prompt:
Chapter: The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another attack
from the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no
dread of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, where
victory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoiced therefore at
neither seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called for
her at the appointed time; and no new difficulty arising, no sudden
recollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to
disconcert their measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able to
fulfil her engagement, though it was made with the hero himself.
They determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whose
beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an object
from almost every opening in Bath.

"I never look at it," said Catherine, as they walked along the side of
the river, "without thinking of the south of France."

"You have been abroad then?" said Henry, a little surprised.

"Oh! No, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in mind
of the country that Emily and her father travelled through, in The
Mysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?"

"Why not?"

"Because they are not clever enough for you--gentlemen read better
books."

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good
novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe's
works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho,
when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember
finishing it in two days--my hair standing on end the whole time."

"Yes," added Miss Tilney, "and I remember that you undertook to read it
aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to
answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the
Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it."

"Thank you, Eleanor--a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss Morland,
the injustice of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to get on,
refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister, breaking the promise
I had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at a most
interesting part, by running away with the volume, which, you are to
observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on
it, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion."

"I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed of
liking Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despised
novels amazingly."

"It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement if they do--for they
read nearly as many as women. I myself have read hundreds and hundreds.
Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias and
Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasing
inquiry of 'Have you read this?' and 'Have you read that?' I shall soon
leave you as far behind me as--what shall I say?--I want an appropriate
simile.--as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt when
she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have had
the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were
a good little girl working your sampler at home!"

"Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho
the nicest book in the world?"

"The nicest--by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend
upon the binding."

"Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, he
is treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is forever finding
fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking
the same liberty with you. The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did not
suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shall
be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way."

"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but
it is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?"

"Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking
a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a
very nice word indeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps it
was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or
refinement--people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or
their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised
in that one word."

"While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought only to be applied to you,
without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise. Come,
Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over our faults in the utmost
propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms we
like best. It is a most interesting work. You are fond of that kind of
reading?"

"To say the truth, I do not much like any other."

"Indeed!"

"That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, and
do not dislike travels. But history, real solemn history, I cannot be
interested in. Can you?"

"Yes, I am fond of history."

"I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me
nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and
kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for
nothing, and hardly any women at all--it is very tiresome: and yet I
often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it
must be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths,
their thoughts and designs--the chief of all this must be invention, and
invention is what delights me in other books."

"Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, "are not happy in their
flights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest. I
am fond of history--and am very well contented to take the false with
the true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligence
in former histories and records, which may be as much depended on,
I conclude, as anything that does not actually pass under one's own
observation; and as for the little embellishments you speak of, they are
embellishments, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up,
I read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made--and probably with
much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if
the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great."

"You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen and my father; and I have
two brothers who do not dislike it. So many instances within my small
circle of friends is remarkable! At this rate, I shall not pity the
writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it
is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling great volumes,
which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be
labouring only for the torment of little boys and girls, always struck
me as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right and necessary,
I have often wondered at the person's courage that could sit down on
purpose to do it."

"That little boys and girls should be tormented," said Henry, "is what
no one at all acquainted with human nature in a civilized state can
deny; but in behalf of our most distinguished historians, I must observe
that they might well be offended at being supposed to have no higher
aim, and that by their method and style, they are perfectly well
qualified to torment readers of the most advanced reason and mature
time of life. I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your own
method, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted as
synonymous."

"You think me foolish to call instruction a torment, but if you had been
as much used as myself to hear poor little children first learning their
letters and then learning to spell, if you had ever seen how stupid they
can be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother is
at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost every day of my
life at home, you would allow that 'to torment' and 'to instruct' might
sometimes be used as synonymous words."

"Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficulty
of learning to read; and even you yourself, who do not altogether seem
particularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, may
perhaps be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-while to
be tormented for two or three years of one's life, for the sake of
being able to read all the rest of it. Consider--if reading had not been
taught, Mrs. Radcliffe would have written in vain--or perhaps might not
have written at all."

Catherine assented--and a very warm panegyric from her on that lady's
merits closed the subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in another on
which she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with the
eyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided on its capability of
being formed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. Here
Catherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing--nothing of taste:
and she listened to them with an attention which brought her little
profit, for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any idea
to her. The little which she could understand, however, appeared to
contradict the very few notions she had entertained on the matter
before. It seemed as if a good view were no longer to be taken from the
top of an high hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proof
of a fine day. She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced
shame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant.
To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of
administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would
always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of
knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.

The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already
set forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment
of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the
larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a
great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them
too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything
more in woman than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own
advantages--did not know that a good-looking girl, with an affectionate
heart and a very ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever young
man, unless circumstances are particularly untoward. In the present
instance, she confessed and lamented her want of knowledge, declared
that she would give anything in the world to be able to draw; and
a lecture on the picturesque immediately followed, in which his
instructions were so clear that she soon began to see beauty in
everything admired by him, and her attention was so earnest that he
became perfectly satisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste.
He talked of foregrounds, distances, and second distances--side-screens
and perspectives--lights and shades; and Catherine was so hopeful a
scholar that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily
rejected the whole city of Bath as unworthy to make part of a landscape.
Delighted with her progress, and fearful of wearying her with too much
wisdom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline, and by an easy
transition from a piece of rocky fragment and the withered oak which
he had placed near its summit, to oaks in general, to forests, the
enclosure of them, waste lands, crown lands and government, he shortly
found himself arrived at politics; and from politics, it was an
easy step to silence. The general pause which succeeded his short
disquisition on the state of the nation was put an end to by Catherine,
who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, uttered these words, "I have
heard that something very shocking indeed will soon come out in London."

Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and
hastily replied, "Indeed! And of what nature?"

"That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it is
to be more horrible than anything we have met with yet."

"Good heaven! Where could you hear of such a thing?"

"A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter from
London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect murder
and everything of the kind."

"You speak with astonishing composure! But I hope your friend's accounts
have been exaggerated; and if such a design is known beforehand, proper
measures will undoubtedly be taken by government to prevent its coming
to effect."

"Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, "neither desires
nor dares to interfere in such matters. There must be murder; and
government cares not how much."

The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, "Come, shall I make you
understand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as
you can? No--I will be noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by the
generosity of my soul than the clearness of my head. I have no patience
with such of my sex as disdain to let themselves sometimes down to the
comprehension of yours. Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound
nor acute--neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want observation,
discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit."

"Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness to
satisfy me as to this dreadful riot."

"Riot! What riot?"

"My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion
there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more
dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three
duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with
a frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern--do you
understand? And you, Miss Morland--my stupid sister has mistaken all
your clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London--and
instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have
done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she
immediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling
in St. George's Fields, the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the
streets of London flowing with blood, a detachment of the Twelfth Light
Dragoons (the hopes of the nation) called up from Northampton to quell
the insurgents, and the gallant Captain Frederick Tilney, in the
moment of charging at the head of his troop, knocked off his horse by a
brickbat from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the
sister have added to the weakness of the woman; but she is by no means a
simpleton in general."

Catherine looked grave. "And now, Henry," said Miss Tilney, "that you
have made us understand each other, you may as well make Miss Morland
understand yourself--unless you mean to have her think you intolerably
rude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women in
general. Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways."

"I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them."

"No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present."

"What am I to do?"

"You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely before
her. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of women."

"Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the women
in the world--especially of those--whoever they may be--with whom I
happen to be in company."

"That is not enough. Be more serious."

"Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding of
women than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much that they
never find it necessary to use more than half."

"We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He is
not in a sober mood. But I do assure you that he must be entirely
misunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman
at all, or an unkind one of me."

It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never
be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must
always be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as ready
to admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and though it
ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too; her friends attended
her into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressing
herself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine,
petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner on the day after
the next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's side, and the only
difficulty on Catherine's was in concealing the excess of her pleasure.

The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish all her
friendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or James
had crossed her during their walk. When the Tilneys were gone, she
became amiable again, but she was amiable for some time to little
effect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her
anxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards the end of the
morning, however, Catherine, having occasion for some indispensable yard
of ribbon which must be bought without a moment's delay, walked out into
the town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe as she was
loitering towards Edgar's Buildings between two of the sweetest girls in
the world, who had been her dear friends all the morning. From her, she
soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken place. "They set off at
eight this morning," said Miss Anne, "and I am sure I do not envy
them their drive. I think you and I are very well off to be out of the
scrape. It must be the dullest thing in the world, for there is not a
soul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle went with your brother, and
John drove Maria."

Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of the
arrangement.

"Oh! yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go.
She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire her
taste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, if
they pressed me ever so much."

Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, "I wish
you could have gone too. It is a pity you could not all go."

"Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, I
would not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophia
when you overtook us."

Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the
friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu
without much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party had
not been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily wishing
that it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella to
resent her resistance any longer.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The day of the walk has arrived and the Tilneys arrive right on time. They decide to walk at Beechen Cliff. Catherine says the scenery reminds her of the south of France, which she has read about in Gothic novels. She notes that Henry probably doesn't read novels since they aren't smart enough for him. Henry insists he loves novels and that anyone who doesn't is a moron. Catherine is glad and says she won't be ashamed of liking novels anymore. Catherine has clearly become the president of the Henry Tilney fan club. Henry and Eleanor do the sibling banter thing, and Eleanor shares embarrassing stories about Henry and how he totally stole her book one time. Henry starts nitpicking people's word choice and brags about how he's read way more novels than Catherine since he's older. Eleanor says Henry is annoying and asks Catherine what else she likes to read. The two discuss history books. Eleanor likes them and Catherine finds them boring. Catherine only knows men who like to read history, so Eleanor is unusual in that respect. Catherine shares about growing up with nine siblings and notes that trying to educate them all is really annoying. The Tilneys start discussing picturesque views and Catherine is ashamed that she knows nothing about it. The narrator breaks in to let us know that unintelligent young women always attract more men - so the ill-informed Catherine is really good to go here. The Tilneys kindly tell Catherine all about the picturesque. Catherine then mentions that something shocking will soon happen in London - she's referring to the release of a new novel, but Eleanor thinks she means a riot is going to happen or something. Henry finds this hilarious and makes fun of them. He finally explains the miscommunication to them and then goes on to insult the intelligence of all women everywhere. Eleanor tells him to knock it off, but he keeps joking. Eleanor assures Catherine that Henry is joking and that he isn't really a misogynistic jerk, he just pretends to be one. Catherine is cool with this, since she thinks that Henry can do no wrong. After the walk, Catherine runs into Anne Thorpe, the Jan Brady of the Thorpes. Anne didn't go, or wasn't invited, to go on the road trip with her siblings and James. Anne insists the whole thing was stupid and she didn't want to go. It's not clear if she's lying though.


prompt:
Chapter: Early the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking peace and tenderness
in every line, and entreating the immediate presence of her friend on
a matter of the utmost importance, hastened Catherine, in the happiest
state of confidence and curiosity, to Edgar's Buildings. The two
youngest Miss Thorpes were by themselves in the parlour; and, on Anne's
quitting it to call her sister, Catherine took the opportunity of asking
the other for some particulars of their yesterday's party. Maria desired
no greater pleasure than to speak of it; and Catherine immediately
learnt that it had been altogether the most delightful scheme in the
world, that nobody could imagine how charming it had been, and that
it had been more delightful than anybody could conceive. Such was the
information of the first five minutes; the second unfolded thus much in
detail--that they had driven directly to the York Hotel, ate some soup,
and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the pump-room, tasted the
water, and laid out some shillings in purses and spars; thence adjourned
to eat ice at a pastry-cook's, and hurrying back to the hotel, swallowed
their dinner in haste, to prevent being in the dark; and then had a
delightful drive back, only the moon was not up, and it rained a little,
and Mr. Morland's horse was so tired he could hardly get it along.

Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It appeared that Blaize
Castle had never been thought of; and, as for all the rest, there was
nothing to regret for half an instant. Maria's intelligence concluded
with a tender effusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she represented
as insupportably cross, from being excluded the party.

"She will never forgive me, I am sure; but, you know, how could I help
it? John would have me go, for he vowed he would not drive her, because
she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in good humour
again this month; but I am determined I will not be cross; it is not a
little matter that puts me out of temper."

Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and a look of such
happy importance, as engaged all her friend's notice. Maria was without
ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began: "Yes,
my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not deceived
you. Oh! That arch eye of yours! It sees through everything."

Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance.

"Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend," continued the other, "compose
yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as you perceive. Let us sit down and
talk in comfort. Well, and so you guessed it the moment you had my note?
Sly creature! Oh! My dear Catherine, you alone, who know my heart, can
judge of my present happiness. Your brother is the most charming of
men. I only wish I were more worthy of him. But what will your excellent
father and mother say? Oh! Heavens! When I think of them I am so
agitated!"

Catherine's understanding began to awake: an idea of the truth suddenly
darted into her mind; and, with the natural blush of so new an emotion,
she cried out, "Good heaven! My dear Isabella, what do you mean? Can
you--can you really be in love with James?"

This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt comprehended but half the
fact. The anxious affection, which she was accused of having continually
watched in Isabella's every look and action, had, in the course of their
yesterday's party, received the delightful confession of an equal love.
Her heart and faith were alike engaged to James. Never had Catherine
listened to anything so full of interest, wonder, and joy. Her brother
and her friend engaged! New to such circumstances, the importance of
it appeared unspeakably great, and she contemplated it as one of those
grand events, of which the ordinary course of life can hardly afford a
return. The strength of her feelings she could not express; the nature
of them, however, contented her friend. The happiness of having such a
sister was their first effusion, and the fair ladies mingled in embraces
and tears of joy.

Delighting, however, as Catherine sincerely did in the prospect of the
connection, it must be acknowledged that Isabella far surpassed her
in tender anticipations. "You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my
Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much
more attached to my dear Morland's family than to my own."

This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine.

"You are so like your dear brother," continued Isabella, "that I quite
doted on you the first moment I saw you. But so it always is with me;
the first moment settles everything. The very first day that Morland
came to us last Christmas--the very first moment I beheld him--my heart
was irrecoverably gone. I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my hair
done up in braids; and when I came into the drawing-room, and John
introduced him, I thought I never saw anybody so handsome before."

Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of love; for, though
exceedingly fond of her brother, and partial to all his endowments, she
had never in her life thought him handsome.

"I remember too, Miss Andrews drank tea with us that evening, and wore
her puce-coloured sarsenet; and she looked so heavenly that I thought
your brother must certainly fall in love with her; I could not sleep
a wink all right for thinking of it. Oh! Catherine, the many sleepless
nights I have had on your brother's account! I would not have you suffer
half what I have done! I am grown wretchedly thin, I know; but I will
not pain you by describing my anxiety; you have seen enough of it. I
feel that I have betrayed myself perpetually--so unguarded in speaking
of my partiality for the church! But my secret I was always sure would
be safe with you."

Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer; but ashamed of an
ignorance little expected, she dared no longer contest the point,
nor refuse to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate
sympathy as Isabella chose to consider her. Her brother, she found,
was preparing to set off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his
situation and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agitation
to the mind of Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she
was herself persuaded, that her father and mother would never oppose
their son's wishes. "It is impossible," said she, "for parents to be
more kind, or more desirous of their children's happiness; I have no
doubt of their consenting immediately."

"Morland says exactly the same," replied Isabella; "and yet I dare not
expect it; my fortune will be so small; they never can consent to it.
Your brother, who might marry anybody!"

Here Catherine again discerned the force of love.

"Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The difference of fortune can be
nothing to signify."

"Oh! My sweet Catherine, in your generous heart I know it would signify
nothing; but we must not expect such disinterestedness in many. As for
myself, I am sure I only wish our situations were reversed. Had I the
command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother
would be my only choice."

This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty,
gave Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her
acquaintance; and she thought her friend never looked more lovely than
in uttering the grand idea. "I am sure they will consent," was her
frequent declaration; "I am sure they will be delighted with you."

"For my own part," said Isabella, "my wishes are so moderate that the
smallest income in nature would be enough for me. Where people are
really attached, poverty itself is wealth; grandeur I detest: I would
not settle in London for the universe. A cottage in some retired village
would be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas about Richmond."

"Richmond!" cried Catherine. "You must settle near Fullerton. You must
be near us."

"I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can but be near you,
I shall be satisfied. But this is idle talking! I will not allow myself
to think of such things, till we have your father's answer. Morland
says that by sending it tonight to Salisbury, we may have it tomorrow.
Tomorrow? I know I shall never have courage to open the letter. I know
it will be the death of me."

A reverie succeeded this conviction--and when Isabella spoke again, it
was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown.

Their conference was put an end to by the anxious young lover himself,
who came to breathe his parting sigh before he set off for Wiltshire.
Catherine wished to congratulate him, but knew not what to say, and her
eloquence was only in her eyes. From them, however, the eight parts of
speech shone out most expressively, and James could combine them with
ease. Impatient for the realization of all that he hoped at home, his
adieus were not long; and they would have been yet shorter, had he not
been frequently detained by the urgent entreaties of his fair one that
he would go. Twice was he called almost from the door by her eagerness
to have him gone. "Indeed, Morland, I must drive you away. Consider how
far you have to ride. I cannot bear to see you linger so. For heaven's
sake, waste no more time. There, go, go--I insist on it."

The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were inseparable
for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the hours flew along.
Mrs. Thorpe and her son, who were acquainted with everything, and
who seemed only to want Mr. Morland's consent, to consider Isabella's
engagement as the most fortunate circumstance imaginable for their
family, were allowed to join their counsels, and add their quota of
significant looks and mysterious expressions to fill up the measure
of curiosity to be raised in the unprivileged younger sisters. To
Catherine's simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither
kindly meant, nor consistently supported; and its unkindness she would
hardly have forborne pointing out, had its inconsistency been less their
friend; but Anne and Maria soon set her heart at ease by the sagacity of
their "I know what"; and the evening was spent in a sort of war of wit,
a display of family ingenuity, on one side in the mystery of an affected
secret, on the other of undefined discovery, all equally acute.

Catherine was with her friend again the next day, endeavouring to
support her spirits and while away the many tedious hours before
the delivery of the letters; a needful exertion, for as the time
of reasonable expectation drew near, Isabella became more and more
desponding, and before the letter arrived, had worked herself into a
state of real distress. But when it did come, where could distress
be found? "I have had no difficulty in gaining the consent of my kind
parents, and am promised that everything in their power shall be done to
forward my happiness," were the first three lines, and in one moment
all was joyful security. The brightest glow was instantly spread over
Isabella's features, all care and anxiety seemed removed, her spirits
became almost too high for control, and she called herself without
scruple the happiest of mortals.

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."

"Then why do you stay away so long?" replied Catherine--finding that he
waited for an answer.

"That is kind of you, however--kind and good-natured. I shall not forget
it in a hurry. But you have more good nature and all that, than anybody
living, I believe. A monstrous deal of good nature, and it is not only
good nature, but you have so much, so much of everything; and then you
have such--upon my soul, I do not know anybody like you."

"Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a
great deal better. Good morning to you."

"But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my respects at Fullerton
before it is long, if not disagreeable."

"Pray do. My father and mother will be very glad to see you."

"And I hope--I hope, Miss Morland, you will not be sorry to see me."

"Oh! dear, not at all. There are very few people I am sorry to see.
Company is always cheerful."

"That is just my way of thinking. Give me but a little cheerful company,
let me only have the company of the people I love, let me only be where
I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say I. And
I am heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a notion, Miss
Morland, you and I think pretty much alike upon most matters."

"Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to most
matters, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own mind
about."

"By Jove, no more do I. It is not my way to bother my brains with what
does not concern me. My notion of things is simple enough. Let me only
have the girl I like, say I, with a comfortable house over my head, and
what care I for all the rest? Fortune is nothing. I am sure of a good
income of my own; and if she had not a penny, why, so much the better."

"Very true. I think like you there. If there is a good fortune on one
side, there can be no occasion for any on the other. No matter which
has it, so that there is enough. I hate the idea of one great fortune
looking out for another. And to marry for money I think the wickedest
thing in existence. Good day. We shall be very glad to see you at
Fullerton, whenever it is convenient." And away she went. It was not in
the power of all his gallantry to detain her longer. With such news to
communicate, and such a visit to prepare for, her departure was not
to be delayed by anything in his nature to urge; and she hurried away,
leaving him to the undivided consciousness of his own happy address, and
her explicit encouragement.

The agitation which she had herself experienced on first learning her
brother's engagement made her expect to raise no inconsiderable emotion
in Mr. and Mrs. Allen, by the communication of the wonderful event. How
great was her disappointment! The important affair, which many words of
preparation ushered in, had been foreseen by them both ever since
her brother's arrival; and all that they felt on the occasion was
comprehended in a wish for the young people's happiness, with a remark,
on the gentleman's side, in favour of Isabella's beauty, and on the
lady's, of her great good luck. It was to Catherine the most surprising
insensibility. The disclosure, however, of the great secret of James's
going to Fullerton the day before, did raise some emotion in Mrs. Allen.
She could not listen to that with perfect calmness, but repeatedly
regretted the necessity of its concealment, wished she could have known
his intention, wished she could have seen him before he went, as she
should certainly have troubled him with her best regards to his father
and mother, and her kind compliments to all the Skinners.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Next day. Isabella sends Catherine an apology note and Catherine goes to visit her. She hears all about the road trip - they failed to make it all the way to the Castle once again. Isabella starts dropping really obvious hints about James and Catherine finally picks up on it. She asks Isabella if she is in love with James. Isabella does her one better and tells her that she and James have gotten engaged. Catherine is excited and Isabella carries on about how they'll be sisters now and how she'll like Catherine and the Morlands much more than her own family. Catherine finds that sentiment a bit extreme. Isabella rambles on about how she first fell in love with James. Isabella is a bit worried about whether the Morlands will approve, but Catherine assures her that they will. Isabella notes that she has no desire for a lot of money or a fancy house, and will be happy living in the country, though the town she names is actually a suburb of London. Catherine fails to pick up on that bit of irony. James comes to say bye - he's heading off to see his parents. Catherine hangs out with the Thorpes and is confused by the family dynamic. They spend the evening competing to see who can be the wittiest and, since Isabella's engagement isn't official yet, they all talk around it slyly. The next day Isabella is freaking out from nerves. Finally a letter arrives from James saying everything his cool. His parents approve and they can get married. The Thorpes are mega-excited. James says he'll send details about the money and property settlement later. John is going out of town now, so he says goodbye to Catherine. John and Catherine are left alone and John starts dropping anvil hints about the two of them following Isabella and James's example and getting married themselves. This completely goes over Catherine's head, and she responds to everything John says literally. It's hilarious. John hints about coming to call on her in the future, and Catherine is like, "Whatever, fine." Catherine notes as he is leaving that people shouldn't marry for money; it's tacky. John falls all over himself to agree with her and leaves thinking that he and Catherine are on the same page, when they totally aren't. Catherine arrives home and is put out that the Allens are not surprised by James getting engaged, since they saw it coming a mile away.


