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+S'\xef\xbb\xbfThe Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen\r\n\r\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\r\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\r\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\r\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\r\n\r\n\r\nTitle: Pride and Prejudice\r\n\r\nAuthor: Jane Austen\r\n\r\nPosting Date: August 26, 2008 [EBook #1342]\r\nRelease Date: June, 1998\r\nLast updated: February 15, 2015]\r\n\r\nLanguage: English\r\n\r\n\r\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ***\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nProduced by Anonymous Volunteers\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nPRIDE AND PREJUDICE\r\n\r\nBy Jane Austen\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 1\r\n\r\n\r\nIt is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession\r\nof a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.\r\n\r\nHowever little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his\r\nfirst entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds\r\nof the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property\r\nof some one or other of their daughters.\r\n\r\n"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that\r\nNetherfield Park is let at last?"\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet replied that he had not.\r\n\r\n"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she\r\ntold me all about it."\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet made no answer.\r\n\r\n"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.\r\n\r\n"_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."\r\n\r\nThis was invitation enough.\r\n\r\n"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken\r\nby a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came\r\ndown on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much\r\ndelighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he\r\nis to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to\r\nbe in the house by the end of next week."\r\n\r\n"What is his name?"\r\n\r\n"Bingley."\r\n\r\n"Is he married or single?"\r\n\r\n"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or\r\nfive thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"\r\n\r\n"How so? How can it affect them?"\r\n\r\n"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You\r\nmust know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."\r\n\r\n"Is that his design in settling here?"\r\n\r\n"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he\r\n_may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as\r\nsoon as he comes."\r\n\r\n"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send\r\nthem by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are\r\nas handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you the best of the\r\nparty."\r\n\r\n"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but\r\nI do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five\r\ngrown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."\r\n\r\n"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of."\r\n\r\n"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into\r\nthe neighbourhood."\r\n\r\n"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."\r\n\r\n"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would\r\nbe for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to\r\ngo, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit no\r\nnewcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to\r\nvisit him if you do not."\r\n\r\n"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very\r\nglad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my\r\nhearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though\r\nI must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."\r\n\r\n"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the\r\nothers; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so\r\ngood-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the preference."\r\n\r\n"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are\r\nall silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of\r\nquickness than her sisters."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Bennet, how _can_ you abuse your own children in such a way? You\r\ntake delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves."\r\n\r\n"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They\r\nare my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration\r\nthese last twenty years at least."\r\n\r\n"Ah, you do not know what I suffer."\r\n\r\n"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four\r\nthousand a year come into the neighbourhood."\r\n\r\n"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not\r\nvisit them."\r\n\r\n"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them\r\nall."\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,\r\nreserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had\r\nbeen insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind\r\nwas less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding,\r\nlittle information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented,\r\nshe fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her\r\ndaughters married; its solace was visiting and news.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 2\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He\r\nhad always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring\r\nhis wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was\r\npaid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following\r\nmanner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he\r\nsuddenly addressed her with:\r\n\r\n"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy."\r\n\r\n"We are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes," said her mother\r\nresentfully, "since we are not to visit."\r\n\r\n"But you forget, mamma," said Elizabeth, "that we shall meet him at the\r\nassemblies, and that Mrs. Long promised to introduce him."\r\n\r\n"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces\r\nof her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion\r\nof her."\r\n\r\n"No more have I," said Mr. Bennet; "and I am glad to find that you do\r\nnot depend on her serving you."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply, but, unable to contain\r\nherself, began scolding one of her daughters.\r\n\r\n"Don\'t keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven\'s sake! Have a little\r\ncompassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."\r\n\r\n"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," said her father; "she times\r\nthem ill."\r\n\r\n"I do not cough for my own amusement," replied Kitty fretfully. "When is\r\nyour next ball to be, Lizzy?"\r\n\r\n"To-morrow fortnight."\r\n\r\n"Aye, so it is," cried her mother, "and Mrs. Long does not come back\r\ntill the day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce him,\r\nfor she will not know him herself."\r\n\r\n"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce\r\nMr. Bingley to _her_."\r\n\r\n"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him\r\nmyself; how can you be so teasing?"\r\n\r\n"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight\'s acquaintance is certainly\r\nvery little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a\r\nfortnight. But if _we_ do not venture somebody else will; and after all,\r\nMrs. Long and her neices must stand their chance; and, therefore, as\r\nshe will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will\r\ntake it on myself."\r\n\r\nThe girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, "Nonsense,\r\nnonsense!"\r\n\r\n"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?" cried he. "Do\r\nyou consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on\r\nthem, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you,\r\nMary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read\r\ngreat books and make extracts."\r\n\r\nMary wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.\r\n\r\n"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he continued, "let us return to Mr.\r\nBingley."\r\n\r\n"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried his wife.\r\n\r\n"I am sorry to hear _that_; but why did not you tell me that before? If\r\nI had known as much this morning I certainly would not have called\r\non him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we\r\ncannot escape the acquaintance now."\r\n\r\nThe astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs.\r\nBennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the first tumult of joy\r\nwas over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the\r\nwhile.\r\n\r\n"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should\r\npersuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to\r\nneglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a\r\ngood joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a\r\nword about it till now."\r\n\r\n"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose," said Mr. Bennet; and,\r\nas he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.\r\n\r\n"What an excellent father you have, girls!" said she, when the door was\r\nshut. "I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness;\r\nor me, either, for that matter. At our time of life it is not so\r\npleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but\r\nfor your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you _are_\r\nthe youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next\r\nball."\r\n\r\n"Oh!" said Lydia stoutly, "I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the\r\nyoungest, I\'m the tallest."\r\n\r\nThe rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would\r\nreturn Mr. Bennet\'s visit, and determining when they should ask him to\r\ndinner.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 3\r\n\r\n\r\nNot all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five\r\ndaughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her\r\nhusband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him\r\nin various ways--with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and\r\ndistant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all, and they were at\r\nlast obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour,\r\nLady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been\r\ndelighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely\r\nagreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly\r\nwith a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of\r\ndancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively\r\nhopes of Mr. Bingley\'s heart were entertained.\r\n\r\n"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,"\r\nsaid Mrs. Bennet to her husband, "and all the others equally well\r\nmarried, I shall have nothing to wish for."\r\n\r\nIn a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet\'s visit, and sat about\r\nten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being\r\nadmitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had\r\nheard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more\r\nfortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper\r\nwindow that he wore a blue coat, and rode a black horse.\r\n\r\nAn invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already\r\nhad Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her\r\nhousekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley\r\nwas obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable\r\nto accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite\r\ndisconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town\r\nso soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that\r\nhe might be always flying about from one place to another, and never\r\nsettled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears\r\na little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get\r\na large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley\r\nwas to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly.\r\nThe girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the\r\nday before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only\r\nsix with him from London--his five sisters and a cousin. And when\r\nthe party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five\r\naltogether--Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and\r\nanother young man.\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant\r\ncountenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women,\r\nwith an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely\r\nlooked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention\r\nof the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and\r\nthe report which was in general circulation within five minutes\r\nafter his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen\r\npronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he\r\nwas much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great\r\nadmiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust\r\nwhich turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be\r\nproud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all\r\nhis large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most\r\nforbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared\r\nwith his friend.\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal\r\npeople in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance,\r\nwas angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving\r\none himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for\r\nthemselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced\r\nonly once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being\r\nintroduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in\r\nwalking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.\r\nHis character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man\r\nin the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.\r\nAmongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of\r\nhis general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his\r\nhaving slighted one of her daughters.\r\n\r\nElizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit\r\ndown for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been\r\nstanding near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr.\r\nBingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend\r\nto join it.\r\n\r\n"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you\r\nstanding about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better\r\ndance."\r\n\r\n"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am\r\nparticularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this\r\nit would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not\r\nanother woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to\r\nstand up with."\r\n\r\n"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Mr. Bingley, "for a\r\nkingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in\r\nmy life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see\r\nuncommonly pretty."\r\n\r\n"_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr.\r\nDarcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.\r\n\r\n"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one\r\nof her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I\r\ndare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."\r\n\r\n"Which do you mean?" and turning round he looked for a moment at\r\nElizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said:\r\n"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; I am in no\r\nhumour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted\r\nby other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her\r\nsmiles, for you are wasting your time with me."\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth\r\nremained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She told the story,\r\nhowever, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively,\r\nplayful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.\r\n\r\nThe evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs.\r\nBennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield\r\nparty. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been\r\ndistinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as\r\nher mother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane\'s\r\npleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most\r\naccomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been\r\nfortunate enough never to be without partners, which was all that they\r\nhad yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good\r\nspirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they\r\nwere the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With\r\na book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a\r\ngood deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised\r\nsuch splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife\'s views on\r\nthe stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a\r\ndifferent story to hear.\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet," as she entered the room, "we have had a most\r\ndelightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there.\r\nJane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well\r\nshe looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with\r\nher twice! Only think of _that_, my dear; he actually danced with her\r\ntwice! and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second\r\ntime. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand\r\nup with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody\r\ncan, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going\r\ndown the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and\r\nasked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King,\r\nand the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again,\r\nand the two sixth with Lizzy, and the _Boulanger_--"\r\n\r\n"If he had had any compassion for _me_," cried her husband impatiently,\r\n"he would not have danced half so much! For God\'s sake, say no more of\r\nhis partners. Oh that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively\r\nhandsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw\r\nanything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs.\r\nHurst\'s gown--"\r\n\r\nHere she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any\r\ndescription of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch\r\nof the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some\r\nexaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.\r\n\r\n"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not lose much by not\r\nsuiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at\r\nall worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring\r\nhim! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very\r\ngreat! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my\r\ndear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 4\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in\r\nher praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very\r\nmuch she admired him.\r\n\r\n"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible,\r\ngood-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!--so much\r\nease, with such perfect good breeding!"\r\n\r\n"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought\r\nlikewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."\r\n\r\n"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I\r\ndid not expect such a compliment."\r\n\r\n"Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between\r\nus. Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What\r\ncould be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help\r\nseeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman\r\nin the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is\r\nvery agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a\r\nstupider person."\r\n\r\n"Dear Lizzy!"\r\n\r\n"Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general.\r\nYou never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable\r\nin your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your\r\nlife."\r\n\r\n"I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak\r\nwhat I think."\r\n\r\n"I know you do; and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_\r\ngood sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of\r\nothers! Affectation of candour is common enough--one meets with it\r\neverywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design--to take the\r\ngood of everybody\'s character and make it still better, and say nothing\r\nof the bad--belongs to you alone. And so you like this man\'s sisters,\r\ntoo, do you? Their manners are not equal to his."