The moment his sister entered the room, it was as if the terrible weight upon Henry's shoulders lessened. That was how it always was when the siblings were together. Should he choose for himself a favored companion, a best friend, it would always be Eleanor—though to her face, he might say it was any one of his dogs.
Catherine's introduction and subsequent invitation to their fold had been natural, indeed, even a wonderful improvement, for being with the young woman was to see everything as if new through her eyes. It was to not feel the oppression of their father so acutely. So childlike a nature, Henry could not help but find fascinating. It was so different from his own education, so different from even Eleanor's. He had seen the girl's butterfly-like metamorphosis beginning to take shape before his very eyes.
"It would be a mistake, I think, to presume Miss Morland's journey should ever have an end. Surely she will not let her experience here dissuade her from a further pursuit of experience and adventure." Henry could not quite get going with his rallying speech; his throat worked overtime to produce the words. "She has so much still to see of the world. And if she should never stray into General Tilney's occupied territories again, then she may count herself the happier creature. Of course she will arrive safe, for through excessive reading she has prepared herself for every possible peril that might befall a heroine. No, dear Eleanor, it is a surety that Miss Morland shall continue to defy every expectation and surprise us all. That we are no longer witnesses to the astonishments of our little friend, I think, rather makes us the unfortunates."
There was no use trying to hide the ribbon, but he stowed it on his person. He leaned against the vanity that had so recently reflected Catherine's face, and looked instead at his sister.
"I should have never left the two of you alone. I dare say I shall never forgive myself, for the remainder of my days, for not being here." His own expression faltered a little when he noticed Eleanor's red-rimmed eyes. He had rarely known his sister to cry, certainly not with the same license of other young ladies, but it never failed that their father was involved in the sorrowful recreation.
"I cannot think what possessed him." Ejected quickly, as if the silver tongue that gave life to such monologues could not now bear the taste of his true feelings. "Something must have occurred in London to inspire such a profound transformation. We know him well enough to guess his moods, and that's how he best likes himself: to be understood without assertion. But I cannot conceive how any of this was allowed to happen. That he does not seem to suspect nor care that he has behaved abominably makes it unpardonably worse."