‘Mrs. Allen,’ said Catherine the next morning, ‘will there
be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney today? I shall not
be easy till I have explained everything.’
‘Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown;
Miss Tilney always wears white.’
Having made herself perfect in the number Catherine
hastened away with eager steps and a beating
heart to pay her visit, explain her conduct, and be forgiv-
en; tripping lightly through the church-yard, and resolutely
turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see
her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had rea-
son to believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached the house
without any impediment, looked at the number, knocked at
the door, and inquired for Miss Tilney.
The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not quite
certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave
her card. In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look
which did not quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken,
for that Miss Tilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of
mortification, left the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss
Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit her; and as
she retired down the street, could not withhold one glance at
the drawing-room windows, in expectation of seeing her
there, but no one appeared at them.
At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back
again, and then, not at a window, but issuing from the
door, she saw Miss Tilney herself. She was followed by
a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,
and they turned up towards Edgar’s Buildings. Catherine,
in deep mortification, proceeded on her way. She could
almost be angry herself at such angry incivility; but she
checked the resentful sensation; she remembered
her own ignorance.
To be continued
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