Northanger Abbey — EN


Mon­day, Tues­day, Wednes­day, Thurs­day, Fri­day, and Sat­ur­day have now passed in review before the read­er; the events of each day, its hopes and fears, mor­ti­fi­ca­tions and plea­sures, have been sep­a­rate­ly stat­ed, and the pangs of Sun­day only now remain to be described, and close the week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relin­quished, and on the afternoon’s cres­cent of this day, it was brought for­ward again. In a pri­vate con­sul­ta­tion between Isabel­la and James, the for­mer of whom had par­tic­u­lar­ly set her heart upon going, and the lat­ter no less anx­ious­ly placed his upon pleas­ing her, it was agreed that, pro­vid­ed the weath­er were fair, the par­ty should take place on the fol­low­ing morn­ing; and they were to set off very ear­ly, in order to be at home in good time. The affair thus deter­mined, and Thorpe’s appro­ba­tion secured, Cather­ine only remained to be apprised of it. She had left them for a few min­utes to speak to Miss Tilney. In that inter­val the plan was com­plet­ed, and as soon as she came again, her agree­ment was demand­ed; but instead of the gay acqui­es­cence expect­ed by Isabel­la, Cather­ine looked grave, was very sor­ry, but could not go. The engage­ment which ought to have kept her from join­ing in the for­mer attempt would make it impos­si­ble for her to accom­pa­ny them now. She had that moment set­tled with Miss Tilney to take their pro­posed walk tomor­row; it was quite deter­mined, and she would not, upon any account, retract. But that she must and should retract was instant­ly the eager cry of both the Thor­pes; they must go to Clifton tomor­row, they would not go with­out her, it would be noth­ing to put off a mere walk for one day longer, and they would not hear of a refusal. Cather­ine was dis­tressed, but not sub­dued. “Do not urge me, Isabel­la. I am engaged to Miss Tilney. I can­not go.” This availed noth­ing. The same argu­ments assailed her again; she must go, she should go, and they would not hear of a refusal. “It would be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that you had just been remind­ed of a pri­or engage­ment, and must only beg to put off the walk till Tuesday.”

“No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There has been no pri­or engage­ment.” But Isabel­la became only more and more urgent, call­ing on her in the most affec­tion­ate man­ner, address­ing her by the most endear­ing names. She was sure her dear­est, sweet­est Cather­ine would not seri­ous­ly refuse such a tri­fling request to a friend who loved her so dear­ly. She knew her beloved Cather­ine to have so feel­ing a heart, so sweet a tem­per, to be so eas­i­ly per­suad­ed by those she loved. But all in vain; Cather­ine felt her­self to be in the right, and though pained by such ten­der, such flat­ter­ing sup­pli­ca­tion, could not allow it to influ­ence her. Isabel­la then tried anoth­er method. She reproached her with hav­ing more affec­tion for Miss Tilney, though she had known her so lit­tle a while, than for her best and old­est friends, with being grown cold and indif­fer­ent, in short, towards her­self. “I can­not help being jeal­ous, Cather­ine, when I see myself slight­ed for strangers, I, who love you so exces­sive­ly! When once my affec­tions are placed, it is not in the pow­er of any­thing to change them. But I believe my feel­ings are stronger than anybody’s; I am sure they are too strong for my own peace; and to see myself sup­plant­ed in your friend­ship by strangers does cut me to the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem to swal­low up every­thing else.”

Cather­ine thought this reproach equal­ly strange and unkind. Was it the part of a friend thus to expose her feel­ings to the notice of oth­ers? Isabel­la appeared to her ungen­er­ous and self­ish, regard­less of every­thing but her own grat­i­fi­ca­tion. These painful ideas crossed her mind, though she said noth­ing. Isabel­la, in the mean­while, had applied her hand­ker­chief to her eyes; and Mor­land, mis­er­able at such a sight, could not help say­ing, “Nay, Cather­ine. I think you can­not stand out any longer now. The sac­ri­fice is not much; and to oblige such a friend—I shall think you quite unkind, if you still refuse.”

This was the first time of her brother’s open­ly sid­ing against her, and anx­ious to avoid his dis­plea­sure, she pro­posed a com­pro­mise. If they would only put off their scheme till Tues­day, which they might eas­i­ly do, as it depend­ed only on them­selves, she could go with them, and every­body might then be sat­is­fied. But “No, no, no!” was the imme­di­ate answer; “that could not be, for Thor­pe did not know that he might not go to town on Tues­day.” Cather­ine was sor­ry, but could do no more; and a short silence ensued, which was bro­ken by Isabel­la, who in a voice of cold resent­ment said, “Very well, then there is an end of the par­ty. If Cather­ine does not go, I can­not. I can­not be the only woman. I would not, upon any account in the world, do so improp­er a thing.”

