When the first letter appeared, Mr. Morland directed it to his eldest daughter with a mixture of gladness and slight regret at losing her so quickly. After all, what parent did not wish his children's happiness? General Tilney must have only required further conversation with and assurances from his son to acquiesce.

He was therefore surprised when Catherine spoke not a word on the subject, only a dreamlike smile brightening her countenance later.

"I suppose it will be a while longer," Mr. Morland said to his wife privately.

"Perhaps the father wrote you as well," was her practical reply. "And it may be no bad thing if he recommend a longer engagement."

When the second came, Mr. Morland was quick to see it was in the same hand as before. Again, it was handed over, and again, nothing of its contents was reported.

"Should we interfere?" Mrs. Morland asked when they had a rare quiet moment together.

"They brighten her day so, I am loathe to stop their coming," he admitted, and on observing her look of agreement, continued. "We have, after all, met and approved him. Indeed, a letter here and there exchanged may be to the benefit of both, in teaching them to love the beauty of the soul as well as the eye."

"True; and Catherine could stand to practice her penmanship."

Title from Chapter 15 of Northanger Abbey: "She could not listen to that with perfect calmness, but repeatedly regretted the necessity of its concealment...."