prompt:
Chapter: Catherine's expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom Street
were so very high that disappointment was inevitable; and accordingly,
though she was most politely received by General Tilney, and kindly
welcomed by his daughter, though Henry was at home, and no one else of
the party, she found, on her return, without spending many hours in
the examination of her feelings, that she had gone to her appointment
preparing for happiness which it had not afforded. Instead of finding
herself improved in acquaintance with Miss Tilney, from the intercourse
of the day, she seemed hardly so intimate with her as before; instead
of seeing Henry Tilney to greater advantage than ever, in the ease of a
family party, he had never said so little, nor been so little agreeable;
and, in spite of their father's great civilities to her--in spite of his
thanks, invitations, and compliments--it had been a release to get
away from him. It puzzled her to account for all this. It could not
be General Tilney's fault. That he was perfectly agreeable and
good-natured, and altogether a very charming man, did not admit of a
doubt, for he was tall and handsome, and Henry's father. He could not
be accountable for his children's want of spirits, or for her want of
enjoyment in his company. The former she hoped at last might have
been accidental, and the latter she could only attribute to her own
stupidity. Isabella, on hearing the particulars of the visit, gave
a different explanation: "It was all pride, pride, insufferable
haughtiness and pride! She had long suspected the family to be very
high, and this made it certain. Such insolence of behaviour as Miss
Tilney's she had never heard of in her life! Not to do the honours of
her house with common good breeding! To behave to her guest with such
superciliousness! Hardly even to speak to her!"

"But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no superciliousness;
she was very civil."

"Oh! Don't defend her! And then the brother, he, who had appeared
so attached to you! Good heavens! Well, some people's feelings are
incomprehensible. And so he hardly looked once at you the whole day?"

"I do not say so; but he did not seem in good spirits."

"How contemptible! Of all things in the world inconstancy is my
aversion. Let me entreat you never to think of him again, my dear
Catherine; indeed he is unworthy of you."

"Unworthy! I do not suppose he ever thinks of me."

"That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you. Such fickleness!
Oh! How different to your brother and to mine! I really believe John has
the most constant heart."

"But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be impossible for
anybody to behave to me with greater civility and attention; it seemed
to be his only care to entertain and make me happy."

"Oh! I know no harm of him; I do not suspect him of pride. I believe he
is a very gentleman-like man. John thinks very well of him, and John's
judgment--"

"Well, I shall see how they behave to me this evening; we shall meet
them at the rooms."

"And must I go?"

"Do not you intend it? I thought it was all settled."

"Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse you nothing. But
do not insist upon my being very agreeable, for my heart, you know, will
be some forty miles off. And as for dancing, do not mention it, I beg;
that is quite out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me to
death, I dare say; but I shall cut him very short. Ten to one but he
guesses the reason, and that is exactly what I want to avoid, so I shall
insist on his keeping his conjecture to himself."

Isabella's opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her friend; she was
sure there had been no insolence in the manners either of brother or
sister; and she did not credit there being any pride in their hearts.
The evening rewarded her confidence; she was met by one with the same
kindness, and by the other with the same attention, as heretofore: Miss
Tilney took pains to be near her, and Henry asked her to dance.

Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that their elder brother,
Captain Tilney, was expected almost every hour, she was at no loss for
the name of a very fashionable-looking, handsome young man, whom she had
never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their party. She
looked at him with great admiration, and even supposed it possible that
some people might think him handsomer than his brother, though, in her
eyes, his air was more assuming, and his countenance less prepossessing.
His taste and manners were beyond a doubt decidedly inferior; for,
within her hearing, he not only protested against every thought of
dancing himself, but even laughed openly at Henry for finding it
possible. From the latter circumstance it may be presumed that, whatever
might be our heroine's opinion of him, his admiration of her was not
of a very dangerous kind; not likely to produce animosities between the
brothers, nor persecutions to the lady. He cannot be the instigator of
the three villains in horsemen's greatcoats, by whom she will hereafter
be forced into a traveling-chaise and four, which will drive off with
incredible speed. Catherine, meanwhile, undisturbed by presentiments of
such an evil, or of any evil at all, except that of having but a short
set to dance down, enjoyed her usual happiness with Henry Tilney,
listening with sparkling eyes to everything he said; and, in finding him
irresistible, becoming so herself.

At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came towards them again,
and, much to Catherine's dissatisfaction, pulled his brother away. They
retired whispering together; and, though her delicate sensibility did
not take immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain Tilney
must have heard some malevolent misrepresentation of her, which he now
hastened to communicate to his brother, in the hope of separating them
forever, she could not have her partner conveyed from her sight without
very uneasy sensations. Her suspense was of full five minutes' duration;
and she was beginning to think it a very long quarter of an hour, when
they both returned, and an explanation was given, by Henry's requesting
to know if she thought her friend, Miss Thorpe, would have any objection
to dancing, as his brother would be most happy to be introduced to
her. Catherine, without hesitation, replied that she was very sure Miss
Thorpe did not mean to dance at all. The cruel reply was passed on to
the other, and he immediately walked away.

"Your brother will not mind it, I know," said she, "because I heard him
say before that he hated dancing; but it was very good-natured in him
to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she
might wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for she would not
dance upon any account in the world."

Henry smiled, and said, "How very little trouble it can give you to
understand the motive of other people's actions."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"With you, it is not, How is such a one likely to be influenced, What
is the inducement most likely to act upon such a person's feelings, age,
situation, and probable habits of life considered--but, How should I be
influenced, What would be my inducement in acting so and so?"

"I do not understand you."

"Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand you perfectly
well."

"Me? Yes; I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible."

"Bravo! An excellent satire on modern language."

"But pray tell me what you mean."

"Shall I indeed? Do you really desire it? But you are not aware of the
consequences; it will involve you in a very cruel embarrassment, and
certainly bring on a disagreement between us."

"No, no; it shall not do either; I am not afraid."

"Well, then, I only meant that your attributing my brother's wish of
dancing with Miss Thorpe to good nature alone convinced me of your being
superior in good nature yourself to all the rest of the world."

Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman's predictions were
verified. There was a something, however, in his words which repaid her
for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied her mind so much
that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen, and
almost forgetting where she was; till, roused by the voice of Isabella,
she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to give them
hands across.

Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the only explanation of this
extraordinary change which could at that time be given; but as it
was not quite enough for Catherine's comprehension, she spoke her
astonishment in very plain terms to her partner.

"I cannot think how it could happen! Isabella was so determined not to
dance."