“Cather­ine, you must go,” said James.

“But why can­not Mr. Thor­pe dri­ve one of his oth­er sis­ters? I dare say either of them would like to go.”

“Thank ye,” cried Thor­pe, “but I did not come to Bath to dri­ve my sis­ters about, and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d— me if I do. I only go for the sake of dri­ving you.”

“That is a com­pli­ment which gives me no plea­sure.” But her words were lost on Thor­pe, who had turned abrupt­ly away.

The three oth­ers still con­tin­ued togeth­er, walk­ing in a most uncom­fort­able man­ner to poor Cather­ine; some­times not a word was said, some­times she was again attacked with sup­pli­ca­tions or reproach­es^, and her arm was still linked with­in Isabella’s, though their hearts were at war. At one moment she was soft­ened, at anoth­er irri­tat­ed; always dis­tressed^, but always steady.

“I did not think you had been so obsti­nate, Cather­ine,” said James; “you were not used to be so hard to per­suade; you once were the kind­est, best-tem­pered of my sisters.”

“I hope I am not less so now,” she replied, very feel­ing­ly; “but indeed I can­not go. If I am wrong, I am doing what I believe to be right.”

“I sus­pect,” said Isabel­la, in a low voice, “there is no great struggle.”

Catherine’s heart swelled; she drew away her arm, and Isabel­la made no oppo­si­tion. Thus passed a long ten min­utes, till they were again joined by Thor­pe, who, com­ing to them with a gay­er look, said, “Well, I have set­tled the mat­ter, and now we may all go tomor­row with a safe con­science. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your excuses.”

“You have not!” cried Catherine.

“I have, upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told her you had sent me to say that, hav­ing just rec­ol­lect­ed a pri­or engage­ment of going to Clifton with us tomor­row, you could not have the plea­sure of walk­ing with her till Tues­day. She said very well, Tues­day was just as con­ve­nient to her; so there is an end of all our dif­fi­cul­ties. A pret­ty good thought of mine—hey?”

Isabella’s coun­te­nance was once more all smiles and good humour, and James too looked hap­py again.

“A most heav­en­ly thought indeed! Now, my sweet Cather­ine, all our dis­tress­es are over; you are hon­ourably acquit­ted, and we shall have a most delight­ful party.”

This will not do,” said Cather­ine; “I can­not sub­mit to this. I must run after Miss Tilney direct­ly and set her right.”

Isabel­la, how­ev­er, caught hold of one hand, Thor­pe of the oth­er, and remon­strances poured in from all three. Even James was quite angry. When every­thing was set­tled, when Miss Tilney her­self said that Tues­day would suit her as well, it was quite ridicu­lous, quite absurd, to make any fur­ther objec­tion.

“I do not care. Mr. Thor­pe had no busi­ness to invent any such mes­sage. If I had thought it right to put it off, I could have spo­ken to Miss Tilney myself. This is only doing it in a rud­er way; and how do I know that Mr. Thor­pe has—He may be mis­tak­en again per­haps; he led me into one act of rude­ness by his mis­take on Fri­day. Let me go, Mr. Thor­pe; Isabel­la, do not hold me.

Thor­pe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were turn­ing the cor­ner into Brock Street, when he had over­tak­en them, and were at home by this time.

“Then I will go after them,” said Cather­ine; “wher­ev­er they are I will go after them. It does not sig­ni­fy talk­ing. If I could not be per­suad­ed into doing what I thought wrong, I nev­er will be tricked into it.” And with these words she broke away and hur­ried off. Thor­pe would have dart­ed after her, but Mor­land with­held him. “Let her go, let her go, if she will go. She is as obsti­nate as—“

Thor­pe nev­er fin­ished the sim­i­le, for it could hard­ly have been a prop­er one.

