set all to rights.  I have not been to the rooms this age, nor to the play, except going in last night with the Hodges, for a frolic, at half price:  they teased me into it; and I was determined they should not say I shut myself up because Tilney was gone.  We happened to sit by the Mitchells, and they pretended to be quite surprised to see me out.  I knew their spite:  at one time they could not be civil to me, but now they are all friendship; but I am not such a fool as to be taken in by them.  You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own.  Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it the week before at the concert, but made wretched work of it —­ it happened to become my odd face, I believe, at least Tilney told me so at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he is the last man whose word I would take.  I wear nothing but purple now:  I know I look hideous in it, but no matter —­ it is your dear brother’s favourite colour.  Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, in writing to him and to me, Who ever am, etc.

Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even upon Catherine.  Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood struck her from the very first.  She was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved her.  Her professions of attachment were now as disgusting as her excuses were empty, and her demands impudent.  “Write to James on her behalf!  No, James should never hear Isabella’s name mentioned by her again.”

On Henry’s arrival from Woodston, she made known to him and Eleanor their brother’s safety, congratulating them with sincerity on it, and reading aloud the most material passages of her letter with strong indignation.  When she had finished it —­ “So much for Isabella,” she cried, “and for all our intimacy!  She must think me an idiot, or she could not have written so; but perhaps this has served to make her character better known to me than mine is to her.  I see what she has been about.  She is a vain coquette, and her tricks have not answered.  I do not believe she had ever any regard either for James or for me, and I wish I had never known her.”

“It will soon be as if you never had,” said Henry.

“There is but one thing that I cannot understand.  I see that she has had designs on Captain Tilney, which have not succeeded; but I do not understand what Captain Tilney has been about all this time.  Why should he pay her such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother, and then fly off himself?”

“I have very little to say for Frederick’s motives, such as I believe them to have been.  He has his vanities as well as Miss Thorpe, and the chief difference is, that, having a stronger head, they have not yet injured himself.  If the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you, we had better not seek after the cause.”

“Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about her?”