Chapter 2: Which takes place during Chapter 10 of Northanger Abbey
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"How was your drive, Henry?" Eleanor enquired when Henry came into the drawing room.
For speaking to their father there was no occasion, for no sooner had he changed, or he set off again. They had been riding about the countryside for most of the morning and he had personally insisted on making their tour longer, but now he insisted with equal solemnity that he should be late for an afternoon engagement.
"It was pleasant enough," replied Henry, sitting down. "Every drive in the country is pleasant when one is staying in town, provided the country is furnished with grass and sky as it usually is."
Eleanor smiled. Henry was always in need in relieving his feelings through caprice or sarcastic expressions when he had been spending time alone with their father. He was no longer used to it as she was. Suddenly she recollected a circumstance that must be of service to diverting his thoughts and she said:
"I met with Miss Morland at the pump-room this morning, which gave us the opportunity to get a little further acquainted."
"Did you?" cried Henry, smiling. "And what is your opinion of her?"
"I do not believe I have ever met a girl so completely artless," Eleanor said sincerely. "It makes her seem younger than her years."
"That it does," Henry agreed.
"But I will be pleased to make her further acquaintance," Eleanor said warmly. "She strikes me as kind above anything." She then ventured to add: "And most interested in you."
"Indeed?" Henry laughed. "Have I puzzled her with my saucy speeches? Pray tell of what she has accused me, that I may not disappoint and repeat the offences when next we meet!"
"She has accused you of nothing," Eleanor smiled. "But of being an excellent dancer."
"Has she?" Henry said, cheerfully.
"She was eloquent on the subject," Eleanor assured him. "And she expressed an earnest wish to see us at the cotillion ball tomorrow."
"And what did you say?"
"That we would certainly be there."
Henry looked pleased and Eleanor thought he certainly spoke of the ball with more decided pleasure from then on than he had done before.
…
The day of the ball General Tilney had business he did not wish to cut short or defer and therefore made his children late to a ball they had both rather looked forward to. When they arrived there were, of course, acquaintances to greet and polite conversation to make, but Henry detached himself from his party as soon as may be. After an expressive smile to his sister, he set off to find Miss Morland. The cotillions just being over and the country dances just beginning, he must not be too long in finding her.
He found Miss Morland sitting down beside Mrs Allen and Mrs Thorpe, looking very lovely, but also rather forlorn, with her dark eyes cast down and fixed intently on her fan.
"Good evening, Miss Morland," he said cheerfully.
What a reward he was to receive for such a simple greeting, Miss Morland's countenance changed instantly. Her head raised and she looked up at him with such bright eyes and greeted him with so delighted an accent that Henry could not have kept himself from smiling should he have tried.
"Would you do the honour of standing up with me again?" he asked.
"I would like that very much!" she exclaimed and in a moment he was leading her towards the set.
No sooner had they found themselves a place, however, or a young man came up to Miss Morland and addressed her in a loud voice:
"Heyday, Miss Morland! What is the meaning of this? I thought you and I were to dance together."
Miss Morland's reply was so gentle Henry could not make it out, but the stranger spoke so loudly he could not help but hear it.
"That is a good one, by Jove! I asked you as soon as I came into the room, and I was just going to ask you again, but when I turned round, you were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake of dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever since Monday. Yes; I remember, I asked you while you were waiting in the lobby for your cloak. And here have I been telling all my acquaintance that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room; and when they see you standing up with somebody else, they will quiz me famously."
Henry grew increasingly impatient during the length of this speech. The young man was loud and his posture was not gentlemanlike. His crude attempts at a compliment to Miss Morland did not suit Henry either. He did not need to examine his feelings on this point, for Miss Morland seemed quite uncomfortable herself. She made a short reply and the young man began again, gesturing in Henry's direction. Miss Morland evidently told him who he was and the stranger went off on another long speech, which only ended when he was conveniently borne off by a crowd of passing ladies.
Henry drew near Miss Morland and said:
"That gentleman would have put me out of patience, had he stayed with you half a minute longer. He has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me. We have entered into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a country–dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do not choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbours."
"But they are such very different things!" she exclaimed.
" — That you think they cannot be compared together."
"To be sure not," Miss Morland said openly. "People that marry can never part, but must go and keep house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a long room for half an hour."
Henry did not laugh, but he did smile. He certainly could not find fault with her description, it was very accurate.