\r\n\r\n"Certainly not--at first. But they are very pleasing women when you\r\nconverse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep\r\nhis house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming\r\nneighbour in her."\r\n\r\nElizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced; their behaviour at\r\nthe assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more\r\nquickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister,\r\nand with a judgement too unassailed by any attention to herself, she\r\nwas very little disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine\r\nladies; not deficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the\r\npower of making themselves agreeable when they chose it, but proud and\r\nconceited. They were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the\r\nfirst private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand\r\npounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and of\r\nassociating with people of rank, and were therefore in every respect\r\nentitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of\r\na respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance more deeply\r\nimpressed on their memories than that their brother\'s fortune and their\r\nown had been acquired by trade.\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred\r\nthousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an\r\nestate, but did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and\r\nsometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a\r\ngood house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those\r\nwho best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the\r\nremainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to\r\npurchase.\r\n\r\nHis sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own; but,\r\nthough he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no\r\nmeans unwilling to preside at his table--nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had\r\nmarried a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider\r\nhis house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of\r\nage two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation\r\nto look at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and into it for\r\nhalf-an-hour--was pleased with the situation and the principal\r\nrooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it\r\nimmediately.\r\n\r\nBetween him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of\r\ngreat opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the\r\neasiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition\r\ncould offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he\r\nnever appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy\'s regard, Bingley\r\nhad the firmest reliance, and of his judgement the highest opinion.\r\nIn understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means\r\ndeficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty,\r\nreserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not\r\ninviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley\r\nwas sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually\r\ngiving offense.\r\n\r\nThe manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently\r\ncharacteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or\r\nprettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive\r\nto him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt\r\nacquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not\r\nconceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a\r\ncollection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for\r\nnone of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none received\r\neither attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty,\r\nbut she smiled too much.\r\n\r\nMrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so--but still they admired\r\nher and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one\r\nwhom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore\r\nestablished as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized by such\r\ncommendation to think of her as he chose.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 5\r\n\r\n\r\nWithin a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets\r\nwere particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade\r\nin Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the\r\nhonour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty.\r\nThe distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a\r\ndisgust to his business, and to his residence in a small market town;\r\nand, in quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house\r\nabout a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge,\r\nwhere he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and,\r\nunshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all\r\nthe world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him\r\nsupercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By\r\nnature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St.\r\nJames\'s had made him courteous.\r\n\r\nLady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a\r\nvaluable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest\r\nof them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was\r\nElizabeth\'s intimate friend.\r\n\r\nThat the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over\r\na ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly\r\nbrought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.\r\n\r\n"_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte," said Mrs. Bennet with civil\r\nself-command to Miss Lucas. "_You_ were Mr. Bingley\'s first choice."\r\n\r\n"Yes; but he seemed to like his second better."\r\n\r\n"Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be\r\nsure that _did_ seem as if he admired her--indeed I rather believe he\r\n_did_--I heard something about it--but I hardly know what--something\r\nabout Mr. Robinson."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not\r\nI mention it to you? Mr. Robinson\'s asking him how he liked our Meryton\r\nassemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many\r\npretty women in the room, and _which_ he thought the prettiest? and his\r\nanswering immediately to the last question: \'Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet,\r\nbeyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.\'"\r\n\r\n"Upon my word! Well, that is very decided indeed--that does seem as\r\nif--but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know."\r\n\r\n"_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza," said\r\nCharlotte. "Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend,\r\nis he?--poor Eliza!--to be only just _tolerable_."\r\n\r\n"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy\'s head to be vexed by his\r\nill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite\r\na misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he\r\nsat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips."\r\n\r\n"Are you quite sure, ma\'am?--is not there a little mistake?" said Jane.\r\n"I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her."\r\n\r\n"Aye--because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he\r\ncould not help answering her; but she said he seemed quite angry at\r\nbeing spoke to."\r\n\r\n"Miss Bingley told me," said Jane, "that he never speaks much,\r\nunless among his intimate acquaintances. With _them_ he is remarkably\r\nagreeable."\r\n\r\n"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very\r\nagreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it\r\nwas; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had\r\nheard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to\r\nthe ball in a hack chaise."\r\n\r\n"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long," said Miss Lucas, "but I\r\nwish he had danced with Eliza."\r\n\r\n"Another time, Lizzy," said her mother, "I would not dance with _him_,\r\nif I were you."\r\n\r\n"I believe, ma\'am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him."\r\n\r\n"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offend _me_ so much as pride\r\noften does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so\r\nvery fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour,\r\nshould think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a _right_\r\nto be proud."\r\n\r\n"That is very true," replied Elizabeth, "and I could easily forgive\r\n_his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_."\r\n\r\n"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her\r\nreflections, "is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have\r\never read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human\r\nnature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us\r\nwho do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some\r\nquality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different\r\nthings, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may\r\nbe proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of\r\nourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."\r\n\r\n"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas, who came with\r\nhis sisters, "I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of\r\nfoxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day."\r\n\r\n"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought," said Mrs.\r\nBennet; "and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle\r\ndirectly."\r\n\r\nThe boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she\r\nwould, and the argument ended only with the visit.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 6\r\n\r\n\r\nThe ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit\r\nwas soon returned in due form. Miss Bennet\'s pleasing manners grew on\r\nthe goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was\r\nfound to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to,\r\na wish of being better acquainted with _them_ was expressed towards\r\nthe two eldest. By Jane, this attention was received with the greatest\r\npleasure, but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment\r\nof everybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them;\r\nthough their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value as arising in\r\nall probability from the influence of their brother\'s admiration. It\r\nwas generally evident whenever they met, that he _did_ admire her and\r\nto _her_ it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference\r\nwhich she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a\r\nway to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it\r\nwas not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane\r\nunited, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a\r\nuniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions\r\nof the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.\r\n\r\n"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be able to impose\r\non the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be\r\nso very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill\r\nfrom the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and\r\nit will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in\r\nthe dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every\r\nattachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all\r\n_begin_ freely--a slight preference is natural enough; but there are\r\nvery few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without\r\nencouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show _more_\r\naffection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he\r\nmay never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."\r\n\r\n"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can\r\nperceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to\r\ndiscover it too."\r\n\r\n"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane\'s disposition as you do."\r\n\r\n"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal\r\nit, he must find it out."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley and Jane\r\nmeet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they\r\nalways see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that\r\nevery moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should\r\ntherefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his\r\nattention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for\r\nfalling in love as much as she chooses."\r\n\r\n"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in\r\nquestion but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined\r\nto get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But\r\nthese are not Jane\'s feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet,\r\nshe cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its\r\nreasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four\r\ndances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house,\r\nand has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite\r\nenough to make her understand his character."\r\n\r\n"Not as you represent it. Had she merely _dined_ with him, she might\r\nonly have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must\r\nremember that four evenings have also been spent together--and four\r\nevenings may do a great deal."\r\n\r\n"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they\r\nboth like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other\r\nleading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."\r\n\r\n"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and\r\nif she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a\r\nchance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a\r\ntwelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If\r\nthe dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or\r\never so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the\r\nleast. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to\r\nhave their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as\r\npossible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your\r\nlife."\r\n\r\n"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not\r\nsound, and that you would never act in this way yourself."\r\n\r\nOccupied in observing Mr. Bingley\'s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth\r\nwas far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some\r\ninterest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely\r\nallowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the\r\nball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no\r\nsooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly\r\nhad a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered\r\nuncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To\r\nthis discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had\r\ndetected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry\r\nin her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and\r\npleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those\r\nof the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of\r\nthis she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only the man who made\r\nhimself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough\r\nto dance with.\r\n\r\nHe began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing\r\nwith her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so\r\ndrew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas\'s, where a large party were\r\nassembled.\r\n\r\n"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she to Charlotte, "by listening to my\r\nconversation with Colonel Forster?"\r\n\r\n"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer."\r\n\r\n"But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see\r\nwhat he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by\r\nbeing impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him."\r\n\r\nOn his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have\r\nany intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such\r\na subject to him; which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she\r\nturned to him and said:\r\n\r\n"Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly\r\nwell just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at\r\nMeryton?"\r\n\r\n"With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady\r\nenergetic."\r\n\r\n"You are severe on us."\r\n\r\n"It will be _her_ turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas. "I am going\r\nto open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."\r\n\r\n"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!--always wanting me\r\nto play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken\r\na musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would\r\nreally rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of\r\nhearing the very best performers." On Miss Lucas\'s persevering, however,\r\nshe added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must." And gravely glancing\r\nat Mr. Darcy, "There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of\r\ncourse familiar with: \'Keep your breath to cool your porridge\'; and I\r\nshall keep mine to swell my song."\r\n\r\nHer performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song\r\nor two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that\r\nshe would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her\r\nsister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in\r\nthe family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always\r\nimpatient for display.\r\n\r\nMary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her\r\napplication, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited\r\nmanner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she\r\nhad reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with\r\nmuch more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the\r\nend of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by\r\nScotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who,\r\nwith some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in\r\ndancing at one end of the room.\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of\r\npassing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too\r\nmuch engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was\r\nhis neighbour, till Sir William thus began:\r\n\r\n"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There\r\nis nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first\r\nrefinements of polished society."\r\n\r\n"Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst\r\nthe less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance."\r\n\r\nSir William only smiled. "Your friend performs delightfully," he\r\ncontinued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; "and I doubt\r\nnot that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy."\r\n\r\n"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir."\r\n\r\n"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do\r\nyou often dance at St. James\'s?"\r\n\r\n"Never, sir."\r\n\r\n"Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?"\r\n\r\n"It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it."\r\n\r\n"You have a house in town, I conclude?"\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy bowed.\r\n\r\n"I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself--for I am fond\r\nof superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of\r\nLondon would agree with Lady Lucas."\r\n\r\nHe paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed\r\nto make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was\r\nstruck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to\r\nher:\r\n\r\n"My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow\r\nme to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You\r\ncannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you."\r\nAnd, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy who, though\r\nextremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly\r\ndrew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:\r\n\r\n"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you\r\nnot to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of\r\nher hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at\r\nall shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.\r\n\r\n"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny\r\nme the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the\r\namusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us\r\nfor one half-hour."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said Elizabeth, smiling.\r\n\r\n"He is, indeed; but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza,\r\nwe cannot wonder at his complaisance--for who would object to such a\r\npartner?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not\r\ninjured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some\r\ncomplacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:\r\n\r\n"I can guess the subject of your reverie."\r\n\r\n"I should imagine not."