"And did Isabella never change her mind before?"

"Oh! But, because--And your brother! After what you told him from me,
how could he think of going to ask her?"

"I cannot take surprise to myself on that head. You bid me be surprised
on your friend's account, and therefore I am; but as for my brother, his
conduct in the business, I must own, has been no more than I believed
him perfectly equal to. The fairness of your friend was an open
attraction; her firmness, you know, could only be understood by
yourself."

"You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella is very firm in general."

"It is as much as should be said of anyone. To be always firm must be
to be often obstinate. When properly to relax is the trial of judgment;
and, without reference to my brother, I really think Miss Thorpe has by
no means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour."

The friends were not able to get together for any confidential discourse
till all the dancing was over; but then, as they walked about the room
arm in arm, Isabella thus explained herself: "I do not wonder at your
surprise; and I am really fatigued to death. He is such a rattle!
Amusing enough, if my mind had been disengaged; but I would have given
the world to sit still."

"Then why did not you?"

"Oh! My dear! It would have looked so particular; and you know how I
abhor doing that. I refused him as long as I possibly could, but he
would take no denial. You have no idea how he pressed me. I begged him
to excuse me, and get some other partner--but no, not he; after aspiring
to my hand, there was nobody else in the room he could bear to think of;
and it was not that he wanted merely to dance, he wanted to be with
me. Oh! Such nonsense! I told him he had taken a very unlikely way to
prevail upon me; for, of all things in the world, I hated fine speeches
and compliments; and so--and so then I found there would be no peace if
I did not stand up. Besides, I thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced him,
might take it ill if I did not: and your dear brother, I am sure he
would have been miserable if I had sat down the whole evening. I am
so glad it is over! My spirits are quite jaded with listening to his
nonsense: and then, being such a smart young fellow, I saw every eye was
upon us."

"He is very handsome indeed."

"Handsome! Yes, I suppose he may. I dare say people would admire him
in general; but he is not at all in my style of beauty. I hate a florid
complexion and dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well. Amazingly
conceited, I am sure. I took him down several times, you know, in my
way."

When the young ladies next met, they had a far more interesting subject
to discuss. James Morland's second letter was then received, and the
kind intentions of his father fully explained. A living, of which Mr.
Morland was himself patron and incumbent, of about four hundred pounds
yearly value, was to be resigned to his son as soon as he should be
old enough to take it; no trifling deduction from the family income, no
niggardly assignment to one of ten children. An estate of at least equal
value, moreover, was assured as his future inheritance.

James expressed himself on the occasion with becoming gratitude; and
the necessity of waiting between two and three years before they could
marry, being, however unwelcome, no more than he had expected, was borne
by him without discontent. Catherine, whose expectations had been as
unfixed as her ideas of her father's income, and whose judgment was now
entirely led by her brother, felt equally well satisfied, and heartily
congratulated Isabella on having everything so pleasantly settled.

"It is very charming indeed," said Isabella, with a grave face. "Mr.
Morland has behaved vastly handsome indeed," said the gentle Mrs.
Thorpe, looking anxiously at her daughter. "I only wish I could do as
much. One could not expect more from him, you know. If he finds he
can do more by and by, I dare say he will, for I am sure he must be an
excellent good-hearted man. Four hundred is but a small income to begin
on indeed, but your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, you do
not consider how little you ever want, my dear."

"It is not on my own account I wish for more; but I cannot bear to
be the means of injuring my dear Morland, making him sit down upon an
income hardly enough to find one in the common necessaries of life. For
myself, it is nothing; I never think of myself."

"I know you never do, my dear; and you will always find your reward in
the affection it makes everybody feel for you. There never was a young
woman so beloved as you are by everybody that knows you; and I dare say
when Mr. Morland sees you, my dear child--but do not let us distress
our dear Catherine by talking of such things. Mr. Morland has behaved so
very handsome, you know. I always heard he was a most excellent man;
and you know, my dear, we are not to suppose but what, if you had had a
suitable fortune, he would have come down with something more, for I am
sure he must be a most liberal-minded man."

"Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I do, I am sure. But
everybody has their failing, you know, and everybody has a right to
do what they like with their own money." Catherine was hurt by these
insinuations. "I am very sure," said she, "that my father has promised
to do as much as he can afford."

Isabella recollected herself. "As to that, my sweet Catherine, there
cannot be a doubt, and you know me well enough to be sure that a much
smaller income would satisfy me. It is not the want of more money that
makes me just at present a little out of spirits; I hate money; and if
our union could take place now upon only fifty pounds a year, I should
not have a wish unsatisfied. Ah! my Catherine, you have found me out.
There's the sting. The long, long, endless two years and half that are
to pass before your brother can hold the living."

"Yes, yes, my darling Isabella," said Mrs. Thorpe, "we perfectly see
into your heart. You have no disguise. We perfectly understand the
present vexation; and everybody must love you the better for such a
noble honest affection."

Catherine's uncomfortable feelings began to lessen. She endeavoured to
believe that the delay of the marriage was the only source of Isabella's
regret; and when she saw her at their next interview as cheerful and
amiable as ever, endeavoured to forget that she had for a minute thought
otherwise. James soon followed his letter, and was received with the
most gratifying kindness.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Catherine goes to dine with the Tilneys, but doesn't have the best time. Eleanor and Henry aren't very talkative. She can't figure out why since the General was so civil and nice. Later she visits Isabella, who insults all the Tilneys and says that they are arrogant and snobby. Isabella notes that John is way nicer and cooler than Henry. Catherine ignores this. There's another ball. These people never stop with the parties. Isabella insists that she won't dance tonight and will instead pine for James in a corner. Sounds like a plan. Catherine hangs out with the Tilneys and has fun at the ball. The eldest Tilney, Captain Frederick Tilney, has arrived in town. He's super-good-looking, but Catherine thinks that Henry has the better personality. The Tilney brothers go off to chat after Henry dances with Catherine. Henry comes back and says that Frederick wants to be introduced to Isabella so he can ask her to dance. Catherine says "no thanks" on her friend's behalf, thinking that Isabella won't want to dance with anyone. Henry laughs about how Catherine is clueless about people and has no understanding of the motives of others. He then compliments her about being so good-natured and nice. Catherine is embarrassed. Then she spies Isabella heading to the dance floor with Captain Tilney. Henry finds this about-face hilarious. Catherine is confused. After the dancing Catherine goes to confront Isabella about dancing when she said she wouldn't. Isabella says she's only dancing because the Captain won't stop pestering her. A few days later , the girls meet again to discuss James's second letter to Isabella. This one lets her know all the details, like their income and property. It turns out it's not a lot and they won't be able to get married for three years, since James has to save up his money. Isabella is not thrilled with this. The Thorpes start insinuating that Mr. Morland is being stingy and that he really has more money. Catherine is upset by these insinuations and says that her father is very generous and totally did the best he could, especially since he has ten kids to consider. Isabella gets herself together and insists she's only upset about having to wait three years, not about the money. Catherine doubts this somewhat, but soon gets over it.


prompt:
Chapter: The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of their stay in Bath; and
whether it should be the last was for some time a question, to which
Catherine listened with a beating heart. To have her acquaintance with
the Tilneys end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance.
Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the affair was in suspense,
and everything secured when it was determined that the lodgings should
be taken for another fortnight. What this additional fortnight was to
produce to her beyond the pleasure of sometimes seeing Henry Tilney made
but a small part of Catherine's speculation. Once or twice indeed, since
James's engagement had taught her what could be done, she had got so
far as to indulge in a secret "perhaps," but in general the felicity of
being with him for the present bounded her views: the present was now
comprised in another three weeks, and her happiness being certain for
that period, the rest of her life was at such a distance as to excite
but little interest. In the course of the morning which saw this
business arranged, she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth her
joyful feelings. It was doomed to be a day of trial. No sooner had she
expressed her delight in Mr. Allen's lengthened stay than Miss Tilney
told her of her father's having just determined upon quitting Bath
by the end of another week. Here was a blow! The past suspense of
the morning had been ease and quiet to the present disappointment.
Catherine's countenance fell, and in a voice of most sincere concern she
echoed Miss Tilney's concluding words, "By the end of another week!"

"Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what I
think a fair trial. He has been disappointed of some friends' arrival
whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a
hurry to get home."

"I am very sorry for it," said Catherine dejectedly; "if I had known
this before--"

"Perhaps," said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, "you would be so
good--it would make me very happy if--"

The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility, which Catherine
was beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their corresponding.
After addressing her with his usual politeness, he turned to his
daughter and said, "Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on being
successful in your application to your fair friend?"

"I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in."

"Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your heart is in it. My
daughter, Miss Morland," he continued, without leaving his daughter time
to speak, "has been forming a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as she has
perhaps told you, on Saturday se'nnight. A letter from my steward tells
me that my presence is wanted at home; and being disappointed in my hope
of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here, some of
my very old friends, there is nothing to detain me longer in Bath. And
could we carry our selfish point with you, we should leave it without a
single regret. Can you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this scene
of public triumph and oblige your friend Eleanor with your company in
Gloucestershire? I am almost ashamed to make the request, though its
presumption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath
than yourself. Modesty such as yours--but not for the world would I pain
it by open praise. If you can be induced to honour us with a visit,
you will make us happy beyond expression. 'Tis true, we can offer you
nothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tempt you neither
by amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see, is plain
and unpretending; yet no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to make
Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable."

Northanger Abbey! These were thrilling words, and wound up Catherine's
feelings to the highest point of ecstasy. Her grateful and gratified
heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of
tolerable calmness. To receive so flattering an invitation! To have her
company so warmly solicited! Everything honourable and soothing, every
present enjoyment, and every future hope was contained in it; and her
acceptance, with only the saving clause of Papa and Mamma's approbation,
was eagerly given. "I will write home directly," said she, "and if they
do not object, as I dare say they will not--"

General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on her
excellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction of
his wishes. "Since they can consent to part with you," said he, "we may
expect philosophy from all the world."

Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, and
the affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this necessary
reference to Fullerton would allow.

The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine's feelings through
the varieties of suspense, security, and disappointment; but they were
now safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture,
with Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, she
hurried home to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland, relying on
the discretion of the friends to whom they had already entrusted their
daughter, felt no doubt of the propriety of an acquaintance which had
been formed under their eye, and sent therefore by return of post their
ready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire. This indulgence, though
not more than Catherine had hoped for, completed her conviction of being
favoured beyond every other human creature, in friends and fortune,
circumstance and chance. Everything seemed to cooperate for her
advantage. By the kindness of her first friends, the Allens, she had
been introduced into scenes where pleasures of every kind had met her.
Her feelings, her preferences, had each known the happiness of a return.
Wherever she felt attachment, she had been able to create it. The
affection of Isabella was to be secured to her in a sister. The Tilneys,
they, by whom, above all, she desired to be favourably thought of,
outstripped even her wishes in the flattering measures by which their
intimacy was to be continued. She was to be their chosen visitor, she
was to be for weeks under the same roof with the person whose society
she mostly prized--and, in addition to all the rest, this roof was to
be the roof of an abbey! Her passion for ancient edifices was next in
degree to her passion for Henry Tilney--and castles and abbeys made
usually the charm of those reveries which his image did not fill. To see
and explore either the ramparts and keep of the one, or the cloisters
of the other, had been for many weeks a darling wish, though to be more
than the visitor of an hour had seemed too nearly impossible for desire.
And yet, this was to happen. With all the chances against her of house,
hall, place, park, court, and cottage, Northanger turned up an abbey,
and she was to be its inhabitant. Its long, damp passages, its narrow
cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach, and she
could not entirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends, some
awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun.

It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by the
possession of such a home, that the consciousness of it should be so
meekly borne. The power of early habit only could account for it. A
distinction to which they had been born gave no pride. Their superiority
of abode was no more to them than their superiority of person.

Many were the inquiries she was eager to make of Miss Tilney; but so
active were her thoughts, that when these inquiries were answered, she
was hardly more assured than before, of Northanger Abbey having been
a richly endowed convent at the time of the Reformation, of its having
fallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilneys on its dissolution,
of a large portion of the ancient building still making a part of the
present dwelling although the rest was decayed, or of its standing low
in a valley, sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Allens and Catherine have been in Bath for six weeks and the Allens start thinking about going home. Catherine ponders her relationship with Henry, since Isabella's engagement has given her some ideas. But she decides to just be happy in the present and not worry about the future. Catherine has a nice fortune cookie world view. The Tilneys are leaving soon too, but they invite Catherine to come with them to their home, Northanger Abbey. The title finally makes sense. Well, Eleanor tries to invite Catherine, but the General barges in and interrupts her and then asks Catherine himself. The whole family wants her to come, though for varying implicit reasons. The General's reasons are totally ambiguous. Eleanor and Henry clearly just want their friend/almost girlfriend to visit. Catherine about dies from joy here. She says that her parents will probably be cool with her going. The Morlands write back soon with their consent and Catherine thinks about how awesome life is for her lately. The fact that the Tilneys, her favorite people, live in a Gothic abbey is just icing on the cake for her. Catherine assumes that Northanger Abbey will be just like the places she's read about. In other words: creepy, mysterious, exciting, and super "Gothic."


prompt:
Chapter: With a mind thus full of happiness, Catherine was hardly aware that two
or three days had passed away, without her seeing Isabella for more than
a few minutes together. She began first to be sensible of this, and
to sigh for her conversation, as she walked along the pump-room one
morning, by Mrs. Allen's side, without anything to say or to hear; and
scarcely had she felt a five minutes' longing of friendship, before the
object of it appeared, and inviting her to a secret conference, led the
way to a seat. "This is my favourite place," said she as they sat
down on a bench between the doors, which commanded a tolerable view of
everybody entering at either; "it is so out of the way."

Catherine, observing that Isabella's eyes were continually bent towards
one door or the other, as in eager expectation, and remembering how
often she had been falsely accused of being arch, thought the present a
fine opportunity for being really so; and therefore gaily said, "Do not
be uneasy, Isabella, James will soon be here."

"Psha! My dear creature," she replied, "do not think me such a simpleton
as to be always wanting to confine him to my elbow. It would be hideous
to be always together; we should be the jest of the place. And so you
are going to Northanger! I am amazingly glad of it. It is one of the
finest old places in England, I understand. I shall depend upon a most
particular description of it."

"You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are you
looking for? Are your sisters coming?"

"I am not looking for anybody. One's eyes must be somewhere, and you
know what a foolish trick I have of fixing mine, when my thoughts are an
hundred miles off. I am amazingly absent; I believe I am the most absent
creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the case with minds of a
certain stamp."

"But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular to tell me?"

"Oh! Yes, and so I have. But here is a proof of what I was saying. My
poor head, I had quite forgot it. Well, the thing is this: I have just
had a letter from John; you can guess the contents."