"And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing," said he. "Taken in that light certainly, their resemblance is not striking; but I think I could place them in such a view. You will allow, that in both, man has the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of its dissolution; that it is their duty, each to endeavour to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbours, or fancying that they should have been better off with anyone else. You will allow all this?"
"Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still they are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same light, nor think the same duties belong to them."
A man with less insight into Miss Morland's artless, uninformed mind, might have been vexed by such continued questioning of his wit. Henry did her justice, however, and guessed that she had not at all been in the habit of being spoken to with the sole intention to amuse.
"In one respect, there certainly is a difference," he said smilingly. "In marriage, the man is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, the woman to make the home agreeable to the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison."
"No, indeed, I never thought of that," said she honestly.
"Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as long as you chose?"
His partner defended herself admirably. "Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother's, that if he talks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with."
"And is that to be my only security?" cried he. "Alas, alas!"
"Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody, it is impossible for me to talk to them," Miss Morland said. And then she added, with her eyes so earnestly fixed on his face that it might have put him out of his countenance: "And, besides, I do not want to talk to anybody."
"Now," he said warmly. "You have given me a security worth having; and I shall proceed with courage. Do you find Bath as agreeable as when I had the honour of making the inquiry before?"
"Yes, quite — more so, indeed."
"More so!" he cried. "Take care, or you will forget to be tired of it at the proper time. You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks." Henry must be forgiven for once again speaking with satire. It was too much of a temptation to have such an attentive and impressionable listener, and he really meant no harm by it. If anything he meant to give pleasure to his partner by informing her of the diverting follies that could be met with in Bath.
Miss Morland, however, evidently thought higher of that noble bathing place than he could do. "I do not think I should be tired," said she. "If I were to stay here six months."
"Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds out every year. 'For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough; but beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world.' You would be told so by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go away at last because they can afford to stay no longer."
"Well, other people must judge for themselves, and those who go to London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place as this than in my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, a variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know nothing of there."
This surprised him. "You are not fond of the country."
"Yes, I am. I have always lived there, and always been very happy. But certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath life. One day in the country is exactly like another."
"But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the country."
"Do I?"
"Do you not?" he smiled.
"I do not believe there is much difference."
"Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long."
"And so I am at home — only I do not find so much of it. I walk about here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people in every street, and there I can only go and call on Mrs. Allen."
Henry's amusement was great. He began to comprehend that Miss Morland's situation, not her character, must be chiefly responsible for her present state of ignorance.
"Only go and call on Mrs. Allen!" he repeated. "What a picture of intellectual poverty! However, when you sink into this abyss again, you will have more to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all that you did here."
"Oh! Yes. I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to Mrs. Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am at home again — I do like it so very much. If I could but have Papa and Mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be too happy! James's coming (my eldest brother) is quite delightful — and especially as it turns out that the very family we are just got so intimate with are his intimate friends already. Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?"
"Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do," he said warmly. How could anything but warm be excited by such an amiable speech? "But papas and mammas, and brothers, and intimate friends are a good deal gone by, to most of the frequenters of Bath — and the honest relish of balls and plays, and everyday sights, is past with them." Here their conversation closed, the demands of the dance becoming now too importunate for a divided attention.
Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Henry found himself addressed in a half-whisper by his father, who had been watching him go down the dance.
"Are you much acquainted with this young lady?" he asked. "Who is she?"
"Catherine Morland, sir," Henry replied. "I made her acquaintance when I was first here to secure lodgings. Eleanor made her acquaintance last Monday."
The General looked at Miss Morland once more and Henry saw her change colour. She turned away her head and he feared his father's discerning eye had distressed her, but his father was not disposed to ask any more questions and retreated to his former place. Henry immediately drew near Miss Morland to give her a reassuring smile.
"I see that you guess what I have just been asked," he said. "That gentleman knows your name, and you have a right to know his. It is General Tilney, my father."
Miss Morland's answer was only "Oh!" — but it was an "Oh!" expressing everything needful: attention to his words, and perfect reliance on their truth. She looked back at his father with great interest and, luckily, with no further embarrassment. Henry attended to her most kindly, speaking with more warmth and a little less archness than he previously had done. For this he was rewarded with increasing confidence in Miss Morland's own expressions and he was pleased to find that where she had ideas, they were both generous and indicative of common sense.
