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The dogs’ barking outside awoke Mrs. Henry Tilney, and she opened her eyes just at the moment her new husband opened his.
“How do you do, my Catherine?” he asked tenderly.
“Oh, I am very well. But I always am in the morning.”
“But this is a different sort of morning,” he reminded her archly, “the very first of our married life.”
She was lost in joyful contemplation of the doubtless unending succession of mornings that they would welcome together in perfect joy. As Henry then asked her what she thought of it, the answer required some explanation, which Henry then elaborated upon so eloquently that Catherine wished he might never stop. But upon their noticing with surprise that the sun was rising in the sky, much faster than it ever had been seen to do before, Henry considerately retired to his own room to prepare for the day, saying that he would send the maid to her, with a cup of chocolate.
The forenoon was spent in making a circuit of the parish. Henry introduced his bride to the parishioners and cottagers, all of whom made very much of her; and afterwards they retired to a survey of their own grounds, projecting plantings, and visiting the animals.
“It is the happiest day I ever spent,” Catherine declared, as they sat down to tea at their own table, spread with their own new china set, General Tilney’s wedding-present, which Catherine had not before seen.
He was a connoisseur in china, as in many other things, and Catherine could not but admire the delicate gold-and-white dishes and cups, in their prettiness and abundance, however empty was the sentiment behind the sending.
“Happiness is a very proper state in a new bride,” observed Henry, “and I may take the opportunity to tell you that I am happy, too. Upon my word, my father did us well! That is a set that might last us all our lives, even if we have as large a family as yours.”
Catherine blushed again at this reference, and then felt it ungracious to have a secret hope that using the china would not always make her think of the giver.
“The gold leaves are very pretty,” she said, taking up a cup. “I never saw any thing like these little symbols woven round the edges. Do they signify any thing, do you think?”
“I do not know. I had not observed,” said Henry, examining a saucer closely. “You are right, however, they look almost like letters, do they not?”
“Not in any language I ever saw. Is it Russian? Is it Hebrew? Is it Arabic?”
Henry squinted at length, and finally said, “No. I perceive they are English letters, but they are so very small, I do not think they can possibly be read without a magnification glass. We have not one here. I should have to send to Cambridge for such a thing.”
“Well, I wish you would. If there is some secret writing on our china, I should like to know what it says. Do you think your father knows about it?”
“Most certainly. My father does nothing without deliberation. And he had this china made up especially for you –he told me so, in the letter that accompanied it. I can’t comprehend what he means by this.”
“Perhaps the letters are a motto of some sort,” suggested Catherine. “My mother has a set of plates that have a blessing on them, and the words, Hunger is the Best Sauce.”
“Somehow I feel it is not that,” said Henry dryly.
The eyes of the young husband and wife met.
“’Tis very strange,” said Catherine. “Are you quite sure you cannot make out any words at all? I could not, but then I only know English.”
“It does not look like any thing else,” said Henry doubtfully, “it might be Latin, but so tiny...Does this look like the letter T to you?”
“Not very much – oh, yes, perhaps it might.”
“I think it is English. T, C, I...something...L, A, M, I believe, only the size of pinpoints.”
“But that does not mean any thing, Henry.”
“I cannot tell,” he said slowly, “but I think the letters may be written backwards. Then it could be – Maledict. No, surely not. I cannot make out any more.”
He put the saucer down, rather hard.
“That does not sound much like a blessing,” Catherine faltered.
The young couple sat silent, as they each thought of what the words might mean, and what was the opposite of a blessing.
“I suppose I must write to thank your father,” said Catherine reluctantly, “but Henry, I hope you will not take it amiss if I say I prefer not to use this set of china.”
“No, I’d like to break every piece,” he said savagely.
“Goodness, how glad I am that we need not make our home at Northanger,” she said, low.
He looked as if he understood and fully participated in the sentiment. “No,” he said, “even though my father seems to have forgiven me, in a fashion, it is a fashion of his own. Whether a greeting is intended with this china or not, I confess I do not sense friendly feeling breathing from it.”
Catherine felt exactly the same and could not suppress a shudder.
“Whatever his message says, it is plain that its meaning is that he has no need for us,” said Henry decidedly. “Which happens to coincide with my own inclinations extremely well.”
“So we shall remain here?” asked Catherine hopefully.
“I wish we might, but a wedding-visit is indispensible. It will be remarked in the neighborhood, and my father cares about how things appear to – You understand. But we shall wait until Eleanor and Charles pay their next visit. My father is greedy of visits from the Viscountess, and my sister is generous in indulging him. You know what Eleanor’s kindness is.”
“Oh, yes,” said Catherine, relieved, “and I am curious to see the Viscount.”
“I think I can assure you that you will like Charles very much,” said Henry with a smile. “Eleanor quite rightly thinks he is the most charming man in the world; but I suspect that is partly because he is so very different from my father.”
“I confess that I can understand her reasoning,” Catherine admitted.
“Charles is a particularly gentle person, softly spoken, with a fine understanding,” he continued. “He is a naturalist, knows everything about birds, and grasses, and is most obliging about teaching others. We should learn much from him. Botany is a very fascinating study.”
“More lessons?” inquired Catherine. “I did not know it was your plan to keep me in the school-room, Henry.”
“Am I so very tiresome in my pedagogical tendencies?” said Henry with compunction.
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I should hate to be a disagreeable companion through ignorance, and I hope you have found me somewhat improved, now that I have read Milton, and Johnson.”
Henry laughed, and caressed her. “A man who thinks he knows it all, is invariably drawn to a woman whom he thinks knows nothing,” he said, half apologetically, “and now I have shown myself to be the ignorant one, by my carelessness of your feelings. Indeed, Catherine, you are in a fair way to be a most clever, well informed woman, and by the time we are old, you will be more than a match for me.”
“Well,” said Catherine, not wanting to argue, “I only wonder why, when we find perfect happiness, we want immediately to change it.”
Henry shook his head. “I will live to rue the day that I ever exposed you to the philosophers, and you become a very Xantippe.”
“Do you mean to say that I am a shrew, and that you rank yourself with Socrates? That will not quite do, Henry!”
Henry gave her a look of mock alarm. “What have I wrought, I wonder?”
“A wife to your own taste, and of your own mind, I hope,” Catherine replied. “Seriously, learning botany from our new brother-in-law will be something pleasant to do when we are at Northanger, at least.”
“Much better for us to be there at the same time as Eleanor and Charles. I wish that your unhappy memories of the place, and those old stories, could all be forgotten.”
“Don’t worry about that. My memories are nothing, and I assure you I have no more superstitious fancies, and care nothing for curses.”
Henry looked at her quizzically.
“To say the truth,” she confessed, “the only thing I am still afraid of is the General. He seems to me a Malediction in his own person – though I ought not say such things of your father.”
“You say nothing that he does not deserve,” said Henry gravely. “If you never forgave him for his treatment of you, I should say you had reasons good. He deserves no charity, even from your warm heart. Be assured that if – if he ever treats you with anything but the utmost – “
“I daresay the visit will go well,” she reassured him, “and we can ask him about the writing on the china. Perhaps he only meant it as a joke.”
“My father has not much humour about him, of any kind,” Henry told her dryly.
“I did not think so,” Catherine admitted, under her breath.
“Never mind. We will have Eleanor and Charles to keep us company, and if Frederick is there too, my father will take little notice of us. He always got on best with him. Frederick is his favorite.”