\r\n\r\n"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings\r\nin this manner--in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion.\r\nI was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise--the\r\nnothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would\r\nI give to hear your strictures on them!"\r\n\r\n"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more\r\nagreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure\r\nwhich a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he\r\nwould tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.\r\nMr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:\r\n\r\n"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."\r\n\r\n"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment.\r\nHow long has she been such a favourite?--and pray, when am I to wish you\r\njoy?"\r\n\r\n"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady\'s\r\nimagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love\r\nto matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy."\r\n\r\n"Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is\r\nabsolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed;\r\nand, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you."\r\n\r\nHe listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to\r\nentertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her\r\nthat all was safe, her wit flowed long.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 7\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet\'s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two\r\nthousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed,\r\nin default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother\'s\r\nfortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply\r\nthe deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and\r\nhad left her four thousand pounds.\r\n\r\nShe had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, who had been a clerk to\r\ntheir father and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in\r\nLondon in a respectable line of trade.\r\n\r\nThe village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most\r\nconvenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted\r\nthither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt and\r\nto a milliner\'s shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family,\r\nCatherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions;\r\ntheir minds were more vacant than their sisters\', and when nothing\r\nbetter offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning\r\nhours and furnish conversation for the evening; and however bare of news\r\nthe country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some\r\nfrom their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both with\r\nnews and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the\r\nneighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the\r\nheadquarters.\r\n\r\nTheir visits to Mrs. Phillips were now productive of the most\r\ninteresting intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge\r\nof the officers\' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a\r\nsecret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr.\r\nPhillips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a store of\r\nfelicity unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and\r\nMr. Bingley\'s large fortune, the mention of which gave animation\r\nto their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the\r\nregimentals of an ensign.\r\n\r\nAfter listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.\r\nBennet coolly observed:\r\n\r\n"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two\r\nof the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but\r\nI am now convinced."\r\n\r\nCatherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect\r\nindifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter,\r\nand her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the\r\nnext morning to London.\r\n\r\n"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "that you should be so\r\nready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly\r\nof anybody\'s children, it should not be of my own, however."\r\n\r\n"If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it."\r\n\r\n"Yes--but as it happens, they are all of them very clever."\r\n\r\n"This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I\r\nhad hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must\r\nso far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly\r\nfoolish."\r\n\r\n"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of\r\ntheir father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will\r\nnot think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when\r\nI liked a red coat myself very well--and, indeed, so I do still at my\r\nheart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year,\r\nshould want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him; and I thought\r\nColonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William\'s in\r\nhis regimentals."\r\n\r\n"Mamma," cried Lydia, "my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain\r\nCarter do not go so often to Miss Watson\'s as they did when they first\r\ncame; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke\'s library."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with\r\na note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited\r\nfor an answer. Mrs. Bennet\'s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was\r\neagerly calling out, while her daughter read,\r\n\r\n"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well,\r\nJane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love."\r\n\r\n"It is from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and then read it aloud.\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR FRIEND,--\r\n\r\n"If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me,\r\nwe shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives,\r\nfor a whole day\'s tete-a-tete between two women can never end without a\r\nquarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My brother and the\r\ngentlemen are to dine with the officers.--Yours ever,\r\n\r\n"CAROLINE BINGLEY"\r\n\r\n"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder my aunt did not tell us of\r\n_that_."\r\n\r\n"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet, "that is very unlucky."\r\n\r\n"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane.\r\n\r\n"No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to\r\nrain; and then you must stay all night."\r\n\r\n"That would be a good scheme," said Elizabeth, "if you were sure that\r\nthey would not offer to send her home."\r\n\r\n"Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley\'s chaise to go to Meryton,\r\nand the Hursts have no horses to theirs."\r\n\r\n"I had much rather go in the coach."\r\n\r\n"But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are\r\nwanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are they not?"\r\n\r\n"They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them."\r\n\r\n"But if you have got them to-day," said Elizabeth, "my mother\'s purpose\r\nwill be answered."\r\n\r\nShe did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses\r\nwere engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her\r\nmother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a\r\nbad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before\r\nit rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was\r\ndelighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;\r\nJane certainly could not come back.\r\n\r\n"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" said Mrs. Bennet more than\r\nonce, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the\r\nnext morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her\r\ncontrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield\r\nbrought the following note for Elizabeth:\r\n\r\n"MY DEAREST LIZZY,--\r\n\r\n"I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be\r\nimputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not\r\nhear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr.\r\nJones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been\r\nto me--and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the\r\nmatter with me.--Yours, etc."\r\n\r\n"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note\r\naloud, "if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness--if she\r\nshould die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of\r\nMr. Bingley, and under your orders."\r\n\r\n"Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling\r\ncolds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is\r\nall very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage."\r\n\r\nElizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though\r\nthe carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking\r\nwas her only alternative. She declared her resolution.\r\n\r\n"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of such a\r\nthing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get\r\nthere."\r\n\r\n"I shall be very fit to see Jane--which is all I want."\r\n\r\n"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said her father, "to send for the\r\nhorses?"\r\n\r\n"No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing\r\nwhen one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."\r\n\r\n"I admire the activity of your benevolence," observed Mary, "but every\r\nimpulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion,\r\nexertion should always be in proportion to what is required."\r\n\r\n"We will go as far as Meryton with you," said Catherine and Lydia.\r\nElizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off\r\ntogether.\r\n\r\n"If we make haste," said Lydia, as they walked along, "perhaps we may\r\nsee something of Captain Carter before he goes."\r\n\r\nIn Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one\r\nof the officers\' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing\r\nfield after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing\r\nover puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself at last\r\nwithin view of the house, with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face\r\nglowing with the warmth of exercise.\r\n\r\nShe was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were\r\nassembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise.\r\nThat she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such\r\ndirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and\r\nMiss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt\r\nfor it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their\r\nbrother\'s manners there was something better than politeness; there\r\nwas good humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr.\r\nHurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the\r\nbrilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as\r\nto the occasion\'s justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was\r\nthinking only of his breakfast.\r\n\r\nHer inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss\r\nBennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not\r\nwell enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her\r\nimmediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving\r\nalarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed\r\nfor such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,\r\nhowever, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them\r\ntogether, could attempt little besides expressions of gratitude for the\r\nextraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended\r\nher.\r\n\r\nWhen breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth\r\nbegan to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and\r\nsolicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having\r\nexamined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught\r\na violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it;\r\nadvised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice\r\nwas followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head\r\nached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment; nor were\r\nthe other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had, in\r\nfact, nothing to do elsewhere.\r\n\r\nWhen the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very\r\nunwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only\r\nwanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern\r\nin parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer\r\nof the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present.\r\nElizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched to\r\nLongbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and bring back a supply\r\nof clothes.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 8\r\n\r\n\r\nAt five o\'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six\r\nElizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then\r\npoured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the\r\nmuch superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley\'s, she could not make a very\r\nfavourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing\r\nthis, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how\r\nshocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked\r\nbeing ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their\r\nindifference towards Jane when not immediately before them restored\r\nElizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike.\r\n\r\nTheir brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could\r\nregard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his\r\nattentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling\r\nherself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the\r\nothers. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was\r\nengrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.\r\nHurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to\r\neat, drink, and play at cards; who, when he found her to prefer a plain\r\ndish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.\r\n\r\nWhen dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley\r\nbegan abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were\r\npronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence;\r\nshe had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the\r\nsame, and added:\r\n\r\n"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent\r\nwalker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really\r\nlooked almost wild."\r\n\r\n"She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very\r\nnonsensical to come at all! Why must _she_ be scampering about the\r\ncountry, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!"\r\n\r\n"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep\r\nin mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to\r\nhide it not doing its office."\r\n\r\n"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley; "but this was\r\nall lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably\r\nwell when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite\r\nescaped my notice."\r\n\r\n"_You_ observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley; "and I am\r\ninclined to think that you would not wish to see _your_ sister make such\r\nan exhibition."\r\n\r\n"Certainly not."\r\n\r\n"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,\r\nabove her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by\r\nit? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence,\r\na most country-town indifference to decorum."\r\n\r\n"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said\r\nBingley.\r\n\r\n"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, "that\r\nthis adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."\r\n\r\n"Not at all," he replied; "they were brightened by the exercise." A\r\nshort pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again:\r\n\r\n"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really a very\r\nsweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with\r\nsuch a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is\r\nno chance of it."\r\n\r\n"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in\r\nMeryton."\r\n\r\n"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."\r\n\r\n"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.\r\n\r\n"If they had uncles enough to fill _all_ Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it\r\nwould not make them one jot less agreeable."\r\n\r\n"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any\r\nconsideration in the world," replied Darcy.\r\n\r\nTo this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their\r\nhearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of\r\ntheir dear friend\'s vulgar relations.\r\n\r\nWith a renewal of tenderness, however, they returned to her room on\r\nleaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee.\r\nShe was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till\r\nlate in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep, and\r\nwhen it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should go\r\ndownstairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole\r\nparty at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting\r\nthem to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the\r\nexcuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay\r\nbelow, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.\r\n\r\n"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."\r\n\r\n"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great\r\nreader, and has no pleasure in anything else."\r\n\r\n"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Elizabeth; "I am\r\n_not_ a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."\r\n\r\n"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley; "and\r\nI hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well."\r\n\r\nElizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the\r\ntable where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her\r\nothers--all that his library afforded.\r\n\r\n"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own\r\ncredit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more\r\nthan I ever looked into."\r\n\r\nElizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those\r\nin the room.\r\n\r\n"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left\r\nso small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at\r\nPemberley, Mr. Darcy!"\r\n\r\n"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many\r\ngenerations."\r\n\r\n"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying\r\nbooks."\r\n\r\n"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as\r\nthese."\r\n\r\n"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of\r\nthat noble place. Charles, when you build _your_ house, I wish it may be\r\nhalf as delightful as Pemberley."\r\n\r\n"I wish it may."\r\n\r\n"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that\r\nneighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a\r\nfiner county in England than Derbyshire."\r\n\r\n"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."\r\n\r\n"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."\r\n\r\n"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get\r\nPemberley by purchase than by imitation."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was so much caught with what passed, as to leave her very\r\nlittle attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew\r\nnear the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his\r\neldest sister, to observe the game.\r\n\r\n"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will\r\nshe be as tall as I am?"\r\n\r\n"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet\'s height, or\r\nrather taller."\r\n\r\n"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me\r\nso much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished\r\nfor her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."\r\n\r\n"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience\r\nto be so very accomplished as they all are."\r\n\r\n"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and\r\nnet purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure\r\nI never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being\r\ninformed that she was very accomplished."\r\n\r\n"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has\r\ntoo much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no\r\notherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very\r\nfar from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I\r\ncannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my\r\nacquaintance, that are really accomplished."\r\n\r\n"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.\r\n\r\n"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your\r\nidea of an accomplished woman."\r\n\r\n"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."