Catherine, by whom this meeting was wholly unexpected, received her brother with the liveliest pleasure; and he, being of a very amiable disposition, and sincerely attached to her, gave every proof on his side of equal satisfaction, which he could have leisure to do, while the bright eyes of Miss Thorpe were incessantly challenging his notice; and to her his devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of joy and embarrassment which might have informed Catherine, had she been more expert in the development of other people’s feelings, and less simply engrossed by her own, that her brother thought her friend quite as pretty as she could do herself.

John Thorpe, who in the meantime had been giving orders about the horses, soon joined them, and from him she directly received the amends which were her due; for while he slightly and carelessly touched the hand of Isabella, on her he bestowed a whole scrape and half a short bow.  He was a stout young man of middling height, who, with a plain face and ungraceful form, seemed fearful of being too handsome unless he wore the dress of a groom, and too much like a gentleman unless he were easy where he ought to be civil, and impudent where he might be allowed to be easy.  He took out his watch:  “How long do you think we have been running it from Tetbury, Miss Morland?”

“I do not know the distance.”  Her brother told her that it was twenty-three miles.

“Three and twenty!” cried Thorpe.  “Five and twenty if it is an inch.”  Morland remonstrated, pleaded the authority of road-books, innkeepers, and milestones; but his friend disregarded them all; he had a surer test of distance.  “I know it must be five and twenty,” said he, “by the time we have been doing it.  It is now half after one; we drove out of the inn-yard at Tetbury as the town clock struck eleven; and I defy any man in England to make my horse go less than ten miles an hour in harness; that makes it exactly twenty-five.”

“You have lost an hour,” said Morland; “it was only ten o’clock when we came from Tetbury.”

“Ten o’clock!  It was eleven, upon my soul!  I counted every stroke.  This brother of yours would persuade me out of my senses, Miss Morland; do but look at my horse; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in your life?” (The servant had just mounted the carriage and was driving off.) “Such true blood!  Three hours and and a half indeed coming only three and twenty miles!  Look at that creature, and suppose it possible if you can.”

“He does look very hot, to be sure.”

“Hot!  He had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot Church; but look at his forehand; look at his loins; only see how he moves; that horse cannot go less than ten miles an hour:  tie his legs and he will get on.  What do you think of my gig, Miss Morland?  A neat one, is not it?  Well hung; town-built; I have not had it a month.  It was built for a Christchurch man, a friend of mine,