Read Online Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons by Jane Austen, Vera Nazarian - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jane Austen, Vera Nazarian
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moment, the horrors of Udolpho reasserted their compelling power, even in face of the dire reality before her—ah, such is the power of the novel in the heroic imagination!
“It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to novels.”
“ No, she does not . She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; but new books do not fall in our way.”
“ Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume,” said Isabella, glancing sweetly at a gentleman walking by and observing him suddenly grow daft and run into a potted planter, due to fixing his sights exclusively on her.
“It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very entertaining.” Catherine said, noting with amazement how easily mesmerized gentlemen appeared to become, in the presence of this Isabella creature. And while their guardian angels became greatly distressed, they always went unheeded.
“Do you indeed! You surprise me; I thought it had not been readable. But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head tonight? I am determined at all events to be dressed exactly like you. The men take notice.”
“But it does not signify if they do,” said Catherine, very innocently, observing to herself that men taking notice was the last thing Isabella needed.
“Signify! Oh, heavens! I make it a rule never to mind what they say. They are amazingly impertinent if you do not treat them with spirit, and make them keep their distance.”
“Are they? Well, I never observed that. They always behave very well to me. And they certainly seem aware of you.”
“Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited, self-important creatures in the world! By the by, what is your favourite complexion in a man? Do you like them best dark or fair?”
“I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between both, I think. Brown—not fair, and—not very dark.”
“Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot your description of Mr. Tilney—‘a brown skin, with dark eyes, and rather dark hair.’ Well, my taste is different. I prefer light eyes, and as to complexion—do you know—I like a sallow better than any other. You must not betray me, if you should ever meet with one of your acquaintance answering that description.”
“Betray you! What do you mean?”
“Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too much. Let us drop the subject.”
Appearing to better comprehend what was implied, the angels circled Catherine in a fiercely protective twinkling cloud.
Catherine, in some amazement, complied. After remaining a few moments silent, she was on the point of reverting to discussing Laurentina’s skeleton . . .
But her unnatural friend prevented her, by saying, “For heaven’s sake! Let us move away from this end of the room. Do you know, there are two odious young men who have been staring at me this half hour! Let us go and look at the arrivals. They will hardly follow us there.”
Away they walked to the book—one in a cloud of bitter cold air, the other in a cloud of angels. And while Isabella examined the names, it was Catherine’s employment to watch the proceedings of these alarming young men.
“They are not coming this way, are they?” said Isabella, meanwhile making bold eye contact with the selfsame distant creatures of the masculine persuasion. “I hope they are not so impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am determined I will not look up.”
In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure, assured her that she need not be longer uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the pump-room.
“And which way are they gone?” said Isabella in a squeak voice, turning hastily round (and briefly scattering Catherine’s cloud of angels). “One was a very good-looking young man.”
“They went towards the
“It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to novels.”
“ No, she does not . She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; but new books do not fall in our way.”
“ Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume,” said Isabella, glancing sweetly at a gentleman walking by and observing him suddenly grow daft and run into a potted planter, due to fixing his sights exclusively on her.
“It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very entertaining.” Catherine said, noting with amazement how easily mesmerized gentlemen appeared to become, in the presence of this Isabella creature. And while their guardian angels became greatly distressed, they always went unheeded.
“Do you indeed! You surprise me; I thought it had not been readable. But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head tonight? I am determined at all events to be dressed exactly like you. The men take notice.”
“But it does not signify if they do,” said Catherine, very innocently, observing to herself that men taking notice was the last thing Isabella needed.
“Signify! Oh, heavens! I make it a rule never to mind what they say. They are amazingly impertinent if you do not treat them with spirit, and make them keep their distance.”
“Are they? Well, I never observed that. They always behave very well to me. And they certainly seem aware of you.”
“Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited, self-important creatures in the world! By the by, what is your favourite complexion in a man? Do you like them best dark or fair?”
“I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between both, I think. Brown—not fair, and—not very dark.”
“Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot your description of Mr. Tilney—‘a brown skin, with dark eyes, and rather dark hair.’ Well, my taste is different. I prefer light eyes, and as to complexion—do you know—I like a sallow better than any other. You must not betray me, if you should ever meet with one of your acquaintance answering that description.”
“Betray you! What do you mean?”
“Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too much. Let us drop the subject.”
Appearing to better comprehend what was implied, the angels circled Catherine in a fiercely protective twinkling cloud.
Catherine, in some amazement, complied. After remaining a few moments silent, she was on the point of reverting to discussing Laurentina’s skeleton . . .
But her unnatural friend prevented her, by saying, “For heaven’s sake! Let us move away from this end of the room. Do you know, there are two odious young men who have been staring at me this half hour! Let us go and look at the arrivals. They will hardly follow us there.”
Away they walked to the book—one in a cloud of bitter cold air, the other in a cloud of angels. And while Isabella examined the names, it was Catherine’s employment to watch the proceedings of these alarming young men.
“They are not coming this way, are they?” said Isabella, meanwhile making bold eye contact with the selfsame distant creatures of the masculine persuasion. “I hope they are not so impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am determined I will not look up.”
In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure, assured her that she need not be longer uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the pump-room.
“And which way are they gone?” said Isabella in a squeak voice, turning hastily round (and briefly scattering Catherine’s cloud of angels). “One was a very good-looking young man.”
“They went towards the
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