Away walked Cather­ine in great agi­ta­tion, as fast as the crowd would per­mit her, fear­ful of being pur­sued, yet deter­mined to per­se­vere. As she walked, she reflect­ed on what had passed. It was painful to her to dis­ap­point and dis­please them, par­tic­u­lar­ly to dis­please her broth­er; but she could not repent her resis­tance. Set­ting her own incli­na­tion apart, to have failed a sec­ond time in her engage­ment to Miss Tilney, to have retract­ed a promise vol­un­tar­i­ly made only five min­utes before, and on a false pre­tence too, must have been wrong. She had not been with­stand­ing them on self­ish prin­ci­ples alone, she had not con­sult­ed mere­ly her own grat­i­fi­ca­tion; that might have been ensured in some degree by the excur­sion itself, by see­ing Blaize Cas­tle; no, she had attend­ed to what was due to oth­ers, and to her own char­ac­ter in their opin­ion. Her con­vic­tion of being right, how­ev­er, was not enough to restore her com­po­sure; till she had spo­ken to Miss Tilney she could not be at ease; and quick­en­ing her pace when she got clear of the Cres­cent, she almost ran over the remain­ing ground till she gained the top of Mil­som Street. So rapid had been her move­ments that in spite of the Tilneys’ advan­tage in the out­set, they were but just fum­ing into their lodg­ings as she came with­in view of them; and the ser­vant still remain­ing at the open door, she used only the cer­e­mo­ny of say­ing that she must speak with Miss Tilney that moment, and hur­ry­ing by him pro­ceed­ed upstairs. Then, open­ing the first door before her, which hap­pened to be the right, she imme­di­ate­ly found her­self in the draw­ing-room with Gen­er­al Tilney, his son, and daugh­ter. Her expla­na­tion, defec­tive only in being—from her irri­ta­tion of nerves and short­ness of breath—no expla­na­tion at all, was instant­ly giv­en. “I am come in a great hurry—It was all a mistake—I nev­er promised to go—I told them from the first I could not go.—I ran away in a great hur­ry to explain it.—I did not care what you thought of me.—I would not stay for the servant.”

The busi­ness, how­ev­er, though not per­fect­ly elu­ci­dat­ed by this speech, soon ceased to be a puz­zle. Cather­ine found that John Thor­pe had giv­en the mes­sage; and Miss Tilney had no scru­ple in own­ing her­self great­ly sur­prised by it. But whether her broth­er had still exceed­ed her in resent­ment, Cather­ine, though she instinc­tive­ly addressed her­self as much to one as to the oth­er in her vin­di­ca­tion, had no means of know­ing. What­ev­er might have been felt before her arrival, her eager dec­la­ra­tions imme­di­ate­ly made every look and sen­tence as friend­ly as she could desire.

The affair thus hap­pi­ly set­tled, she was intro­duced by Miss Tilney to her father, and received by him with such ready, such solic­i­tous polite­ness as recalled Thorpe’s infor­ma­tion to her mind, and made her think with plea­sure that he might be some­times depend­ed on. To such anx­ious atten­tion was the general’s civil­i­ty car­ried, that not aware of her extra­or­di­nary swift­ness in enter­ing the house, he was quite angry with the ser­vant whose neglect had reduced her to open the door of the apart­ment her­self. “What did William mean by it? He should make a point of inquir­ing into the mat­ter.” And if Cather­ine had not most warm­ly assert­ed his inno­cence, it seemed like­ly that William would lose the favour of his mas­ter for­ev­er, if not his place, by her rapidity.

After sit­ting with them a quar­ter of an hour, she rose to take leave, and was then most agree­ably sur­prised by Gen­er­al Tilney’s ask­ing her if she would do his daugh­ter the hon­our of din­ing and spend­ing the rest of the day with her. Miss Tilney added her own wish­es. Cather­ine was great­ly oblig­ed; but it was quite out of her pow­er. Mr. and Mrs. Allen would expect her back every moment. The gen­er­al declared he could say no more; the claims of Mr. and Mrs. Allen were not to be super­seded; but on some oth­er day he trust­ed, when longer notice could be giv­en, they would not refuse to spare her to her friend. “Oh, no; Cather­ine was sure they would not have the least objec­tion, and she should have great plea­sure in com­ing.” The gen­er­al attend­ed her him­self to the street-door, say­ing every­thing gal­lant as they went down­stairs, admir­ing the elas­tic­i­ty of her walk, which cor­re­spond­ed exact­ly with the spir­it of her danc­ing, and mak­ing her one of the most grace­ful bows she had ever beheld, when they parted.

