Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her daughter, her son, her visitor, and could have embraced half the inhabitants of Bath with satisfaction.  Her heart was overflowing with tenderness.  It was “dear John” and “dear Catherine” at every word; “dear Anne and dear Maria” must immediately be made sharers in their felicity; and two “dears” at once before the name of Isabella were not more than that beloved child had now well earned.  John himself was no skulker in joy.  He not only bestowed on Mr. Morland the high commendation of being one of the finest fellows in the world, but swore off many sentences in his praise.

The letter, whence sprang all this felicity, was short, containing little more than this assurance of success; and every particular was deferred till James could write again.  But for particulars Isabella could well afford to wait.  The needful was comprised in Mr. Morland’s promise; his honour was pledged to make everything easy; and by what means their income was to be formed, whether landed property were to be resigned, or funded money made over, was a matter in which her disinterested spirit took no concern.  She knew enough to feel secure of an honourable and speedy establishment, and her imagination took a rapid flight over its attendant felicities.  She saw herself at the end of a few weeks, the gaze and admiration of every new acquaintance at Fullerton, the envy of every valued old friend in Putney, with a carriage at her command, a new name on her tickets, and a brilliant exhibition of hoop rings on her finger.

When the contents of the letter were ascertained, John Thorpe, who had only waited its arrival to begin his journey to London, prepared to set off.  “Well, Miss Morland,” said he, on finding her alone in the parlour, “I am come to bid you good-bye.”  Catherine wished him a good journey.  Without appearing to hear her, he walked to the window, fidgeted about, hummed a tune, and seemed wholly self-occupied.

“Shall not you be late at Devizes?” said Catherine.  He made no answer; but after a minute’s silence burst out with, “A famous good thing this marrying scheme, upon my soul!  A clever fancy of Morland’s and Belle’s.  What do you think of it, Miss Morland?  I say it is no bad notion.”

“I am sure I think it a very good one.”

“Do you?  That’s honest, by heavens!  I am glad you are no enemy to matrimony, however.  Did you ever hear the old song ’Going to One Wedding Brings on Another?’ I say, you will come to Belle’s wedding, I hope.”

“Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if possible.”

“And then you know” —­ twisting himself about and forcing a foolish laugh —­ “I say, then you know, we may try the truth of this same old song.”

“May we?  But I never sing.  Well, I wish you a good journey.  I dine with Miss Tilney today, and must now be going home.”

“Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry.  Who knows when we may be together again?  Not but that I shall be down again by the end of a fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight it will appear to me.”