Chapter 27

     The next morning brought the following very unexpected
letter from Isabella:

                                         Bath, April
     
          My dearest Catherine, I received your two kind
     letters with the greatest delight, and have a thousand
     apologies to make for not answering them sooner.
     I really am quite ashamed of my idleness; but in
     this horrid place one can find time for nothing.
     I have had my pen in my hand to begin a letter to
     you almost every day since you left Bath, but have
     always been prevented by some silly trifler or other.
     Pray write to me soon, and direct to my own home.
     Thank God, we leave this vile place tomorrow.  Since
     you went away, I have had no pleasure in it--the
     dust is beyond anything; and everybody one cares
     for is gone.  I believe if I could see you I should
     not mind the rest, for you are dearer to me than
     anybody can conceive.  I am quite uneasy about your
     dear brother, not having heard from him since he
     went to Oxford; and am fearful of some
     misunderstanding.  Your kind offices will set all
     right: he is the only man I ever did or could love,
     and I trust you will convince him of it.  The spring
     fashions are partly down; and the hats the most
     frightful you can imagine.  I hope you spend your
     time pleasantly, but am afraid you never think of
     me.  I will not say all that I could of the family
     you are with, because I would not be ungenerous, or
     set you against those you esteem; but it is very
     difficult to know whom to trust, and young men never
     know their minds two days together.  I rejoice to
     say that the young man whom, of all others, I
     particularly abhor, has left Bath.  You will know,
     from this description, I must mean Captain Tilney,
     who, as you may remember, was amazingly disposed to
     follow and tease me, before you went away.  Afterwards
     he got worse, and became quite my shadow.  Many
     girls might have been taken in, for never were such
     attentions; but I knew the fickle sex too well.  He
     went away to his regiment two days ago, and I trust
     I shall never be plagued with him again.  He is the
     greatest coxcomb I ever saw, and amazingly
     disagreeable.  The last two days he was always by
     the side of Charlotte Davis: I pitied his taste,
     but took no notice of him.  The last time we met
     was in Bath Street, and I turned directly into a
     shop that he might not speak to me; I would not even
     look at him.  He went into the pump-room afterwards;
     but I would not have followed him for all the world.
     Such a contrast between him and your brother! Pray
     send me some news of the latter--I am quite unhappy
     about him; he seemed so uncomfortable when he went
     away, with a cold, or something that affected his
     spirits.  I would write to him myself, but have
     mislaid his direction; and, as I hinted above, am
     afraid he took something in my conduct amiss.  Pray
     explain everything to his satisfaction; or, if he
     still harbours any doubt, a line from himself to
     me, or a call at Putney when next in town, might
     set all to rights.  I have not been to the rooms
     this age, nor to the play, except going in last
     night with the Hodges, for a frolic, at half price:
     they teased me into it; and I was determined they
     should not say I shut myself up because Tilney was
     gone.  We happened to sit by the Mitchells, and they
     pretended to be quite surprised to see me out.  I
     knew their spite: at one time they could not be
     civil to me, but now they are all friendship; but
     I am not such a fool as to be taken in by them.
     You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own.
     Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like
     mine, as I wore it the week before at the concert,
     but made wretched work of it--it happened to become
     my odd face, I believe, at least Tilney told me so
     at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he
     is the last man whose word I would take.  I wear
     nothing but purple now: I know I look hideous in
     it, but no matter-- it is your dear brother's
     favourite colour.  Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest
     Catherine, in writing to him and to me,
                                 Who ever am, etc.

     Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose
even upon Catherine.  Its inconsistencies, contradictions,
and falsehood struck her from the very first.  She was
ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved her.
Her professions of attachment were now as disgusting
as her excuses were empty, and her demands impudent.
"Write to James on her behalf! No, James should never hear
Isabella's name mentioned by her again."

     On Henry's arrival from Woodston, she made known to him
and Eleanor their brother's safety, congratulating them
with sincerity on it, and reading aloud the most material
passages of her letter with strong indignation.
When she had finished it--"So much for Isabella,"
she cried, "and for all our intimacy! She must think me
an idiot, or she could not have written so; but perhaps
this has served to make her character better known to me
than mine is to her.  I see what she has been about.
She is a vain coquette, and her tricks have not answered.
I do not believe she had ever any regard either for James
or for me, and I wish I had never known her."

     "It will soon be as if you never had," said Henry.

     "There is but one thing that I cannot understand.
I see that she has had designs on Captain Tilney, which have
not succeeded; but I do not understand what Captain Tilney
has been about all this time.  Why should he pay her
such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother,
and then fly off himself?"

     "I have very little to say for Frederick's motives,
such as I believe them to have been.  He has his vanities
as well as Miss Thorpe, and the chief difference is, that,
having a stronger head, they have not yet injured himself.
If the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you,
we had better not seek after the cause."

     "Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about her?"

     "I am persuaded that he never did."

     "And only made believe to do so for mischief's sake?"

     Henry bowed his assent.

     "Well, then, I must say that I do not like him at all.
Though it has turned out so well for us, I do not like him
at all.  As it happens, there is no great harm done,
because I do not think Isabella has any heart to lose.
But, suppose he had made her very much in love with him?"

     "But we must first suppose Isabella to have had a heart
to lose--consequently to have been a very different creature;
and, in that case, she would have met with very different treatment."

     "It is very right that you should stand by your brother."

     "And if you would stand by yours, you would not be
much distressed by the disappointment of Miss Thorpe.
But your mind is warped by an innate principle of
general integrity, and therefore not accessible to the cool
reasonings of family partiality, or a desire of revenge."

     Catherine was complimented out of further bitterness.
Frederick could not be unpardonably guilty, while Henry
made himself so agreeable.  She resolved on not answering
Isabella's letter, and tried to think no more of it.