Cather­ine, delight­ed by all that had passed, pro­ceed­ed gai­ly to Pul­teney Street, walk­ing, as she con­clud­ed, with great elas­tic­i­ty, though she had nev­er thought of it before. She reached home with­out see­ing any­thing more of the offend­ed par­ty; and now that she had been tri­umphant through­out, had car­ried her point, and was secure of her walk, she began (as the flut­ter of her spir­its sub­sided) to doubt whether she had been per­fect­ly right. A sac­ri­fice was always noble; and if she had giv­en way to their entreaties, she should have been spared the dis­tress­ing idea of a friend dis­pleased, a broth­er angry, and a scheme of great hap­pi­ness to both destroyed, per­haps through her means. To ease her mind, and ascer­tain by the opin­ion of an unprej­u­diced per­son what her own con­duct had real­ly been, she took occa­sion to men­tion before Mr. Allen the half-set­tled scheme of her broth­er and the Thor­pes for the fol­low­ing day. Mr. Allen caught at it direct­ly. “Well,” said he, “and do you think of going too?”

“No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they told me of it; and there­fore you know I could not go with them, could I?”

“No, cer­tain­ly not; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes are not at all the thing. Young men and women dri­ving about the coun­try in open car­riages! Now and then it is very well; but going to inns and pub­lic places togeth­er! It is not right; and I won­der Mrs. Thor­pe should allow it. I am glad you do not think of going; I am sure Mrs. Mor­land would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of think­ing? Do not you think these kind of projects objec­tion­able?”

“Yes, very much so indeed. Open car­riages are nasty things. A clean gown is not five min­utes’ wear in them. You are splashed get­ting in and get­ting out; and the wind takes your hair and your bon­net in every direc­tion. I hate an open car­riage myself.”

“I know you do; but that is not the ques­tion. Do not you think it has an odd appear­ance, if young ladies are fre­quent­ly dri­ven about in them by young men, to whom they are not even related?”

“Yes, my dear, a very odd appear­ance indeed. I can­not bear to see it.”

“Dear madam,” cried Cather­ine, “then why did not you tell me so before? I am sure if I had known it to be improp­er, I would not have gone with Mr. Thor­pe at all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you thought I was doing wrong.”

“And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for as I told Mrs. Mor­land at part­ing, I would always do the best for you in my pow­er. But one must not be over par­tic­u­lar. Young peo­ple will be young peo­ple, as your good moth­er says her­self. You know I want­ed you, when we first came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young peo­ple do not like to be always thwart­ed.”

“But this was some­thing of real con­se­quence; and I do not think you would have found me hard to persuade.”

“As far as it has gone hith­er­to, there is no harm done,” said Mr. Allen; “and I would only advise you, my dear, not to go out with Mr. Thor­pe any more.”

“That is just what I was going to say,” added his wife.

Cather­ine, relieved for her­self, felt uneasy for Isabel­la, and after a moment’s thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it would not be both prop­er and kind in her to write to Miss Thor­pe, and explain the indeco­rum of which she must be as insen­si­ble as her­self; for she con­sid­ered that Isabel­la might oth­er­wise per­haps be going to Clifton the next day, in spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, how­ev­er, dis­cour­aged her from doing any such thing. “You had bet­ter leave her alone, my dear; she is old enough to know what she is about, and if not, has a moth­er to advise her. Mrs. Thor­pe is too indul­gent beyond a doubt; but, how­ev­er, you had bet­ter not inter­fere. She and your broth­er choose to go, and you will be only get­ting ill will.”

Cather­ine sub­mit­ted, and though sor­ry to think that Isabel­la should be doing wrong, felt great­ly relieved by Mr. Allen’s appro­ba­tion of her own con­duct, and tru­ly rejoiced to be pre­served by his advice from the dan­ger of falling into such an error her­self. Her escape from being one of the par­ty to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for what would the Tilneys have thought of her, if she had bro­ken her promise to them in order to do what was wrong in itself, if she had been guilty of one breach of pro­pri­ety, only to enable her to be guilty of another?

mor­ti­fi­ca­tion ˌmɔːtɪfɪˈkeɪʃən n Strong feel­ings of embar­rass­ment: cha­grin, humiliation

pang pæŋ n A sud­den sharp spasm of pain; a sud­den, sharp feel­ing of emo­tion­al distress.

Clifton ⇒ A dis­trict of the City of Bristol.

defer dɪˈfɜː v To put off for a lat­er time: delay, post­pone

relin­quish rɪˈlɪŋk­wɪʃ v Turn away from; give up.