\r\n\r\n"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really\r\nesteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met\r\nwith. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing,\r\ndancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides\r\nall this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of\r\nwalking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word\r\nwill be but half-deserved."\r\n\r\n"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must\r\nyet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by\r\nextensive reading."\r\n\r\n"I am no longer surprised at your knowing _only_ six accomplished women.\r\nI rather wonder now at your knowing _any_."\r\n\r\n"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all\r\nthis?"\r\n\r\n"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and\r\napplication, and elegance, as you describe united."\r\n\r\nMrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her\r\nimplied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who\r\nanswered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with\r\nbitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all\r\nconversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the\r\nroom.\r\n\r\n"Elizabeth Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her,\r\n"is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the\r\nother sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it\r\nsucceeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."\r\n\r\n"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed,\r\n"there is a meanness in _all_ the arts which ladies sometimes condescend\r\nto employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is\r\ndespicable."\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to\r\ncontinue the subject.\r\n\r\nElizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and\r\nthat she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones being sent for\r\nimmediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could\r\nbe of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most\r\neminent physicians. This she would not hear of; but she was not so\r\nunwilling to comply with their brother\'s proposal; and it was settled\r\nthat Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet\r\nwere not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters\r\ndeclared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness,\r\nhowever, by duets after supper, while he could find no better relief\r\nto his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every\r\nattention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 9\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister\'s room, and in the\r\nmorning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the\r\ninquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid,\r\nand some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his\r\nsisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a\r\nnote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her\r\nown judgement of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and\r\nits contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her\r\ntwo youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.\r\n\r\nHad she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been\r\nvery miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was\r\nnot alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her\r\nrestoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She\r\nwould not listen, therefore, to her daughter\'s proposal of being carried\r\nhome; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think\r\nit at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss\r\nBingley\'s appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all\r\nattended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes\r\nthat Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.\r\n\r\n"Indeed I have, sir," was her answer. "She is a great deal too ill to be\r\nmoved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass\r\na little longer on your kindness."\r\n\r\n"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am\r\nsure, will not hear of her removal."\r\n\r\n"You may depend upon it, Madam," said Miss Bingley, with cold civility,\r\n"that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she\r\nremains with us."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.\r\n\r\n"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends I do not\r\nknow what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers\r\na vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is\r\nalways the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest\r\ntemper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are\r\nnothing to _her_. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a\r\ncharming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place in the\r\ncountry that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it\r\nin a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."\r\n\r\n"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he; "and therefore if I\r\nshould resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five\r\nminutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."\r\n\r\n"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning towards her.\r\n\r\n"Oh! yes--I understand you perfectly."\r\n\r\n"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen\r\nthrough I am afraid is pitiful."\r\n\r\n"That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate\r\ncharacter is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."\r\n\r\n"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in\r\nthe wild manner that you are suffered to do at home."\r\n\r\n"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately, "that you were a\r\nstudier of character. It must be an amusing study."\r\n\r\n"Yes, but intricate characters are the _most_ amusing. They have at\r\nleast that advantage."\r\n\r\n"The country," said Darcy, "can in general supply but a few subjects for\r\nsuch a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and\r\nunvarying society."\r\n\r\n"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be\r\nobserved in them for ever."\r\n\r\n"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning\r\na country neighbourhood. "I assure you there is quite as much of _that_\r\ngoing on in the country as in town."\r\n\r\nEverybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment,\r\nturned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete\r\nvictory over him, continued her triumph.\r\n\r\n"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for\r\nmy part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal\r\npleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?"\r\n\r\n"When I am in the country," he replied, "I never wish to leave it;\r\nand when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their\r\nadvantages, and I can be equally happy in either."\r\n\r\n"Aye--that is because you have the right disposition. But that\r\ngentleman," looking at Darcy, "seemed to think the country was nothing\r\nat all."\r\n\r\n"Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken," said Elizabeth, blushing for her\r\nmother. "You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not\r\nsuch a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town,\r\nwhich you must acknowledge to be true."\r\n\r\n"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting\r\nwith many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few\r\nneighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families."\r\n\r\nNothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his\r\ncountenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards\r\nMr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of\r\nsaying something that might turn her mother\'s thoughts, now asked her if\r\nCharlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since _her_ coming away.\r\n\r\n"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir\r\nWilliam is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the man of fashion! So\r\ngenteel and easy! He has always something to say to everybody. _That_\r\nis my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very\r\nimportant, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter."\r\n\r\n"Did Charlotte dine with you?"\r\n\r\n"No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For\r\nmy part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work;\r\n_my_ daughters are brought up very differently. But everybody is to\r\njudge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls,\r\nI assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think\r\nCharlotte so _very_ plain--but then she is our particular friend."\r\n\r\n"She seems a very pleasant young woman."\r\n\r\n"Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself\r\nhas often said so, and envied me Jane\'s beauty. I do not like to boast\r\nof my own child, but to be sure, Jane--one does not often see anybody\r\nbetter looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own\r\npartiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother\r\nGardiner\'s in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was\r\nsure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he\r\ndid not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses\r\non her, and very pretty they were."\r\n\r\n"And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently. "There has\r\nbeen many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first\r\ndiscovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"\r\n\r\n"I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love," said Darcy.\r\n\r\n"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is\r\nstrong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I\r\nam convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."\r\n\r\nDarcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth\r\ntremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to\r\nspeak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs.\r\nBennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to\r\nJane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was\r\nunaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be\r\ncivil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part\r\nindeed without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and\r\nsoon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of\r\nher daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to\r\neach other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that the\r\nyoungest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming\r\ninto the country to give a ball at Netherfield.\r\n\r\nLydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion\r\nand good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose\r\naffection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high\r\nanimal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the\r\nattention of the officers, to whom her uncle\'s good dinners, and her own\r\neasy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very\r\nequal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and\r\nabruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most\r\nshameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to this\r\nsudden attack was delightful to their mother\'s ear:\r\n\r\n"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and when\r\nyour sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of\r\nthe ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when she is ill."\r\n\r\nLydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes--it would be much better to\r\nwait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter\r\nwould be at Meryton again. And when you have given _your_ ball," she\r\nadded, "I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel\r\nForster it will be quite a shame if he does not."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned\r\ninstantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations\' behaviour to the\r\nremarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however,\r\ncould not be prevailed on to join in their censure of _her_, in spite of\r\nall Miss Bingley\'s witticisms on _fine eyes_.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 10\r\n\r\n\r\nThe day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss\r\nBingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who\r\ncontinued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined\r\ntheir party in the drawing-room. The loo-table, however, did not appear.\r\nMr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching\r\nthe progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by\r\nmessages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and\r\nMrs. Hurst was observing their game.\r\n\r\nElizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in\r\nattending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual\r\ncommendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness\r\nof his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern\r\nwith which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was\r\nexactly in union with her opinion of each.\r\n\r\n"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"\r\n\r\nHe made no answer.\r\n\r\n"You write uncommonly fast."\r\n\r\n"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."\r\n\r\n"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a\r\nyear! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!"\r\n\r\n"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."\r\n\r\n"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."\r\n\r\n"I have already told her so once, by your desire."\r\n\r\n"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend\r\npens remarkably well."\r\n\r\n"Thank you--but I always mend my own."\r\n\r\n"How can you contrive to write so even?"\r\n\r\nHe was silent.\r\n\r\n"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp;\r\nand pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful\r\nlittle design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss\r\nGrantley\'s."\r\n\r\n"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At\r\npresent I have not room to do them justice."\r\n\r\n"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you\r\nalways write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?"\r\n\r\n"They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me\r\nto determine."\r\n\r\n"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with\r\nease, cannot write ill."\r\n\r\n"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried her\r\nbrother, "because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too much for\r\nwords of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"\r\n\r\n"My style of writing is very different from yours."\r\n\r\n"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way\r\nimaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."\r\n\r\n"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them--by which\r\nmeans my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."\r\n\r\n"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "must disarm reproof."\r\n\r\n"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of\r\nhumility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an\r\nindirect boast."\r\n\r\n"And which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of modesty?"\r\n\r\n"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in\r\nwriting, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of\r\nthought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you\r\nthink at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with\r\nquickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any\r\nattention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs.\r\nBennet this morning that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield\r\nyou should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of\r\npanegyric, of compliment to yourself--and yet what is there so very\r\nlaudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business\r\nundone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the\r\nfoolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour,\r\nI believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this\r\nmoment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless\r\nprecipitance merely to show off before the ladies."\r\n\r\n"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that\r\nyou would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as\r\ndependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were\r\nmounting your horse, a friend were to say, \'Bingley, you had better\r\nstay till next week,\' you would probably do it, you would probably not\r\ngo--and at another word, might stay a month."\r\n\r\n"You have only proved by this," cried Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did\r\nnot do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much\r\nmore than he did himself."\r\n\r\n"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your converting what my\r\nfriend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am\r\nafraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means\r\nintend; for he would certainly think better of me, if under such a\r\ncircumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I\r\ncould."\r\n\r\n"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intentions\r\nas atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"\r\n\r\n"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for\r\nhimself."\r\n\r\n"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine,\r\nbut which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to\r\nstand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet,\r\nthat the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and\r\nthe delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering\r\none argument in favour of its propriety."\r\n\r\n"To yield readily--easily--to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no merit\r\nwith you."\r\n\r\n"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of\r\neither."\r\n\r\n"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of\r\nfriendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make\r\none readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason\r\none into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have\r\nsupposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the\r\ncircumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour\r\nthereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend,\r\nwhere one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no\r\nvery great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying\r\nwith the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"\r\n\r\n"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to\r\narrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to\r\nappertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting\r\nbetween the parties?"\r\n\r\n"By all means," cried Bingley; "let us hear all the particulars, not\r\nforgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more\r\nweight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure\r\nyou, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with\r\nmyself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not\r\nknow a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in\r\nparticular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening,\r\nwhen he has nothing to do."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was\r\nrather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly\r\nresented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her\r\nbrother for talking such nonsense.\r\n\r\n"I see your design, Bingley," said his friend. "You dislike an argument,\r\nand want to silence this."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss\r\nBennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very\r\nthankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me."\r\n\r\n"What you ask," said Elizabeth, "is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr.\r\nDarcy had much better finish his letter."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.\r\n\r\nWhen that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth\r\nfor an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with some alacrity\r\nto the pianoforte; and, after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead\r\nthe way which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she\r\nseated herself.\r\n\r\nMrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed,\r\nElizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books\r\nthat lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy\'s eyes were fixed\r\non her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of\r\nadmiration to so great a man; and yet that he should look at her\r\nbecause he disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine,\r\nhowever, at last that she drew his notice because there was something\r\nmore wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in\r\nany other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked\r\nhim too little to care for his approbation.