"No, indeed, I cannot."

"My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected. What can he write
about, but yourself? You know he is over head and ears in love with
you."

"With me, dear Isabella!"

"Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd! Modesty, and
all that, is very well in its way, but really a little common honesty is
sometimes quite as becoming. I have no idea of being so overstrained!
It is fishing for compliments. His attentions were such as a child must
have noticed. And it was but half an hour before he left Bath that you
gave him the most positive encouragement. He says so in this letter,
says that he as good as made you an offer, and that you received his
advances in the kindest way; and now he wants me to urge his suit,
and say all manner of pretty things to you. So it is in vain to affect
ignorance."

Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed her astonishment
at such a charge, protesting her innocence of every thought of Mr.
Thorpe's being in love with her, and the consequent impossibility of
her having ever intended to encourage him. "As to any attentions on his
side, I do declare, upon my honour, I never was sensible of them for a
moment--except just his asking me to dance the first day of his coming.
And as to making me an offer, or anything like it, there must be some
unaccountable mistake. I could not have misunderstood a thing of that
kind, you know! And, as I ever wish to be believed, I solemnly protest
that no syllable of such a nature ever passed between us. The last half
hour before he went away! It must be all and completely a mistake--for I
did not see him once that whole morning."

"But that you certainly did, for you spent the whole morning in Edgar's
Buildings--it was the day your father's consent came--and I am pretty
sure that you and John were alone in the parlour some time before you
left the house."

"Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say--but for the life
of me, I cannot recollect it. I do remember now being with you, and
seeing him as well as the rest--but that we were ever alone for five
minutes--However, it is not worth arguing about, for whatever might pass
on his side, you must be convinced, by my having no recollection of it,
that I never thought, nor expected, nor wished for anything of the kind
from him. I am excessively concerned that he should have any regard for
me--but indeed it has been quite unintentional on my side; I never had
the smallest idea of it. Pray undeceive him as soon as you can, and tell
him I beg his pardon--that is--I do not know what I ought to say--but
make him understand what I mean, in the properest way. I would not speak
disrespectfully of a brother of yours, Isabella, I am sure; but you know
very well that if I could think of one man more than another--he is not
the person." Isabella was silent. "My dear friend, you must not be angry
with me. I cannot suppose your brother cares so very much about me. And,
you know, we shall still be sisters."

"Yes, yes" (with a blush), "there are more ways than one of our being
sisters. But where am I wandering to? Well, my dear Catherine, the case
seems to be that you are determined against poor John--is not it so?"

"I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant
to encourage it."

"Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you any further.
John desired me to speak to you on the subject, and therefore I have.
But I confess, as soon as I read his letter, I thought it a very
foolish, imprudent business, and not likely to promote the good of
either; for what were you to live upon, supposing you came together? You
have both of you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that will
support a family nowadays; and after all that romancers may say, there
is no doing without money. I only wonder John could think of it; he
could not have received my last."

"You do acquit me, then, of anything wrong?--You are convinced that I
never meant to deceive your brother, never suspected him of liking me
till this moment?"

"Oh! As to that," answered Isabella laughingly, "I do not pretend to
determine what your thoughts and designs in time past may have been. All
that is best known to yourself. A little harmless flirtation or so will
occur, and one is often drawn on to give more encouragement than one
wishes to stand by. But you may be assured that I am the last person in
the world to judge you severely. All those things should be allowed for
in youth and high spirits. What one means one day, you know, one may not
mean the next. Circumstances change, opinions alter."

"But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the same.
You are describing what never happened."

"My dearest Catherine," continued the other without at all listening to
her, "I would not for all the world be the means of hurrying you into an
engagement before you knew what you were about. I do not think anything
would justify me in wishing you to sacrifice all your happiness merely
to oblige my brother, because he is my brother, and who perhaps after
all, you know, might be just as happy without you, for people seldom
know what they would be at, young men especially, they are so amazingly
changeable and inconstant. What I say is, why should a brother's
happiness be dearer to me than a friend's? You know I carry my notions
of friendship pretty high. But, above all things, my dear Catherine, do
not be in a hurry. Take my word for it, that if you are in too great
a hurry, you will certainly live to repent it. Tilney says there is
nothing people are so often deceived in as the state of their own
affections, and I believe he is very right. Ah! Here he comes; never
mind, he will not see us, I am sure."

Catherine, looking up, perceived Captain Tilney; and Isabella,
earnestly fixing her eye on him as she spoke, soon caught his notice. He
approached immediately, and took the seat to which her movements invited
him. His first address made Catherine start. Though spoken low, she
could distinguish, "What! Always to be watched, in person or by proxy!"

"Psha, nonsense!" was Isabella's answer in the same half whisper. "Why
do you put such things into my head? If I could believe it--my spirit,
you know, is pretty independent."

"I wish your heart were independent. That would be enough for me."

"My heart, indeed! What can you have to do with hearts? You men have
none of you any hearts."

"If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment enough."

"Do they? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find anything so
disagreeable in me. I will look another way. I hope this pleases you"
(turning her back on him); "I hope your eyes are not tormented now."

"Never more so; for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in view--at
once too much and too little."

Catherine heard all this, and quite out of countenance, could listen
no longer. Amazed that Isabella could endure it, and jealous for her
brother, she rose up, and saying she should join Mrs. Allen, proposed
their walking. But for this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so
amazingly tired, and it was so odious to parade about the pump-room;
and if she moved from her seat she should miss her sisters; she was
expecting her sisters every moment; so that her dearest Catherine must
excuse her, and must sit quietly down again. But Catherine could be
stubborn too; and Mrs. Allen just then coming up to propose their
returning home, she joined her and walked out of the pump-room, leaving
Isabella still sitting with Captain Tilney. With much uneasiness did
she thus leave them. It seemed to her that Captain Tilney was falling
in love with Isabella, and Isabella unconsciously encouraging him;
unconsciously it must be, for Isabella's attachment to James was as
certain and well acknowledged as her engagement. To doubt her truth
or good intentions was impossible; and yet, during the whole of their
conversation her manner had been odd. She wished Isabella had talked
more like her usual self, and not so much about money, and had not
looked so well pleased at the sight of Captain Tilney. How strange that
she should not perceive his admiration! Catherine longed to give her a
hint of it, to put her on her guard, and prevent all the pain which
her too lively behaviour might otherwise create both for him and her
brother.