The Roy­al Cres­cent ⇒ One of Bath’s most icon­ic land­mark, built between 1767 and 1775. This impres­sive land­mark is arranged around a per­fect lawn over­look­ing Roy­al Vic­to­ria Park and forms a sweep­ing cres­cent of 30 ter­race hous­es; cres­cent ˈkrɛs­nt n The shape of the vis­i­ble part of the moon when it is less than half full: half-moon, sick­le-shape

to set one’s heart upon doing some­thing ⇒ To desire some­thing intensely.

anx­ious­ly ˈæŋkʃəs adv With anx­i­ety or appre­hen­sion: uneasi­ly, appre­hen­sive­ly.

pro­vid­ed prəˈ­vaɪdɪd cj On con­di­tion that or with the under­stand­ing that: if

to take place ⇒ To be held, to hap­pen, to occur.

to set off ⇒ To start on a jour­ney: depart

in good time ⇒ In a rea­son­able amount of time.

appro­ba­tion ˌæprəʊˈbeɪʃ(ə)n n Offi­cial recog­ni­tion or approval.

apprise əˈpraɪz v Inform some­body of something.

as soon as ⇒ Imme­di­ate­ly, right after.

acqui­es­cence ˌæk­wɪˈɛsns n Pas­sive assent or agree­ment with­out protest: obe­di­ence, compliance

grave greɪv adj Dig­ni­fied and somber in man­ner or char­ac­ter and com­mit­ted to keep­ing promis­es: seri­ous, sober, solemn, sedate

to keep from doing some­thing ⇒ . To pre­vent or dis­suade some­one or some group from doing something. 

upon any account ⇒ Under no cir­cum­stances, never.

retract rɪˈtrækt v To draw back: retreat

to put off ⇒ To delay doing or deal­ing with something.

one won’t hear of some­thing ⇒ One refus­es to allow some­thing to happen.

dis­tress dɪsˈtrɛs v To cause strain, anx­i­ety, or suf­fer­ing to: anguish, tor­ture, torment

sub­due səbˈd­juː v To put down by force or author­i­ty: con­trol, moderate

avail əˈveɪl v To be an advan­tage to: ben­e­fit, prof­it, serve

assail əˈseɪl v To trou­ble; to set upon with vio­lent force: hit, strike, attack, assault, sail in

to call on some­one ⇒ To ask some­one to answer a question.

affec­tion­ate əˈfɛkʃnɪt adj Hav­ing fond feel­ings: fond, lov­ing, tender

endear­ing ɪnˈdɪərɪŋ adj Lov­able espe­cial­ly in a child­like or naive way: love­ly, lov­able, adorable

tri­fling ˈtraɪflɪŋ adj Lack­ing in sig­nif­i­cance or sol­id worth: friv­o­lous; shal­low; light

feel­ing ˈfiːlɪŋ adj Sensitive.

tem­per ˈtɛm­pə n A char­ac­ter­is­tic state of mind or feel­ing: mood, humour, atti­tude, disposition

in vain ⇒ To no avail; with­out success.

to feel one­self to be in the right ⇒ To think that one is the right.

flat­ter­ing ˈflætərɪŋ adj Show­ing or rep­re­sent­ing to advan­tage: insin­u­at­ing, ingra­ti­at­ing becom­ing, ingra­tia­to­ry, adulatory

sup­pli­ca­tion ˌsʌ­plɪˈkeɪʃən n An earnest or urgent request: beg, appeal

reproach rɪˈprəʊʧ v Express crit­i­cism towards: reproove, blame, impeach, accuse

so lit­tle a while ⇒ Very lit­tle, almost not.

to be grown cold ⇒ To have become cold.

in short ⇒ In sum­ma­ry; briefly.

can­not help doing some­thing ⇒ To be bound to do some­thing, can’t stop doing something

slight slaɪt v To treat some­one with indif­fer­ence or as of lit­tle impor­tance: snub, ignore, neglect

in my pow­er ⇒ That I can do or I am able to do.

sup­plant səˈ­plɑːnt v To take the place of: replace, super­sede

to cut one to the quick ⇒ To strike the deep­est, most frag­ile part of one. Typ­i­cal­ly used to describe emo­tion­al wounds.

reproach rɪˈprəʊʧ n A mild rebuke or crit­i­cism: reproof, rep­ri­mand, rebuke, blame

grat­i­fi­ca­tion ˌgrætɪfɪˈkeɪʃən n State of being grat­i­fied or satisfied.