\r\n\r\nAfter playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by\r\na lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near\r\nElizabeth, said to her:\r\n\r\n"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an\r\nopportunity of dancing a reel?"\r\n\r\nShe smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some\r\nsurprise at her silence.\r\n\r\n"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before, but I could not immediately\r\ndetermine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say \'Yes,\'\r\nthat you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always\r\ndelight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of\r\ntheir premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell\r\nyou, that I do not want to dance a reel at all--and now despise me if\r\nyou dare."\r\n\r\n"Indeed I do not dare."\r\n\r\nElizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his\r\ngallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her\r\nmanner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy\r\nhad never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really\r\nbelieved, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he\r\nshould be in some danger.\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great\r\nanxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some\r\nassistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.\r\n\r\nShe often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of\r\ntheir supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.\r\n\r\n"I hope," said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery\r\nthe next day, "you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this\r\ndesirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue;\r\nand if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after\r\nofficers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to\r\ncheck that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence,\r\nwhich your lady possesses."\r\n\r\n"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"\r\n\r\n"Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed\r\nin the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the\r\njudge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different\r\nlines. As for your Elizabeth\'s picture, you must not have it taken, for\r\nwhat painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"\r\n\r\n"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their\r\ncolour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be\r\ncopied."\r\n\r\nAt that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and\r\nElizabeth herself.\r\n\r\n"I did not know that you intended to walk," said Miss Bingley, in some\r\nconfusion, lest they had been overheard.\r\n\r\n"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst, "running away without\r\ntelling us that you were coming out."\r\n\r\nThen taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk\r\nby herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness,\r\nand immediately said:\r\n\r\n"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the\r\navenue."\r\n\r\nBut Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them,\r\nlaughingly answered:\r\n\r\n"No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear\r\nto uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a\r\nfourth. Good-bye."\r\n\r\nShe then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the hope of\r\nbeing at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered\r\nas to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 11\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her\r\nsister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the\r\ndrawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with many\r\nprofessions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable\r\nas they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared.\r\nTheir powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an\r\nentertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh\r\nat their acquaintance with spirit.\r\n\r\nBut when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object;\r\nMiss Bingley\'s eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy, and she had\r\nsomething to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed\r\nhimself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also\r\nmade her a slight bow, and said he was "very glad;" but diffuseness\r\nand warmth remained for Bingley\'s salutation. He was full of joy and\r\nattention. The first half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she\r\nshould suffer from the change of room; and she removed at his desire\r\nto the other side of the fireplace, that she might be further from\r\nthe door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone\r\nelse. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great\r\ndelight.\r\n\r\nWhen tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the\r\ncard-table--but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr.\r\nDarcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open\r\npetition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and\r\nthe silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr.\r\nHurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the\r\nsofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same;\r\nand Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets\r\nand rings, joined now and then in her brother\'s conversation with Miss\r\nBennet.\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley\'s attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr.\r\nDarcy\'s progress through _his_ book, as in reading her own; and she\r\nwas perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She\r\ncould not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her\r\nquestion, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be\r\namused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the\r\nsecond volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, "How pleasant\r\nit is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no\r\nenjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a\r\nbook! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not\r\nan excellent library."\r\n\r\nNo one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and\r\ncast her eyes round the room in quest for some amusement; when hearing\r\nher brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly\r\ntowards him and said:\r\n\r\n"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at\r\nNetherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult\r\nthe wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are\r\nnot some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a\r\npleasure."\r\n\r\n"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he may go to bed, if he\r\nchooses, before it begins--but as for the ball, it is quite a settled\r\nthing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough, I shall send\r\nround my cards."\r\n\r\n"I should like balls infinitely better," she replied, "if they were\r\ncarried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably\r\ntedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much\r\nmore rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of\r\nthe day."\r\n\r\n"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be\r\nnear so much like a ball."\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and walked\r\nabout the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; but\r\nDarcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In\r\nthe desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and,\r\nturning to Elizabeth, said:\r\n\r\n"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a\r\nturn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so\r\nlong in one attitude."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley\r\nsucceeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy looked\r\nup. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as\r\nElizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was\r\ndirectly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that\r\nhe could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down\r\nthe room together, with either of which motives his joining them would\r\ninterfere. "What could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his\r\nmeaning?"--and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him?\r\n\r\n"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend upon it, he means to be severe\r\non us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing\r\nabout it."\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in\r\nanything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his\r\ntwo motives.\r\n\r\n"I have not the smallest objection to explaining them," said he, as soon\r\nas she allowed him to speak. "You either choose this method of passing\r\nthe evening because you are in each other\'s confidence, and have secret\r\naffairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures\r\nappear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I would be\r\ncompletely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better\r\nas I sit by the fire."\r\n\r\n"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard anything so\r\nabominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?"\r\n\r\n"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said Elizabeth. "We\r\ncan all plague and punish one another. Tease him--laugh at him. Intimate\r\nas you are, you must know how it is to be done."\r\n\r\n"But upon my honour, I do _not_. I do assure you that my intimacy has\r\nnot yet taught me _that_. Tease calmness of manner and presence of\r\nmind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will\r\nnot expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a\r\nsubject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Elizabeth. "That is an\r\nuncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would\r\nbe a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintances. I dearly love a\r\nlaugh."\r\n\r\n"Miss Bingley," said he, "has given me more credit than can be.\r\nThe wisest and the best of men--nay, the wisest and best of their\r\nactions--may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in\r\nlife is a joke."\r\n\r\n"Certainly," replied Elizabeth--"there are such people, but I hope I\r\nam not one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good.\r\nFollies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, _do_ divert me, I own,\r\nand I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely\r\nwhat you are without."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study\r\nof my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong\r\nunderstanding to ridicule."\r\n\r\n"Such as vanity and pride."\r\n\r\n"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride--where there is a real\r\nsuperiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation."\r\n\r\nElizabeth turned away to hide a smile.\r\n\r\n"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said Miss Bingley;\r\n"and pray what is the result?"\r\n\r\n"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it\r\nhimself without disguise."\r\n\r\n"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough,\r\nbut they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch\r\nfor. It is, I believe, too little yielding--certainly too little for the\r\nconvenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others\r\nso soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings\r\nare not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper\r\nwould perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost\r\nforever."\r\n\r\n"_That_ is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment\r\n_is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I\r\nreally cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me."\r\n\r\n"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular\r\nevil--a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."\r\n\r\n"And _your_ defect is to hate everybody."\r\n\r\n"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand\r\nthem."\r\n\r\n"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a\r\nconversation in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not mind my\r\nwaking Mr. Hurst?"\r\n\r\nHer sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was\r\nopened; and Darcy, after a few moments\' recollection, was not sorry for\r\nit. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 12\r\n\r\n\r\nIn consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the\r\nnext morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for\r\nthem in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on\r\nher daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which\r\nwould exactly finish Jane\'s week, could not bring herself to receive\r\nthem with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at\r\nleast not to Elizabeth\'s wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs.\r\nBennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage\r\nbefore Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley\r\nand his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them\r\nvery well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively\r\nresolved--nor did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the\r\ncontrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long,\r\nshe urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley\'s carriage immediately, and at\r\nlength it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield\r\nthat morning should be mentioned, and the request made.\r\n\r\nThe communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was\r\nsaid of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work\r\non Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was\r\nthen sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike\r\nof one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.\r\n\r\nThe master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so\r\nsoon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be\r\nsafe for her--that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where\r\nshe felt herself to be right.\r\n\r\nTo Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence--Elizabeth had been at\r\nNetherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked--and Miss\r\nBingley was uncivil to _her_, and more teasing than usual to himself.\r\nHe wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration\r\nshould _now_ escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope\r\nof influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been\r\nsuggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight\r\nin confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke\r\nten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were\r\nat one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most\r\nconscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.\r\n\r\nOn Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost\r\nall, took place. Miss Bingley\'s civility to Elizabeth increased at last\r\nvery rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted,\r\nafter assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her\r\nto see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most\r\ntenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of\r\nthe whole party in the liveliest of spirits.\r\n\r\nThey were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet\r\nwondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much\r\ntrouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their\r\nfather, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really\r\nglad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The\r\nevening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of\r\nits animation, and almost all its sense by the absence of Jane and\r\nElizabeth.\r\n\r\nThey found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough-bass and human\r\nnature; and had some extracts to admire, and some new observations of\r\nthreadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information\r\nfor them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been said\r\nin the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers\r\nhad dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it\r\nhad actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 13\r\n\r\n\r\n"I hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at\r\nbreakfast the next morning, "that you have ordered a good dinner to-day,\r\nbecause I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."\r\n\r\n"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure,\r\nunless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in--and I hope _my_ dinners\r\nare good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home."\r\n\r\n"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet\'s eyes sparkled. "A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr.\r\nBingley, I am sure! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr.\r\nBingley. But--good Lord! how unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be\r\ngot to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell--I must speak to Hill this\r\nmoment."\r\n\r\n"It is _not_ Mr. Bingley," said her husband; "it is a person whom I\r\nnever saw in the whole course of my life."\r\n\r\nThis roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being\r\neagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at once.\r\n\r\nAfter amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained:\r\n\r\n"About a month ago I received this letter; and about a fortnight ago\r\nI answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring\r\nearly attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead,\r\nmay turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear to hear that mentioned.\r\nPray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing\r\nin the world, that your estate should be entailed away from your own\r\nchildren; and I am sure, if I had been you, I should have tried long ago\r\nto do something or other about it."\r\n\r\nJane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an entail. They\r\nhad often attempted to do it before, but it was a subject on which\r\nMrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail\r\nbitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of\r\nfive daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about.\r\n\r\n"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," said Mr. Bennet, "and\r\nnothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn.\r\nBut if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little\r\nsoftened by his manner of expressing himself."\r\n\r\n"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it is very impertinent of\r\nhim to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false\r\nfriends. Why could he not keep on quarreling with you, as his father did\r\nbefore him?"\r\n\r\n"Why, indeed; he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that\r\nhead, as you will hear."\r\n\r\n"Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October.\r\n\r\n"Dear Sir,--\r\n\r\n"The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured\r\nfather always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the\r\nmisfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but\r\nfor some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might\r\nseem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone\r\nwith whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.--\'There, Mrs.\r\nBennet.\'--My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having\r\nreceived ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be\r\ndistinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de\r\nBourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has\r\npreferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be\r\nmy earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her\r\nladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which\r\nare instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I\r\nfeel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in\r\nall families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I\r\nflatter myself that my present overtures are highly commendable, and\r\nthat the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate\r\nwill be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the\r\noffered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the\r\nmeans of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for\r\nit, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible\r\namends--but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to\r\nreceive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting\r\non you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o\'clock, and\r\nshall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se\'ennight\r\nfollowing, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine\r\nis far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided\r\nthat some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.