But Mr. Thorpe only laughed, smacked his whip, encouraged his horse, made odd noises, and drove on; and Catherine, angry and vexed as she was, having no power of getting away, was obliged to give up the point and submit.  Her reproaches, however, were not spared.  “How could you deceive me so, Mr. Thorpe?  How could you say that you saw them driving up the Lansdown Road?  I would not have had it happen so for the world.  They must think it so strange, so rude of me!  To go by them, too, without saying a word!  You do not know how vexed I am; I shall have no pleasure at Clifton, nor in anything else.  I had rather, ten thousand times rather, get out now, and walk back to them.  How could you say you saw them driving out in a phaeton?” Thorpe defended himself very stoutly, declared he had never seen two men so much alike in his life, and would hardly give up the point of its having been Tilney himself.

Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not likely to be very agreeable.  Catherine’s complaisance was no longer what it had been in their former airing.  She listened reluctantly, and her replies were short.  Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be disappointed of the promised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the Tilneys, she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its walls could supply —­ the happiness of a progress through a long suite of lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of magnificent furniture, though now for many years deserted —­ the happiness of being stopped in their way along narrow, winding vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having their lamp, their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and of being left in total darkness.  In the meanwhile, they proceeded on their journey without any mischance, and were within view of the town of Keynsham, when a halloo from Morland, who was behind them, made his friend pull up, to know what was the matter.  The others then came close enough for conversation, and Morland said, “We had better go back, Thorpe; it is too late to go on today; your sister thinks so as well as I. We have been exactly an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little more than seven miles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight more to go.  It will never do.  We set out a great deal too late.  We had much better put it off till another day, and turn round.”

“It is all one to me,” replied Thorpe rather angrily; and instantly turning his horse, they were on their way back to Bath.

“If your brother had not got such a d —­ beast to drive,” said he soon afterwards, “we might have done it very well.  My horse would have trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to himself, and I have almost broke my arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded jade’s pace.  Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his own.”