“My dear, you tumble my gown,” was Mrs. Allen’s reply.

Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did, was not thrown away; it brought a more cordial, more natural smile into his countenance, and he replied in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve:  “We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us a pleasant walk after our passing you in Argyle Street:  you were so kind as to look back on purpose.”

“But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk; I never thought of such a thing; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out to him as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs. Allen, did not —­ Oh!  You were not there; but indeed I did; and, if Mr. Thorpe would only have stopped, I would have jumped out and run after you.”

Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such a declaration?  Henry Tilney at least was not.  With a yet sweeter smile, he said everything that need be said of his sister’s concern, regret, and dependence on Catherine’s honour.  “Oh!  Do not say Miss Tilney was not angry,” cried Catherine, “because I know she was; for she would not see me this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the next minute after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted.  Perhaps you did not know I had been there.”

“I was not within at the time; but I heard of it from Eleanor, and she has been wishing ever since to see you, to explain the reason of such incivility; but perhaps I can do it as well.  It was nothing more than that my father —­ they were just preparing to walk out, and he being hurried for time, and not caring to have it put off —­ made a point of her being denied.  That was all, I do assure you.  She was very much vexed, and meant to make her apology as soon as possible.”

Catherine’s mind was greatly eased by this information, yet a something of solicitude remained, from which sprang the following question, thoroughly artless in itself, though rather distressing to the gentleman:  “But, Mr. Tilney, why were you less generous than your sister?  If she felt such confidence in my good intentions, and could suppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so ready to take offence?”

“Me!  I take offence!”

“Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you were angry.”

“I angry!  I could have no right.”

“Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your face.”  He replied by asking her to make room for him, and talking of the play.

He remained with them some time, and was only too agreeable for Catherine to be contented when he went away.  Before they parted, however, it was agreed that the projected walk should be taken as soon as possible; and, setting aside the misery of his quitting their box, she was, upon the whole, left one of the happiest creatures in the world.