to cross one’s mind ⇒ To occur to one.

hand­ker­chief ˈhæŋkəʧɪf n A square piece of cloth used for wip­ing the eyes, nose or as a cos­tume acces­so­ry: han­kie, han­ky, hankey

nay neɪ adv Not so: no, nix

to stand out ⇒ Hold out, resist, con­tin­ue to endure.

sac­ri­fice ­ˈsækrɪ­faɪs n The act of los­ing or sur­ren­der­ing some­thing as a penal­ty for a mis­take or fault or fail­ure to per­form etc.: for­fei­ture, loss

oblige əˈblaɪʤ v To pro­vide a ser­vice or favour for someone.

side against one ⇒ To take the oppos­ing side of one in an argu­ment, dis­pute, or conflict.

ensue ɪnˈsjuː v To fol­low as a con­se­quence or result.

resent­ment rɪˈzɛnt­mənt n A feel­ing of deep and bit­ter anger and ill-will: bit­ter­ness, ran­cor, ran­cour, gall

in the world ⇒ Used to empha­size what you are saying.

ye ⇒ You.

D— it ⇒ Damn it.

for the sake of ⇒ For the ben­e­fit of; because of.

her words were lost on him ⇒ He did not hear or pre­tend­ed not to have heard her words.

abrupt­ly əˈbrʌptli adv Quick­ly and with­out warn­ing: sud­den­ly, hasti­ly, hurriedly

irri­tat­ed ˈɪrɪteɪtɪd adj Aroused to impa­tience or anger: annoyed, dis­pleased, roiled, stung, nettled

obsti­nate ˈɒb­stɪnɪt adj Stub­born­ly adher­ing to an atti­tude, an opin­ion, or a course of action: tough, dogged, will­ful, headstrong

good-tem­pered ˈgʊdˈtɛm­pəd adj Not eas­i­ly irri­tat­ed: placid, good-natured

feel­ing­ly ˈfiːlɪŋli adj With great feeling.

swell swɛl v To fill with emotion.

a safe con­science ⇒ Not guilty, a clean conscience.

upon my soul ⇒ To be telling the truth.

rec­ol­lect ˌriːkəˈlɛkt v To renew an image or thought in the mind: recall, remem­ber, bethink

dis­tress dɪsˈtrɛs n Extreme anx­i­ety, sor­row, or pain: both­er, has­sle, fuss

acquit əˈk­wɪt v To free from a charge of guilt; to release from a duty.

this will not do ⇒ This is total­ly unac­cept­able or unsatisfactory.

to set some­one right ⇒ To cor­rect a mis­tak­en idea or impression.

remon­strance rɪˈmɒn­strəns v The act of express­ing strong oppo­si­tion: objec­tion, protest, challenge

objec­tion əbˈʤɛkʃən n The act of express­ing strong or rea­soned oppo­si­tion: protest, chal­lenge, remonstrance

to put some­thing off ⇒ Post­pone, delay.

rude ruːd n Lack­ing civil­i­ty or good manners.

he led me into an act of rude­ness ⇒ He made me seem rude

to let go ⇒ To stop phys­i­cal­ly hold­ing on to some­one or some­thing. In this usage, a noun or pro­noun can be used between “let” and “go.”

Brock Street ⇒ A street in Bath from the roy­al Cres­cent to the Circus.

over­take ˌəʊvəˈteɪk v Come or catch up with.

It does not sig­ni­fy talk­ing ⇒ Talk­ing is mean­ing­less and will not per­suade me (to come).

to trick one into doing some­thing ⇒ To use decep­tive, mis­lead­ing, or fraud­u­lent means in order to cause or con­vince one to do something.

to break away ⇒ Free one­self from restraint and get away, escape.

to hur­ry off ⇒ Depart in haste.

dart dɑːt v To thrust or move sud­den­ly or rapid­ly: dash, scoot, scud, flash, shoot, whip


sim­i­le ˈsɪmɪli n A fig­ure of speech that express­es a resem­blance between things of dif­fer­ent kinds (usu­al­ly formed with ‘like’ or ‘as’).

agi­ta­tion ˌæʤɪˈteɪʃ(ə)n n Extreme emo­tion­al dis­tur­bance: tur­moil, commotion

per­se­vere ˌpɜːsɪˈvɪə v Be per­sis­tent, refuse to stop: car­ry on, con­tin­ue, preserve

repent rɪˈpɛnt v To feel such regret for past con­duct as to change one’s mind regard­ing it.