--I\r\nremain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and\r\ndaughters, your well-wisher and friend,\r\n\r\n"WILLIAM COLLINS"\r\n\r\n"At four o\'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman,"\r\nsaid Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. "He seems to be a most\r\nconscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt not will\r\nprove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so\r\nindulgent as to let him come to us again."\r\n\r\n"There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however, and if\r\nhe is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to\r\ndiscourage him."\r\n\r\n"Though it is difficult," said Jane, "to guess in what way he can mean\r\nto make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his\r\ncredit."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for Lady\r\nCatherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying\r\nhis parishioners whenever it were required.\r\n\r\n"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "I cannot make him\r\nout.--There is something very pompous in his style.--And what can he\r\nmean by apologising for being next in the entail?--We cannot suppose he\r\nwould help it if he could.--Could he be a sensible man, sir?"\r\n\r\n"No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the\r\nreverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his\r\nletter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him."\r\n\r\n"In point of composition," said Mary, "the letter does not seem\r\ndefective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I\r\nthink it is well expressed."\r\n\r\nTo Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any\r\ndegree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should\r\ncome in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had\r\nreceived pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour. As for\r\ntheir mother, Mr. Collins\'s letter had done away much of her ill-will,\r\nand she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure which\r\nastonished her husband and daughters.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great\r\npoliteness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but the\r\nladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in\r\nneed of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a\r\ntall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and\r\nstately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated\r\nbefore he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of\r\ndaughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this\r\ninstance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did\r\nnot doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage. This\r\ngallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers; but Mrs.\r\nBennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily.\r\n\r\n"You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may\r\nprove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so\r\noddly."\r\n\r\n"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate."\r\n\r\n"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you\r\nmust confess. Not that I mean to find fault with _you_, for such things\r\nI know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates\r\nwill go when once they come to be entailed."\r\n\r\n"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and\r\ncould say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing\r\nforward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come\r\nprepared to admire them. At present I will not say more; but, perhaps,\r\nwhen we are better acquainted--"\r\n\r\nHe was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each\r\nother. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins\'s admiration. The\r\nhall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised;\r\nand his commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet\'s\r\nheart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his\r\nown future property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired; and\r\nhe begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its\r\ncooking was owing. But he was set right there by Mrs. Bennet, who\r\nassured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a\r\ngood cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He\r\nbegged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared\r\nherself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a\r\nquarter of an hour.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 14\r\n\r\n\r\nDuring dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants\r\nwere withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his\r\nguest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to\r\nshine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady\r\nCatherine de Bourgh\'s attention to his wishes, and consideration for\r\nhis comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen\r\nbetter. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him\r\nto more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect\r\nhe protested that "he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in\r\na person of rank--such affability and condescension, as he had himself\r\nexperienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to\r\napprove of both of the discourses which he had already had the honour of\r\npreaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings,\r\nand had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of\r\nquadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many\r\npeople he knew, but _he_ had never seen anything but affability in her.\r\nShe had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she\r\nmade not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the\r\nneighbourhood nor to his leaving the parish occasionally for a week or\r\ntwo, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to\r\nmarry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had\r\nonce paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly\r\napproved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed\r\nto suggest some herself--some shelves in the closet up stairs."\r\n\r\n"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and\r\nI dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies\r\nin general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?"\r\n\r\n"The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane\r\nfrom Rosings Park, her ladyship\'s residence."\r\n\r\n"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?"\r\n\r\n"She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very\r\nextensive property."\r\n\r\n"Ah!" said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than\r\nmany girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?"\r\n\r\n"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says\r\nthat, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the\r\nhandsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features which marks\r\nthe young lady of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly\r\nconstitution, which has prevented her from making that progress in many\r\naccomplishments which she could not have otherwise failed of, as I am\r\ninformed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still\r\nresides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends\r\nto drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies."\r\n\r\n"Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at\r\ncourt."\r\n\r\n"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town;\r\nand by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has deprived the\r\nBritish court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased\r\nwith the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to\r\noffer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable\r\nto ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that\r\nher charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most\r\nelevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by\r\nher. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and\r\nit is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to\r\npay."\r\n\r\n"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet, "and it is happy for you\r\nthat you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask\r\nwhether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the\r\nmoment, or are the result of previous study?"\r\n\r\n"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I\r\nsometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant\r\ncompliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to\r\ngive them as unstudied an air as possible."\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet\'s expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd\r\nas he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment,\r\nmaintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance,\r\nand, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner\r\nin his pleasure.\r\n\r\nBy tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad\r\nto take his guest into the drawing-room again, and, when tea was over,\r\nglad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily\r\nassented, and a book was produced; but, on beholding it (for everything\r\nannounced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and\r\nbegging pardon, protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at\r\nhim, and Lydia exclaimed. Other books were produced, and after some\r\ndeliberation he chose Fordyce\'s Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the\r\nvolume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three\r\npages, she interrupted him with:\r\n\r\n"Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Phillips talks of turning away\r\nRichard; and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me\r\nso herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more\r\nabout it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town."\r\n\r\nLydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but Mr.\r\nCollins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said:\r\n\r\n"I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books\r\nof a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes\r\nme, I confess; for, certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to\r\nthem as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin."\r\n\r\nThen turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at\r\nbackgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted\r\nvery wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements.\r\nMrs. Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia\'s\r\ninterruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would\r\nresume his book; but Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his\r\nyoung cousin no ill-will, and should never resent her behaviour as any\r\naffront, seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared\r\nfor backgammon.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 15\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had\r\nbeen but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part\r\nof his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and\r\nmiserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he\r\nhad merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful\r\nacquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up had\r\ngiven him originally great humility of manner; but it was now a\r\ngood deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in\r\nretirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected\r\nprosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de\r\nBourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which\r\nhe felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness,\r\nmingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a\r\nclergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of\r\npride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.\r\n\r\nHaving now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended to\r\nmarry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had\r\na wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found\r\nthem as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report.\r\nThis was his plan of amends--of atonement--for inheriting their father\'s\r\nestate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and\r\nsuitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own\r\npart.\r\n\r\nHis plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet\'s lovely face\r\nconfirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what\r\nwas due to seniority; and for the first evening _she_ was his settled\r\nchoice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a\r\nquarter of an hour\'s tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a\r\nconversation beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally\r\nto the avowal of his hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at\r\nLongbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general\r\nencouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. "As to\r\nher _younger_ daughters, she could not take upon her to say--she could\r\nnot positively answer--but she did not _know_ of any prepossession; her\r\n_eldest_ daughter, she must just mention--she felt it incumbent on her\r\nto hint, was likely to be very soon engaged."\r\n\r\nMr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth--and it was soon\r\ndone--done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally\r\nnext to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have\r\ntwo daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of\r\nthe day before was now high in her good graces.\r\n\r\nLydia\'s intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister\r\nexcept Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them,\r\nat the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him,\r\nand have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed\r\nhim after breakfast; and there he would continue, nominally engaged with\r\none of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr.\r\nBennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such\r\ndoings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been\r\nalways sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told\r\nElizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room of the\r\nhouse, he was used to be free from them there; his civility, therefore,\r\nwas most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their\r\nwalk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker\r\nthan a reader, was extremely pleased to close his large book, and go.\r\n\r\nIn pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his\r\ncousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of\r\nthe younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were\r\nimmediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, and\r\nnothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in\r\na shop window, could recall them.\r\n\r\nBut the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom\r\nthey had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking\r\nwith another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was\r\nthe very Mr. Denny concerning whose return from London Lydia came\r\nto inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the\r\nstranger\'s air, all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia,\r\ndetermined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under\r\npretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately\r\nhad just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had\r\nreached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated\r\npermission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with\r\nhim the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a\r\ncommission in their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the\r\nyoung man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming.\r\nHis appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of\r\nbeauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address.\r\nThe introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness\r\nof conversation--a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and\r\nunassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together\r\nvery agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy\r\nand Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the\r\nladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and\r\nbegan the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and\r\nMiss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to\r\nLongbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated\r\nit with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes\r\non Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the\r\nstranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as they\r\nlooked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting.\r\nBoth changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham,\r\nafter a few moments, touched his hat--a salutation which Mr. Darcy just\r\ndeigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to\r\nimagine; it was impossible not to long to know.\r\n\r\nIn another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what\r\npassed, took leave and rode on with his friend.\r\n\r\nMr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of\r\nMr. Phillip\'s house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia\'s\r\npressing entreaties that they should come in, and even in spite of\r\nMrs. Phillips\'s throwing up the parlour window and loudly seconding the\r\ninvitation.\r\n\r\nMrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest,\r\nfrom their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was\r\neagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as\r\ntheir own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing\r\nabout, if she had not happened to see Mr. Jones\'s shop-boy in the\r\nstreet, who had told her that they were not to send any more draughts to\r\nNetherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility\r\nwas claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane\'s introduction of him. She\r\nreceived him with her very best politeness, which he returned with\r\nas much more, apologising for his intrusion, without any previous\r\nacquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself,\r\nhowever, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who\r\nintroduced him to her notice. Mrs. Phillips was quite awed by such an\r\nexcess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon\r\nput to an end by exclamations and inquiries about the other; of whom,\r\nhowever, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that\r\nMr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he was to have a\r\nlieutenant\'s commission in the ----shire. She had been watching him the\r\nlast hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr.\r\nWickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the\r\noccupation, but unluckily no one passed windows now except a few of the\r\nofficers, who, in comparison with the stranger, were become "stupid,\r\ndisagreeable fellows." Some of them were to dine with the Phillipses\r\nthe next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr.\r\nWickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn\r\nwould come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Phillips\r\nprotested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery\r\ntickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such\r\ndelights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr.\r\nCollins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured\r\nwith unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.\r\n\r\nAs they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass\r\nbetween the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either\r\nor both, had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no more explain\r\nsuch behaviour than her sister.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring\r\nMrs. Phillips\'s manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady\r\nCatherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman;\r\nfor she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but even\r\npointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although\r\nutterly unknown to her before. Something, he supposed, might be\r\nattributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so\r\nmuch attention in the whole course of his life.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 16\r\n\r\n\r\nAs no objection was made to the young people\'s engagement with their\r\naunt, and all Mr. Collins\'s scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for\r\na single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach\r\nconveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and\r\nthe girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,\r\nthat Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle\'s invitation, and was then in\r\nthe house.