of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of
their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious

of danger to her daughter from their machinations.
Her cautions were confined to the following points.

"I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap yourself up
very warm about the throat, when you come from the rooms

at night; and I wish you would try to keep some account
of the money you spend; I will give you this little book

on purpose.
Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common

gentility will reach the age of sixteen without altering
her name as far as she can?), must from situation be at this

time the intimate friend and confidante of her sister.
It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on

Catherine's writing by every post, nor exacted her promise
of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance,

nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath
might produce. Everything indeed relative to this

important journey was done, on the part of the Morlands,
with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed

rather consistent with the common feelings of common life,
than with the refined susceptibilities, the tender

motion" target="_blank" title="n.感情；情绪；激动">emotions which the first separation of a heroine
from her family ought always to excite. Her father,

instead of giving her an unlimited order on his banker,
or even putting an hundred pounds bank-bill into her hands,

gave her only ten guineas, and promosed her more when she
wanted it.

Under these unpromising auspices, the parting
took place, and the journey began. It was performed

with suitable quietness and uneventful safety.
Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky

overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more
alarming occurred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side,

of having once left her clogs behind her at an inn,
and that fortunately proved to be groundless.

They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager
delight--her eyes were here, there, everywhere, as they

approached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards drove
through those streets which conducted them to the hotel.

She was come to be happy, and she felt happy already.
They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings

in Pulteney Street.
It is now expedient to give some description of

Mrs. Allen, that the reader may be able to judge in what
manner her actions will hereafter tend to promote the

general distress of the work, and how she will, probably,
contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate

wretchedness of which a last volume is capable--whether by
her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy--whether by intercepting

her letters, ruining her character, or turning her out of doors.
Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females,

whose society can raise no other motion" target="_blank" title="n.感情；情绪；激动">emotion than surprise
at there being any men in the world who could like them

well enough to marry them. She had neither beauty,
genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman,

a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling
turn of mind were all that could account for her being

the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen.
In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce a

young lady into public, being as fond of going everywhere
and seeing everything herself as any young lady could be.

Dress was her passion. She had a most harmless delight
in being fine; and our heroine's entree into life could

not take place till after three or four days had been
spent in learning what was mostly worn, and her chaperone

was provided with a dress of the newest fashion.
Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when all

these matters were arranged, the important evening came
which was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hair

was cut and dressed by the best hand, her clothes put on
with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she

looked quite as she should do. With such encouragement,
Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured through the crowd.

As for admiration, it was always very welcome when it came,
but she did not depend on it.

Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter
the ballroom till late. The season was full, the room crowded,

and the two ladies squeezed in as well as they could.
As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly to the card-room,

and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves. With more
care for the safety of her new gown than for the comfort

of her protegee, Mrs. Allen made her way through the throng
of men by the door, as swiftly as the necessary caution

would allow; Catherine, however, kept close at her side,
and linked her arm too firmly within her friend's to be torn

asunder by any common effort of a struggling assembly.
But to her utter amazement she found that to proceed

along the room was by no means the way to disengage
themselves from the crowd; it seemed rather to increase

as they went on, whereas she had imagined that when once
fairly within the door, they should easily find seats

and be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience.
But this was far from being the case, and though by

unwearied diligence they gained even the top of the room,
their situation was just the same; they saw nothing of

the dancers but the high feathers of some of the ladies.
Still they moved on--something better was yet in view;

and by a continued exertion of strength and ingenuity
they found themselves at last in the passage behind

the highest bench. Here there was something less
of crowd than below; and hence Miss Morland had a

comprehensive view of all the company beneath her,
and of all the dangers of her late passage through them.

It was a splendid sight, and she began, for the first
time that evening, to feel herself at a ball: she longed

to dance, but she had not an acquaintance in the room.
Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in such a case

by saying very placidly, every now and then, "I wish you
could dance, my dear--I wish you could get a partner."

For some time her young friend felt obliged to her for
these wishes; but they were repeated so often, and proved

so totally ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired at last,
and would thank her no more.

They were not long able, however, to enjoy the
repose of the eminence they had so laboriously gained.

Everybody was shortly in motion for tea, and they must
squeeze out like the rest. Catherine began to feel

something of disappointment--she was tired of being
continually pressed against by people, the generality

of whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and with
all of whom she was so wholly unacquainted that she

could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the
exchange of a syllable with any of her fellow captives;

and when at last arrived in the tea-room, she felt
yet more the awkwardness of having no party to join,