Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons by Jane Austen, Vera Nazarian

pretty face, and a very agreeable countenance. She was accompanied by a very lovely angel who soared overhead and nodded to Catherine with delight.
    Furthermore, Miss Tilney had neither pretension, nor the resolute stylishness of Miss Thorpe’s, but far more real elegance, good sense, and good breeding. Neither shy nor affectedly open, she seemed capable of being young, attractive, and at a ball without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her. She expressed no exaggerated feelings of ecstatic delight or inconceivable vexation on every little trifling occurrence.
    Catherine, interested at once by her appearance and her relationship to Mr. Tilney, was desirous of being further acquainted with her. But without embarking on a speedy intimacy, they could do little more than inform themselves how well the other liked Bath, whether she drew, or played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on horseback.
    The two dances were scarcely concluded before Catherine experienced the delicate flapping breezes of angels fleeing and scattering every which way, felt a blast of arctic cold, and then found her arm gently seized by her faithful Isabella, who in great spirits exclaimed, “At last! My dearest creature, I have been looking for you this hour. What could induce you to come into this set, when you knew I was in the other? I have been quite wretched without you.”
    “My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get at you? I could not even see where you were.”
    “So I told your brother all the time—but he would not believe me. Do go and find her, Mr. Morland, said I—in vain—he would not stir an inch. Was not it so, Mr. Morland? But you men are all so immoderately lazy! I have been scolding him to such a degree, I never stand upon ceremony with such people.”
    “Look at that young lady with the white beads round her head,” whispered Catherine, detaching her friend from James. “It is Mr. Tilney’s sister.”
    “Oh! Heavens! You don’t say so! Let me look at her this moment. What a delightful girl! I never saw anything half so beautiful! But where is her all-conquering brother? Is he in the room? Point him out to me this instant, I die to see him—Mr. Morland, you are not to listen. We are not talking about you.”
    “But what is all this whispering about? What is going on?” said James, shivering slightly in his jacket (the collar of which was developing a fine dusting of unseasonal icy rime), but observing Isabella as though bewitched. He was then regaled with commonplace chatter, which lasted some time, the original subject entirely forgotten.
    Catherine was pleased to have it dropped for a while. But the total suspension of all Isabella’s impatient desire to see Mr. Tilney seemed a bit odd.
    When the orchestra struck up a fresh dance, James would have led his fair partner away, but Isabella resisted. “I tell you, Mr. Morland,” she cried, sending up curling vapors from her icy breath in a complete reverse of natural law, “I would not do such a thing for all the world. My dear Catherine, your brother wants me to dance with him again, though it is a most improper thing, entirely against the rules. It would make us the talk of the place, if we were not to change partners.”
    “Upon my honour,” said James, “in these public assemblies, it is as often done as not.”
    “Nonsense, how can you say so? But when you men have a point to carry, you never stick at anything. My sweet Catherine, do support me; persuade your brother how impossible it is. Tell him that it would quite shock you to see me do such a thing; now would not it?”
    “No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had much better change.” Catherine said absently, glancing around with some concern for a sight of Mr. Tilney.
    “There,” cried Isabella, “you hear what your sister says, and yet you will not mind her. Well, remember that it is not my fault, if we set all the old ladies in Bath in a bustle. Come along,