incli­na­tion ˌɪn­klɪˈneɪʃən n A ten­den­cy toward a cer­tain con­di­tion or char­ac­ter: dis­po­si­tion, tendency

pre­tence prɪˈtɛns n A decep­tive out­ward appear­ance: face, cov­er, mask, veil, facade, guise, pretext

with­stand wɪðˈstænd v To oppose active­ly and with force: fight, resist, com­bat, duel

in some degree ⇒ To some extent, not totally

excur­sion ɪksˈkɜːʃən n A jour­ney tak­en for plea­sure: jaunt, out­ing, jun­ket, plea­sure trip

Blaise Cas­tle ⇒ A fol­ly built in 1766 near Hen­bury in Bris­tol, England.

con­vic­tion ˈlɒʤɪŋ n An unshak­able belief in some­thing with­out need for proof or evidence. 

com­po­sure kəmˈpəʊʒə n A sta­ble, calm state of the emo­tions: bal­ance, poise, cool­ness, self-possession

to be at ease ⇒ To be in a relaxed position.

clear of ⇒ Apart from, far away, a long way (off).

gain geɪn v Reach, arrive at.

Mil­som Street ⇒ The fash­ion­able shop­ping street in Bath.

in spite of ⇒ With­out wor­ry­ing about; although.

in the out­set ⇒ In the begin­ning; in the start.

but ⇒ Mere­ly, just, only.

to fume into ⇒ (here) To go in quick­ly (as fumes do); fume fjuːm n Gas, vapour, smoke.

lodg­ing ˈlɒʤɪŋ n A place to live, dwellings in gen­er­al: shel­ter, housing

with­in view ⇒ With­in the range of vision; able to be seen; visible.

irri­ta­tion of nerves ⇒ A state of irri­ta­tion or of being nervous

short­ness of breath ⇒ Irreg­u­lar breath­ing because of being in an extreme emo­tion­al state, e.g. being angry, scared etc.

at all ⇒ In any way; for any rea­son; to any extent; whatever.

elu­ci­date ɪˈluːsɪdeɪt v To make clear or plain: clar­i­fy, illu­mi­nate, clear up

scru­ple ˈskruː­pl n A feel­ing of uncer­tain­ty about the fit­ness of an action: reser­va­tion, mis­giv­ing, qualm

to own one­self ⇒ To admit (in accor­dance with a fact).

address əˈdrɛs n Archa­ic Man­ner or style of speak­ing or conversation.

vin­di­ca­tion ˌvɪndɪˈkeɪʃən n The jus­ti­fi­ca­tion for some act or belief: defence

to have no means of know­ing ⇒ It was impos­si­ble for her to know.

solic­i­tous səˈlɪsɪtəs adj Intense­ly desirous or inter­est­ed: anx­ious, eager, ardent, keen, avid

polite­ness pəˈlaɪt­nɪs n A cour­te­ous man­ner that respects accept­ed social usage: cour­tesy, good manners

recall rɪˈkɔːl v To take back; to bring back: restore, revoke

civil­i­ty sɪˈvɪlɪti n Polite­ness or cour­tesy, espe­cial­ly when for­mal: cour­tesy, politeness

neglect nɪˈglɛkt v To fail to care for or attend to properly.

reduce ⇒ Low­er in grade or rank or force some­body into an undig­ni­fied sit­u­a­tion: demean degrade take down dis­grace put down

to make a point of doing some­thing ⇒ To take care of doing something.

inquire into some­thing ⇒ To make an inves­ti­ga­tion, to inform oneself.

to take leave ⇒ To leave.

oblig­ed əˈblaɪʤd adj Under a moral oblig­a­tion to do some­thing: oblig­at­ed

out of one’s pow­er ⇒ I am not able to do something.

super­sede ˌsjuːpəˈsiːd v To take the place of, put or use some­thing in the place of: replace, sup­plant

attend əˈtɛnd n To accom­pa­ny as a cir­cum­stance or fol­low as a result.

gal­lant ˈgælənt adj Full of polite con­cern for the well-being of oth­ers: polite, cour­te­ous, considerate

elas­tic­i­ty ˌɛlæsˈtɪsɪti n The ten­den­cy of a body to return to its orig­i­nal shape after it has been stretched or com­pressed: snap, flex­i­bil­i­ty

grace­ful ˈgreɪs­fʊl adj Show­ing refined, effort­less beau­ty of move­ment, form, or pro­por­tion: ele­gant, exquisite

behold bɪˈhəʊld v (pp, pt beheld bɪˈhɛld) To appre­hend (images) by use of the eyes: see, per­ceive