The compliment of John Thorpe's affection did not make amends for this
thoughtlessness in his sister. She was almost as far from believing as
from wishing it to be sincere; for she had not forgotten that he
could mistake, and his assertion of the offer and of her encouragement
convinced her that his mistakes could sometimes be very egregious.
In vanity, therefore, she gained but little; her chief profit was in
wonder. That he should think it worth his while to fancy himself in love
with her was a matter of lively astonishment. Isabella talked of his
attentions; she had never been sensible of any; but Isabella had said
many things which she hoped had been spoken in haste, and would never
be said again; and upon this she was glad to rest altogether for present
ease and comfort.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Catherine is so thrilled by her upcoming trip that she doesn't notice she hasn't seen Isabella lately. The two friends meet up at the Pump-room to catch up. Isabella seems distracted though and Catherine assumes she misses James. Isabella denies this and insists she's cool. She asks Catherine about her Northanger Abbey trip. Isabella then lets Catherine know about her letter from John. She says that Catherine can probably guess what it's about. Catherine cannot, of course. Isabella chastises Catherine for feigning ignorance and insists that John's attentions to her were really, really obvious. Only a doofus could have missed them. Or someone as naive as Catherine. Catherine is upset and denies that he was paying her attention. She's had no idea that he was thinking of proposing to her. She doesn't even remember the day when he did kind of propose. Isabella is silent during this. Catherine tries to reassure her, saying that they'll still be sisters since Isabella will marry James. Isabella is awkward and says that there's more than one way of being sisters. That's a bit suspicious. Isabella quickly changes tactics and tells Catherine that she doesn't blame her for the whole John mix up. She thinks that John was being dumb anyway, since neither of them have any money, and marriages don't work without money. Isabella then gives a spiel about being young and having the right to change your mind and warns Catherine about rushing into romantic commitments and taking her time, which clearly has nothing to do with Isabella at all. Oh wait. Suddenly Captain Tilney walks in and comes right up to Isabella and Catherine. He and Isabella start flirting in a borderline scandalous way. Catherine is shocked. She tries to get Isabella to come away with her, but Isabella stays put. Catherine tries to believe that Isabella is unconsciously encouraging Captain Tilney. Catherine goes home disturbed about the John thing and about Isabella's behavior.


prompt:
Chapter: A few days passed away, and Catherine, though not allowing herself to
suspect her friend, could not help watching her closely. The result of
her observations was not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered creature.
When she saw her, indeed, surrounded only by their immediate friends
in Edgar's Buildings or Pulteney Street, her change of manners was so
trifling that, had it gone no farther, it might have passed unnoticed.
A something of languid indifference, or of that boasted absence of
mind which Catherine had never heard of before, would occasionally come
across her; but had nothing worse appeared, that might only have spread
a new grace and inspired a warmer interest. But when Catherine saw her
in public, admitting Captain Tilney's attentions as readily as they were
offered, and allowing him almost an equal share with James in her notice
and smiles, the alteration became too positive to be passed over. What
could be meant by such unsteady conduct, what her friend could be at,
was beyond her comprehension. Isabella could not be aware of the pain
she was inflicting; but it was a degree of wilful thoughtlessness which
Catherine could not but resent. James was the sufferer. She saw him
grave and uneasy; and however careless of his present comfort the woman
might be who had given him her heart, to her it was always an object.
For poor Captain Tilney too she was greatly concerned. Though his looks
did not please her, his name was a passport to her goodwill, and she
thought with sincere compassion of his approaching disappointment; for,
in spite of what she had believed herself to overhear in the pump-room,
his behaviour was so incompatible with a knowledge of Isabella's
engagement that she could not, upon reflection, imagine him aware of it.
He might be jealous of her brother as a rival, but if more had seemed
implied, the fault must have been in her misapprehension. She wished, by
a gentle remonstrance, to remind Isabella of her situation, and make
her aware of this double unkindness; but for remonstrance, either
opportunity or comprehension was always against her. If able to suggest
a hint, Isabella could never understand it. In this distress, the
intended departure of the Tilney family became her chief consolation;
their journey into Gloucestershire was to take place within a few days,
and Captain Tilney's removal would at least restore peace to every heart
but his own. But Captain Tilney had at present no intention of removing;
he was not to be of the party to Northanger; he was to continue at Bath.
When Catherine knew this, her resolution was directly made. She spoke to
Henry Tilney on the subject, regretting his brother's evident partiality
for Miss Thorpe, and entreating him to make known her prior engagement.

"My brother does know it," was Henry's answer.

"Does he? Then why does he stay here?"

He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of something else; but she
eagerly continued, "Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer
he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his
own sake, and for everybody's sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will
in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here, and it
is only staying to be miserable."

Henry smiled and said, "I am sure my brother would not wish to do that."

"Then you will persuade him to go away?"

"Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even endeavour
to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is engaged. He
knows what he is about, and must be his own master."

"No, he does not know what he is about," cried Catherine; "he does not
know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me
so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable."

"And are you sure it is my brother's doing?"

"Yes, very sure."

"Is it my brother's attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe's
admission of them, that gives the pain?"

"Is not it the same thing?"

"I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended
by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only
who can make it a torment."

Catherine blushed for her friend, and said, "Isabella is wrong. But I
am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my
brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and
while my father's consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost into
a fever. You know she must be attached to him."

"I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick."

"Oh! no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with
another."

"It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so
well, as she might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a
little."

After a short pause, Catherine resumed with, "Then you do not believe
Isabella so very much attached to my brother?"

"I can have no opinion on that subject."

"But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he
mean by his behaviour?"

"You are a very close questioner."

"Am I? I only ask what I want to be told."

"But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?"

"Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother's heart."

"My brother's heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure
you I can only guess at."

"Well?"

"Well! Nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves. To
be guided by second-hand conjecture is pitiful. The premises are before
you. My brother is a lively and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless young
man; he has had about a week's acquaintance with your friend, and he has
known her engagement almost as long as he has known her."

"Well," said Catherine, after some moments' consideration, "you may be
able to guess at your brother's intentions from all this; but I am sure
I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he
want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to
him, he would go."

"My dear Miss Morland," said Henry, "in this amiable solicitude for your
brother's comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not carried
a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account or
Miss Thorpe's, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good
behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain
Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him
only when unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this--and you may
be sure that he would not have you think it. I will not say, 'Do not
be uneasy,' because I know that you are so, at this moment; but be as
little uneasy as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment
of your brother and your friend; depend upon it, therefore, that
real jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no
disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open
to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what
is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain that one will
never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant."

Perceiving her still to look doubtful and grave, he added, "Though
Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will probably remain but a
very short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of absence
will soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what will then
be their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella Thorpe for
a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor Tilney's
passion for a month."

Catherine would contend no longer against comfort. She had resisted its
approaches during the whole length of a speech, but it now carried her
captive. Henry Tilney must know best. She blamed herself for the extent
of her fears, and resolved never to think so seriously on the subject
again.

Her resolution was supported by Isabella's behaviour in their parting
interview. The Thorpes spent the last evening of Catherine's stay in
Pulteney Street, and nothing passed between the lovers to excite
her uneasiness, or make her quit them in apprehension. James was in
excellent spirits, and Isabella most engagingly placid. Her tenderness
for her friend seemed rather the first feeling of her heart; but that
at such a moment was allowable; and once she gave her lover a flat
contradiction, and once she drew back her hand; but Catherine remembered
Henry's instructions, and placed it all to judicious affection. The
embraces, tears, and promises of the parting fair ones may be fancied.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Catherine starts watching Isabella closely and is alarmed about the changes she sees. Isabella is distracted and starts flirting with Captain Tilney in public all the time. She's also ignoring James. Catherine is concerned for everyone, thinking they will all get their feelings hurt. She still feels that Isabella can't be aware of what she's doing. Catherine speaks with Henry about the love triangle problem. She asks if Henry will talk to his brother. Henry says that he's not his brother's keeper and that his brother is fully aware that Isabella is engaged and is hanging around anyway. Henry then asks Catherine if James is upset that Captain Tilney is hanging around, or if he's upset because Isabella is hanging around Captain Tilney. Catherine doesn't get the difference. She also insists that a woman in love can't flirt with anyone else. Henry asks Catherine if she can't guess what's going on from the evidence. Of course Catherine can't. Henry tells Catherine not to meddle and notes that, if James and Isabella have a solid relationship, they'll be able to work this out. Catherine finally decides to drop it. She spends one last evening with Isabella and James, who are both in good moods.