Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with the reasonable resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allen thought his expressions quite good enough to be immediately made use of again by herself.  His wonder, his conjectures, and his explanations became in succession hers, with the addition of this single remark —­ “I really have not patience with the general” —­ to fill up every accidental pause.  And, “I really have not patience with the general,” was uttered twice after Mr. Allen left the room, without any relaxation of anger, or any material digression of thought.  A more considerable degree of wandering attended the third repetition; and, after completing the fourth, she immediately added, “Only think, my dear, of my having got that frightful great rent in my best Mechlin so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that one can hardly see where it was.  I must show it you some day or other.  Bath is a nice place, Catherine, after all.  I assure you I did not above half like coming away.  Mrs. Thorpe’s being there was such a comfort to us, was not it?  You know, you and I were quite forlorn at first.”

“Yes, but that did not last long,” said Catherine, her eyes brightening at the recollection of what had first given spirit to her existence there.

“Very true:  we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then we wanted for nothing.  My dear, do not you think these silk gloves wear very well?  I put them on new the first time of our going to the Lower Rooms, you know, and I have worn them a great deal since.  Do you remember that evening?”

“Do I!  Oh!  Perfectly.”

“It was very agreeable, was not it?  Mr. Tilney drank tea with us, and I always thought him a great addition, he is so very agreeable.  I have a notion you danced with him, but am not quite sure.  I remember I had my favourite gown on.”

Catherine could not answer; and, after a short trial of other subjects, Mrs. Allen again returned to —­ “I really have not patience with the general!  Such an agreeable, worthy man as he seemed to be!  I do not suppose, Mrs. Morland, you ever saw a better-bred man in your life.  His lodgings were taken the very day after he left them, Catherine.  But no wonder; Milsom Street, you know.”

As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured to impress on her daughter’s mind the happiness of having such steady well-wishers as Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and the very little consideration which the neglect or unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with her, while she could preserve the good opinion and affection of her earliest friends.  There was a great deal of good sense in all this; but there are some situations of the human mind in which good sense has very little power; and Catherine’s feelings contradicted almost every position her mother advanced.  It was upon the behaviour of these very slight acquaintance that all her present happiness depended; and while Mrs. Morland was successfully confirming her own opinions by the justness of her own representations, Catherine was silently reflecting that now Henry must have arrived at Northanger; now he must have heard of her departure; and now, perhaps, they were all setting off for Hereford.