Pul­teney Street ⇒ A wide road in the City of Bath, Eng­land which leads direct­ly to the Hol­burne Muse­um of Art that was orig­i­nal­ly the Syd­ney Hotel where tea rooms, card rooms, a con­cert room and a ball­room were installed for the amuse­ment of Bath’s many visitors.

to car­ry one’s point ⇒ To over­rule objec­tions in favour of one’s plan.

the flut­ter of her spir­its sub­sided ⇒ She calmed down; flut­ter ˈflʌtə n (here) A ner­vous excitement.

entreaty ɪnˈtriːti n An earnest or urgent request: appeal, suit, prayer, plea, sup­pli­ca­tion, praye

dis­tress­ing dɪsˈtrɛs adj

ascer­tain ˌæsəˈteɪn v Find ou in order to be sure about.

unprej­u­diced ʌnˈprɛʤʊdɪst adj Free from bias in judge­ment: fair, lib­er­al, objec­tive, just, impar­tial, fair-minded

to take occa­sion to ⇒ To take the oppor­tu­ni­ty to do something.

coun­try ˈkʌn­tri n An area out­side of cities and towns.

car­riage ˈkærɪʤ n Char­ac­ter­is­tic way of bear­ing one’s body: bear­ing, posture

now and than ⇒ From time to time; occasionally.

to be of one’s way of think­ing ⇒ To think alike.

objec­tion­able əbˈʤɛkʃnəbl adj Caus­ing dis­ap­proval or protest.

nasty ˈnɑːsti adj Extreme­ly unpleas­ant to the sens­es or feel­ings: evil, ugly, dis­gust­ing, loath­some, foul

gown gaʊn v A long, usu­al­ly for­mal woman’s dress.

splash splæʃ v Soil or stain with a splat­tered liq­uid or mud.

bon­net ˈbɒnɪt n A hat held in place by rib­bons tied under the chin, that is worn by women and children.

bear beə v Put up with some­thing or some­body unpleas­ant: endure, tol­er­ate, stand, suffer

you may depend on it ⇒ You may be sure about that

in my pow­er ⇒ That I can do or I am able to do.

to be over par­tic­u­lar ⇒ Be to much con­cerned with details, fussy.

young peo­ple will be young peo­ple ⇒ young peo­ple will behave accord­ing to their age.

sprigged ˈsprɪgɪd adj Dec­o­rat­ed with a design of twigs of a plant.

muslin ˈmʌ­zlɪn n A stur­dy cot­ton fab­ric of plain weave.

thwart θwɔːt v To oppose and defeat the efforts, plans, or ambi­tions of: spoil, scotch, foil, cross, frus­trate, baffle

hith­er­to ˈhɪðəˈ­tuː adv Until this time.

uneasy ʌnˈiːzi adj Lack­ing a sense of con­fi­dence or secu­ri­ty: afraid, anx­ious, fearful

indeco­rum ˌɪndɪˈkɔːrəm n An act of undue inti­ma­cy: mis­be­hav­iour, famil­iar­i­ty, lib­er­ty, mis­deed, impropriety

in spite of ⇒ With­out wor­ry­ing about; although.

you had bet­ter ⇒ You should.

to leave some­one or some­thing alone ⇒ To not inter­act with or both­er some­one or inter­fere with something.

what she is about ⇒ What she is doing.

indul­gent ɪnˈdʌlʤənt Giv­en to yield­ing to the wish­es of some­one: con­sid­er­ate, per­mis­sive, tolerant

beyond a doubt ⇒ With­out ques­tion; cer­tain­ly; definitely.

inter­fere ˌɪn­təˈfɪə v To inter­vene in the affairs of oth­ers: med­dle

ill will ⇒ Adver­si­ty, hard­ship, misfortune.

rejoice rɪˈʤɔɪs v To expe­ri­ence joy, plea­sure or hap­pi­ness: delight, exult

to fall into an error ⇒ To make an error or mistake.

for fɔː cj Because; since.

breach briːʧ n A vio­la­tion or infrac­tion of a law, a legal oblig­a­tion, or a promise.

pro­pri­ety prəˈpraɪəti n Cor­rect or appro­pri­ate behavior.