"The finest place in England - worth going fifty miles at any time to see."
"What, is it really a castle, an old castle?"
"The oldest in the kingdom."
"But is it like what one reads of?"
"Exactly - the very same."
"But now really - are there towers and long galleries?"
"By dozens."
"Then I should like to see it; but I cannot - I cannot go.
"Not go!
My beloved creature, what do you mean'?"
"I cannot go, because" - looking down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella's smile - "I expect Miss Tilney and her brother to call on me to take a country walk.
They promised to come at twelve, only it rained; but now, as it is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon."
"Not they indeed," cried Thorpe; "for, as we turned into Broad Street, I saw them - does he not drive a phaeton with bright chestnuts?"
"I do not know indeed."
"Yes, I know he does; I saw him.
You are talking of the man you danced with last night, are not you?"
"Yes.
"Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a smart-looking girl."
"Did you indeed?"
"Did upon my soul; knew him again directly, and he seemed to have got some very pretty cattle too."
"It is very odd!
But I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a walk."
"And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt in my life.
Walk!
You could no more walk than you could fly!
It has not been so dirty the whole winter; it is ankle-deep everywhere."
Isabella corroborated it:
"My dearest Catherine, you cannot form an idea of the dirt; come, you must go; you cannot refuse going now."
"I should like to see the castle; but may we go all over it?
May we go up every staircase, and into every suite of rooms?"
"Yes, yes, every hole and corner."
"But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is dryer, and call by and by?"
"Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that, for I heard Tilney hallooing to a man who was just passing by on horseback, that they were going as far as Wick Rocks."
"Then I will.
Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?"
"Just as you please, my dear."
"Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go," was the general cry.
Mrs. Allen was not inattentive to it:
"Well, my dear," said she, "suppose you go."
And in two minutes they were off.
Catherine's feelings, as she got into the carriage, were in a very unsettled state; divided between regret for the loss of one great pleasure, and the hope of soon enjoying another, almost its equal in degree, however unlike in kind.
She could not think the Tilneys had acted quite well by her, in so readily giving up their engagement, without sending her any message of excuse.
It was now but an hour later than the time fixed on for the beginning of their walk; and, in spite of what she had heard of the prodigious accumulation of dirt in the course of that hour, she could not from her own observation help thinking that they might have gone with very little inconvenience.
To feel herself slighted by them was very painful.
On the other hand, the delight of exploring an edifice like Udolpho, as her fancy represented Blaize Castle to be, was such a counterpoise of good as might console her for almost anything.
They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place, without the exchange of many words.
Thorpe talked to his horse, and she meditated, by turns, on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors.
As they entered Argyle Buildings, however, she was roused by this address from her companion,
"Who is that girl who looked at you so hard as she went by?"
"Who?