morland has no money to tempt her—’
‘Are you certain of that? If there is an unexpected fortune, then that might explain why my father is so fond of Miss Morland.’
‘I am sure of it. I congratulated Miss Thorpe on her engagement and she poured out the facts: that, although money meant nothing to her and she would be glad to live on twenty pounds a year, her dear James had only a living of four hundred pounds a year, and that he must wait several years for even that. I fancy she mistook Morland’s wealth and thought him rich.’
‘It is always possible. She is certainly stupid enough, though his coat is as good an indication of his lack of wealth as a full disclosure of his expectations.’
‘Perhaps she thought him merely negligent in his dress,’ said Eleanor.
‘Or allowed hope to overcome sense. Or merely thought it would be worth her while consenting to the engagement on the chance he might be well provided for, with the intention of looking elsewhere if such proved not to be the case.’
‘Whatever the case, I fear she is making her acknowledged suitor very unhappy.’
Morland had now entered, and was looking uncomfortable as he approached her. Frederick, with a last whisper in Miss Thorpe’s ear, drew back, and Morland was left to the half hearted attentions of his future bride, whose eyes too often sought out my brother.
Thursday 14 March
The Pump-rooms were quiet this morning but Miss Morland was there with the Allens and almost as soon as I had greeted her she said, ‘Mr Tilney, I cannot bear to see your brother unhappy, or mine either, and I think there must have been some dreadful mistake. Miss Thorpe, you know, is engaged to my brother, and so she can never belong to Captain Tilney. Her spirits are unguarded and her manner is lively, and I think she might have unconsciously led your brother to believe that her heart was free, and that his attentions were welcome; even worse, that they were returned. I would not like to see him suffer, so I beg you will let him know that Miss Thorpe is engaged to my brother, allowing him to withdraw with dignity.’
‘But my brother does know it,’ I replied.
‘Does he? Then why does he stay here? For I heard him say that he does not intend to return to the abbey with you, and that instead he intends to remain in Bath.’
It was a difficult question to answer and, to give myself time to think, I began 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.’
I smiled at that, I could not help it, and remarked, ‘I am sure my brother would not wish to do that.’
‘Then you will persuade him to go away?’ she beseeched me.
‘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?’ I asked, hoping to open her eyes to the reality of her friend’s true nature, but in such away that it would not give her too much pain.
‘Is not it the same thing?’ she asked, confused.
‘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.’
She 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,’ I said. ‘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, she resumed with, ‘Then you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my brother?’
She spoke hesitantly, but I was glad that her eyes were opening.
‘I can have no opinion on that subject,’ I remarked.
‘But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour?’
‘You are a very close questioner,’ I said.
‘Am I? I only ask what I want to be told,’ she said.
‘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,’ I said, ‘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 maybe 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.’