When their dance was over Miss Morland was brave enough to express a wish of paying her compliments to his sister and as luck would have it she was at that moment close by. Henry brought Miss Morland to her and watched with sincere pleasure how his affectionately they spoke to one another. After speaking of the ball and their enjoyment in it, Eleanor asked Miss Morland what other pursuits of pleasure she enjoyed.
"Do you mean to ask after my pursuits here in Bath," Miss Morland enquired. "Or back at home, for they could not be more different."
"Are they indeed?" Eleanor asked. "Are your pleasures in town different to those in the country?"
"You mistake Miss Morland's meaning, Eleanor," Henry laughed. "For I have already had the opportunity to learn that although Miss Morland find great happiness in living the country, this is entirely owing to her own good nature, for it furnishes her with no source of amusement at all!"
Miss Morland coloured at this compliment, however strangely worded and Eleanor gave Henry a gentle look that he knew rather than felt to be a remonstrance.
"I hope that is not true," Eleanor said. "I should be sorry to think Miss Morland so deprived."
"No indeed!" cried the young lady. "I have many pleasures at Fullerton, it is only that they are very different and much less varied than they are here."
"Now I understand you," Eleanor said. "You speak with a great deal more sense than my brother. Do tell me, Miss Morland, what your pleasures in the country consist of."
"I love to be out of doors," Miss Morland replied. "And when I wish to be outdoors it does not much signify what motive allows me to do it. I can take equal pleasure in walking out with a book, as in going to see about the chickens or to call on Mrs. Allen."
Henry was very tempted to offer a reflection here, on the comparative merits of Mrs. Allen's conversation and attending to a flock of hens, but his sister prevented him by saying:
"You are fond of walking then?"
"Very much!"
"Then Bath must be a much more agreeable town to you than London," said Eleanor. "The environs of Bath are delightful, exactly suited for a leisurely walk."
"Indeed?" Miss Morland said. "I have not had the opportunity to take a country walk, since my arrival in Bath."
"Then you certainly must venture to do so!" And Eleanor proceeded to warmly recommend several walks and spoke most eloquently on the subject of several natural beauties that were to be found on them.
"It sounds delightful indeed," sighed Miss Morland. "But I do not know if I shall find anyone to go with me. Mr. and Mrs. Allen are not in the habit of walking and I am not at all sure if Isabella should like it."
Had these words been spoken with the express intent of spelling for an invitation, Henry would not have been insensible, but as Miss Morland spoke without any such design, their appeal was irresistible. He looked at his sister and her smile was enough encouragement for him to offer with a most genuine smile:
"Then, Miss Morland, I am sure my sister and I would be very happy to join you on your walk, some morning or other."
"Indeed we would," Eleanor agreed. "If you should like it."
"I shall like it," Miss Morland cried. "Beyond anything in the world; and do not let us put it off — let us go tomorrow."
Henry smiled and professed himself most ready, if his sister was also in agreement.
"I am," she assured them both. "Providing that it does not rain."
"Oh, I am sure it will not," Miss Morland said happily.
"And I am sure the weather would have not courage to disappoint you," Henry spoke. "Shall we then agree to call at you in Pulteney Street at twelve o'clock?"
Miss Morland was all happiness and Henry and Eleanor shared in her high spirits for a few minutes longer. At length, however, they returned Miss Morland to Mrs. Allen, who had then been joined by her husband. They took leave of her with sincere expressions of the pleasure it would be to see her again tomorrow and Miss Morland expressed feelings even more tender.
"Remember — twelve o'clock," was her parting speech.
This was directed at Eleanor, but she looked at Henry with a countenance that spoke every good sort of feeling a lady could possibly feel towards a partner of four dances. Henry was very aware of it and therefore could not help feeling grateful. When they walked away to join their father's party again, Eleanor gave him a gentle smile and said:
"Miss Morland is a sweet girl."
"I defy anyone to find a sweeter," he said playfully. "Take care Eleanor, it is not the usual style of young ladies to keep company with young women whom they are not greatly superior to in every way. How else can they benefit from the comparison?"
"It is you who should take care, Henry," she said smilingly.
He made no reply to his, but he did smile back.
...
A/N: I decided to skip the unsatisfactory ball where Catherine doesn't get to dance with Henry and go straight to the conversation I thought must have occured between Henry and his sister. She must be the one that first started the idea that Catherine was particularly impressed with him.
I haven't decided what scene to do next, but when I finish it I'll be sure to upload it. Please leave a review if you have the time!