\r\n\r\nWhen this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr.\r\nCollins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much\r\nstruck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he\r\nmight almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast\r\nparlour at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much\r\ngratification; but when Mrs. Phillips understood from him what\r\nRosings was, and who was its proprietor--when she had listened to the\r\ndescription of only one of Lady Catherine\'s drawing-rooms, and found\r\nthat the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all\r\nthe force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison\r\nwith the housekeeper\'s room.\r\n\r\nIn describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion,\r\nwith occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and\r\nthe improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the\r\ngentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very attentive\r\nlistener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she\r\nheard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as\r\nsoon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin,\r\nand who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine\r\ntheir own indifferent imitations of china on the mantelpiece, the\r\ninterval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, however.\r\nThe gentlemen did approach, and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room,\r\nElizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking\r\nof him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration.\r\nThe officers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable,\r\ngentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party; but\r\nMr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and\r\nwalk, as _they_ were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips,\r\nbreathing port wine, who followed them into the room.\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was\r\nturned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated\r\nhimself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into\r\nconversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her feel\r\nthat the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered\r\ninteresting by the skill of the speaker.\r\n\r\nWith such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr. Wickham and the\r\nofficers, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into insignificance; to the young\r\nladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a kind\r\nlistener in Mrs. Phillips, and was by her watchfulness, most abundantly\r\nsupplied with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were placed, he\r\nhad the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.\r\n\r\n"I know little of the game at present," said he, "but I shall be glad\r\nto improve myself, for in my situation in life--" Mrs. Phillips was very\r\nglad for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he\r\nreceived at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there\r\nseemed danger of Lydia\'s engrossing him entirely, for she was a most\r\ndetermined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets,\r\nshe soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets\r\nand exclaiming after prizes to have attention for anyone in particular.\r\nAllowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore\r\nat leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear\r\nhim, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be\r\ntold--the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not\r\neven mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly\r\nrelieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far\r\nNetherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in\r\na hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.\r\n\r\n"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject\r\ndrop, added, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I\r\nunderstand."\r\n\r\n"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his estate there is a noble one. A clear\r\nten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more\r\ncapable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for\r\nI have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my\r\ninfancy."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not but look surprised.\r\n\r\n"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after\r\nseeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting\r\nyesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"\r\n\r\n"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth very warmly. "I have\r\nspent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very\r\ndisagreeable."\r\n\r\n"I have no right to give _my_ opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being\r\nagreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him\r\ntoo long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for _me_\r\nto be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general\r\nastonish--and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly\r\nanywhere else. Here you are in your own family."\r\n\r\n"Upon my word, I say no more _here_ than I might say in any house in\r\nthe neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in\r\nHertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find\r\nhim more favourably spoken of by anyone."\r\n\r\n"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short\r\ninterruption, "that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond\r\ntheir deserts; but with _him_ I believe it does not often happen. The\r\nworld is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his\r\nhigh and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen."\r\n\r\n"I should take him, even on _my_ slight acquaintance, to be an\r\nill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.\r\n\r\n"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is\r\nlikely to be in this country much longer."\r\n\r\n"I do not at all know; but I _heard_ nothing of his going away when I\r\nwas at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will\r\nnot be affected by his being in the neighbourhood."\r\n\r\n"Oh! no--it is not for _me_ to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If _he_\r\nwishes to avoid seeing _me_, he must go. We are not on friendly terms,\r\nand it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for\r\navoiding _him_ but what I might proclaim before all the world, a sense\r\nof very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he\r\nis. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men\r\nthat ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never\r\nbe in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by\r\na thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been\r\nscandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and\r\neverything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the\r\nmemory of his father."\r\n\r\nElizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with\r\nall her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the\r\nneighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that\r\nhe had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very\r\nintelligible gallantry.\r\n\r\n"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added,\r\n"which was my chief inducement to enter the ----shire. I knew it to be\r\na most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me\r\nfurther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great\r\nattentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured them.\r\nSociety, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and\r\nmy spirits will not bear solitude. I _must_ have employment and society.\r\nA military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have\r\nnow made it eligible. The church _ought_ to have been my profession--I\r\nwas brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in\r\npossession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we\r\nwere speaking of just now."\r\n\r\n"Indeed!"\r\n\r\n"Yes--the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best\r\nliving in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me.\r\nI cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply,\r\nand thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given\r\nelsewhere."\r\n\r\n"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could _that_ be? How could his\r\nwill be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress?"\r\n\r\n"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to\r\ngive me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the\r\nintention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it as a merely\r\nconditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim\r\nto it by extravagance, imprudence--in short anything or nothing. Certain\r\nit is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was\r\nof an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no\r\nless certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done\r\nanything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and\r\nI may have spoken my opinion _of_ him, and _to_ him, too freely. I can\r\nrecall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort\r\nof men, and that he hates me."\r\n\r\n"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."\r\n\r\n"Some time or other he _will_ be--but it shall not be by _me_. Till I\r\ncan forget his father, I can never defy or expose _him_."\r\n\r\nElizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than\r\never as he expressed them.\r\n\r\n"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? What can\r\nhave induced him to behave so cruelly?"\r\n\r\n"A thorough, determined dislike of me--a dislike which I cannot but\r\nattribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me\r\nless, his son might have borne with me better; but his father\'s uncommon\r\nattachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had\r\nnot a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort\r\nof preference which was often given me."\r\n\r\n"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this--though I have never liked\r\nhim. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be\r\ndespising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of\r\ndescending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as\r\nthis."\r\n\r\nAfter a few minutes\' reflection, however, she continued, "I _do_\r\nremember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of\r\nhis resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition\r\nmust be dreadful."\r\n\r\n"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham; "I can hardly\r\nbe just to him."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To\r\ntreat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his\r\nfather!" She could have added, "A young man, too, like _you_, whose very\r\ncountenance may vouch for your being amiable"--but she contented herself\r\nwith, "and one, too, who had probably been his companion from childhood,\r\nconnected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!"\r\n\r\n"We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest\r\npart of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house,\r\nsharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. _My_\r\nfather began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Phillips,\r\nappears to do so much credit to--but he gave up everything to be of\r\nuse to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the\r\nPemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most\r\nintimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to\r\nbe under the greatest obligations to my father\'s active superintendence,\r\nand when, immediately before my father\'s death, Mr. Darcy gave him a\r\nvoluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to\r\nbe as much a debt of gratitude to _him_, as of his affection to myself."\r\n\r\n"How strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abominable! I wonder that the very\r\npride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better\r\nmotive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest--for\r\ndishonesty I must call it."\r\n\r\n"It _is_ wonderful," replied Wickham, "for almost all his actions may\r\nbe traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend. It has\r\nconnected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are\r\nnone of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger\r\nimpulses even than pride."\r\n\r\n"Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?"\r\n\r\n"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money\r\nfreely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the\r\npoor. Family pride, and _filial_ pride--for he is very proud of what\r\nhis father was--have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family,\r\nto degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the\r\nPemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also _brotherly_ pride,\r\nwhich, with _some_ brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and\r\ncareful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up\r\nas the most attentive and best of brothers."\r\n\r\n"What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?"\r\n\r\nHe shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to\r\nspeak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother--very, very\r\nproud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond\r\nof me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is\r\nnothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen,\r\nand, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father\'s death, her\r\nhome has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her\r\neducation."\r\n\r\nAfter many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not\r\nhelp reverting once more to the first, and saying:\r\n\r\n"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley,\r\nwho seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable,\r\nbe in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you\r\nknow Mr. Bingley?"\r\n\r\n"Not at all."\r\n\r\n"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr.\r\nDarcy is."\r\n\r\n"Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not\r\nwant abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth\r\nhis while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is\r\na very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His\r\npride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just,\r\nsincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable--allowing something\r\nfor fortune and figure."\r\n\r\nThe whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round\r\nthe other table and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin\r\nElizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiries as to his success were\r\nmade by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every\r\npoint; but when Mrs. Phillips began to express her concern thereupon,\r\nhe assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least\r\nimportance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged\r\nthat she would not make herself uneasy.\r\n\r\n"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a\r\ncard-table, they must take their chances of these things, and happily I\r\nam not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There\r\nare undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady\r\nCatherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding\r\nlittle matters."\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham\'s attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for\r\na few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation\r\nwas very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.\r\n\r\n"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him\r\na living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her\r\nnotice, but he certainly has not known her long."\r\n\r\n"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy\r\nwere sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."\r\n\r\n"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine\'s\r\nconnections. I never heard of her existence till the day before\r\nyesterday."\r\n\r\n"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is\r\nbelieved that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."\r\n\r\nThis information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss\r\nBingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her\r\naffection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already\r\nself-destined for another.\r\n\r\n"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her\r\ndaughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship,\r\nI suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his\r\npatroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman."\r\n\r\n"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham; "I have\r\nnot seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked\r\nher, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the\r\nreputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe\r\nshe derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from\r\nher authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride for her\r\nnephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an\r\nunderstanding of the first class."\r\n\r\nElizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and\r\nthey continued talking together, with mutual satisfaction till supper\r\nput an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr.\r\nWickham\'s attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise\r\nof Mrs. Phillips\'s supper party, but his manners recommended him to\r\neverybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done\r\ngracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could\r\nthink of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all\r\nthe way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name\r\nas they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia\r\ntalked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the\r\nfish she had won; and Mr. Collins in describing the civility of Mr. and\r\nMrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses\r\nat whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing\r\nthat he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage\r\nbefore the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 17\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr.\r\nWickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern; she\r\nknew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr.\r\nBingley\'s regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the\r\nveracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. The\r\npossibility of his having endured such unkindness, was enough to\r\ninterest all her tender feelings; and nothing remained therefore to be\r\ndone, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each,\r\nand throw into the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be\r\notherwise explained.\r\n\r\n"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say, in some way\r\nor other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps\r\nmisrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to\r\nconjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them,\r\nwithout actual blame on either side."\r\n\r\n"Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say on\r\nbehalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the\r\nbusiness? Do clear _them_ too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of\r\nsomebody."\r\n\r\n"Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my\r\nopinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light\r\nit places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father\'s favourite in such\r\na manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is\r\nimpossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his\r\ncharacter, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so\r\nexcessively deceived in him? Oh! no."\r\n\r\n"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley\'s being imposed on, than\r\nthat Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me\r\nlast night; names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it\r\nbe not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his\r\nlooks."\r\n\r\n"It is difficult indeed--it is distressing. One does not know what to\r\nthink."\r\n\r\n"I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think."\r\n\r\nBut Jane could think with certainty on only one point--that Mr. Bingley,\r\nif he _had_ been imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair\r\nbecame public.\r\n\r\nThe two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this\r\nconversation passed, by the arrival of the very persons of whom they had\r\nbeen speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal\r\ninvitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed\r\nfor the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their\r\ndear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly\r\nasked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To\r\nthe rest of the family they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet\r\nas much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to\r\nthe others. They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an\r\nactivity which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if\r\neager to escape from Mrs. Bennet\'s civilities.\r\n\r\nThe prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every\r\nfemale of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in\r\ncompliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered\r\nby receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a\r\nceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the\r\nsociety of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and\r\nElizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.\r\nWickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy\'s look\r\nand behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended\r\nless on any single event, or any particular person, for though they\r\neach, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham,\r\nhe was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball\r\nwas, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she\r\nhad no disinclination for it.\r\n\r\n"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is enough--I\r\nthink it is no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements.\r\nSociety has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those\r\nwho consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for\r\neverybody."\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s spirits were so high on this occasion, that though she did\r\nnot often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking\r\nhim whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley\'s invitation, and if\r\nhe did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening\'s\r\namusement; and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no\r\nscruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke\r\neither from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to\r\ndance.\r\n\r\n"I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a ball\r\nof this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people,\r\ncan have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing\r\nmyself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair\r\ncousins in the course of the evening; and I take this opportunity of\r\nsoliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially,\r\na preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right\r\ncause, and not to any disrespect for her."\r\n\r\nElizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being\r\nengaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances; and to have Mr. Collins\r\ninstead! her liveliness had never been worse timed. There was no help\r\nfor it, however. Mr. Wickham\'s happiness and her own were perforce\r\ndelayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins\'s proposal accepted with as\r\ngood a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his\r\ngallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. It now first\r\nstruck her, that _she_ was selected from among her sisters as worthy\r\nof being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a\r\nquadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors.\r\nThe idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing\r\ncivilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a\r\ncompliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than\r\ngratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before\r\nher mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage\r\nwas extremely agreeable to _her_. Elizabeth, however, did not choose\r\nto take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the\r\nconsequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and\r\ntill he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.\r\n\r\nIf there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the\r\nyounger Miss Bennets would have been in a very pitiable state at this\r\ntime, for from the day of the invitation, to the day of the ball, there\r\nwas such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton\r\nonce. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after--the very\r\nshoe-roses for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have\r\nfound some trial of her patience in weather which totally suspended the\r\nimprovement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than\r\na dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and\r\nMonday endurable to Kitty and Lydia.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 18\r\n\r\n\r\nTill Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in\r\nvain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a\r\ndoubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty\r\nof meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that\r\nmight not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than\r\nusual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all\r\nthat remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than\r\nmight be won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose\r\nthe dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy\'s\r\npleasure in the Bingleys\' invitation to the officers; and though\r\nthis was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was\r\npronounced by his friend Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who\r\ntold them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the\r\nday before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile,\r\n"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if\r\nhe had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here."\r\n\r\nThis part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by\r\nElizabeth, and, as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for\r\nWickham\'s absence than if her first surmise had been just, every\r\nfeeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate\r\ndisappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to\r\nthe polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.\r\nAttendance, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She\r\nwas resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and turned away\r\nwith a degree of ill-humour which she could not wholly surmount even in\r\nspeaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.\r\n\r\nBut Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect\r\nof her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her\r\nspirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had\r\nnot seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition\r\nto the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular\r\nnotice. The first two dances, however, brought a return of distress;\r\nthey were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,\r\napologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being\r\naware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable\r\npartner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from\r\nhim was ecstasy.\r\n\r\nShe danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of\r\nWickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances\r\nwere over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with\r\nher, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took\r\nher so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that,\r\nwithout knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again\r\nimmediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of\r\nmind; Charlotte tried to console her:\r\n\r\n"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."\r\n\r\n"Heaven forbid! _That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find\r\na man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an\r\nevil."\r\n\r\nWhen the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her\r\nhand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper, not to be a\r\nsimpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant\r\nin the eyes of a man ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no\r\nanswer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which\r\nshe was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and\r\nreading in her neighbours\' looks, their equal amazement in beholding\r\nit. They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to\r\nimagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at\r\nfirst was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would\r\nbe the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made\r\nsome slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again\r\nsilent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time\r\nwith:--"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked\r\nabout the dance, and _you_ ought to make some sort of remark on the size\r\nof the room, or the number of couples."\r\n\r\nHe smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be\r\nsaid.\r\n\r\n"Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may\r\nobserve that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But\r\n_now_ we may be silent."\r\n\r\n"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"\r\n\r\n"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be\r\nentirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of\r\n_some_, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the\r\ntrouble of saying as little as possible."\r\n\r\n"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you\r\nimagine that you are gratifying mine?"\r\n\r\n"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great\r\nsimilarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial,\r\ntaciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say\r\nsomething that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to\r\nposterity with all the eclat of a proverb."\r\n\r\n"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,"\r\nsaid he. "How near it may be to _mine_, I cannot pretend to say. _You_\r\nthink it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."\r\n\r\n"I must not decide on my own performance."\r\n\r\nHe made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down\r\nthe dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often\r\nwalk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist\r\nthe temptation, added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just\r\nbeen forming a new acquaintance."\r\n\r\nThe effect was immediate. A deeper shade of _hauteur_ overspread his\r\nfeatures, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself\r\nfor her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a\r\nconstrained manner said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners\r\nas may ensure his _making_ friends--whether he may be equally capable of\r\n_retaining_ them, is less certain."\r\n\r\n"He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship," replied Elizabeth\r\nwith emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all\r\nhis life."\r\n\r\nDarcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At\r\nthat moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass\r\nthrough the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr.\r\nDarcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on\r\nhis dancing and his partner.\r\n\r\n"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very\r\nsuperior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the\r\nfirst circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not\r\ndisgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated,\r\nespecially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza (glancing at\r\nher sister and Bingley) shall take place. What congratulations will then\r\nflow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:--but let me not interrupt you, sir. You\r\nwill not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that\r\nyoung lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me."\r\n\r\nThe latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir\r\nWilliam\'s allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his\r\neyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and\r\nJane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly,\r\nhe turned to his partner, and said, "Sir William\'s interruption has made\r\nme forget what we were talking of."\r\n\r\n"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have\r\ninterrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves.\r\nWe have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we\r\nare to talk of next I cannot imagine."\r\n\r\n"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.\r\n\r\n"Books--oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same\r\nfeelings."\r\n\r\n"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be\r\nno want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."\r\n\r\n"No--I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of\r\nsomething else."\r\n\r\n"The _present_ always occupies you in such scenes--does it?" said he,\r\nwith a look of doubt.\r\n\r\n"Yes, always," she replied, without knowing what she said, for her\r\nthoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared\r\nby her suddenly exclaiming, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy,\r\nthat you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was\r\nunappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being\r\ncreated_."\r\n\r\n"I am," said he, with a firm voice.\r\n\r\n"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"\r\n\r\n"I hope not."\r\n\r\n"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion,\r\nto be secure of judging properly at first."\r\n\r\n"May I ask to what these questions tend?"\r\n\r\n"Merely to the illustration of _your_ character," said she, endeavouring\r\nto shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."\r\n\r\n"And what is your success?"\r\n\r\nShe shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different\r\naccounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."\r\n\r\n"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that reports may vary\r\ngreatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were\r\nnot to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to\r\nfear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."\r\n\r\n"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another\r\nopportunity."\r\n\r\n"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied.\r\nShe said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in\r\nsilence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree,\r\nfor in Darcy\'s breast there was a tolerably powerful feeling towards\r\nher, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against\r\nanother.\r\n\r\nThey had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and\r\nwith an expression of civil disdain accosted her:\r\n\r\n"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham!\r\nYour sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand\r\nquestions; and I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you, among\r\nhis other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late\r\nMr. Darcy\'s steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to\r\ngive implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy\'s\r\nusing him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has\r\nalways been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated\r\nMr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but\r\nI know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame, that he\r\ncannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother\r\nthought that he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to\r\nthe officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself\r\nout of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent\r\nthing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you,\r\nMiss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite\'s guilt; but really,\r\nconsidering his descent, one could not expect much better."\r\n\r\n"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same," said\r\nElizabeth angrily; "for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse\r\nthan of being the son of Mr. Darcy\'s steward, and of _that_, I can\r\nassure you, he informed me himself."\r\n\r\n"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer.\r\n"Excuse my interference--it was kindly meant."\r\n\r\n"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. "You are much mistaken\r\nif you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see\r\nnothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr.\r\nDarcy." She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make\r\ninquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of\r\nsuch sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently\r\nmarked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening.\r\nElizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for\r\nWickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way\r\nbefore the hope of Jane\'s being in the fairest way for happiness.\r\n\r\n"I want to know," said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her\r\nsister\'s, "what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have\r\nbeen too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person; in which case\r\nyou may be sure of my pardon."\r\n\r\n"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing\r\nsatisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of\r\nhis history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have\r\nprincipally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct,\r\nthe probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that\r\nMr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has\r\nreceived; and I am sorry to say by his account as well as his sister\'s,\r\nMr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has\r\nbeen very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy\'s regard."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?"\r\n\r\n"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton."\r\n\r\n"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am\r\nsatisfied. But what does he say of the living?"\r\n\r\n"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard\r\nthem from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to\r\nhim _conditionally_ only."\r\n\r\n"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley\'s sincerity," said Elizabeth warmly;\r\n"but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr.\r\nBingley\'s defense of his friend was a very able one, I dare say; but\r\nsince he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt\r\nthe rest from that friend himself, I shall venture to still think of\r\nboth gentlemen as I did before."\r\n\r\nShe then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on\r\nwhich there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with\r\ndelight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Mr.\r\nBingley\'s regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence\r\nin it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew\r\nto Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last\r\npartner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them,\r\nand told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as\r\nto make a most important discovery.\r\n\r\n"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that there is now\r\nin the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the\r\ngentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of\r\nthe house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady\r\nCatherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have\r\nthought of my meeting with, perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de\r\nBourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discovery is made\r\nin time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to\r\ndo, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total\r\nignorance of the connection must plead my apology."\r\n\r\n"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy!"\r\n\r\n"Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier.\r\nI believe him to be Lady Catherine\'s _nephew_. It will be in my power to\r\nassure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se\'nnight."\r\n\r\nElizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him\r\nthat Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction\r\nas an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that\r\nit was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either\r\nside; and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in\r\nconsequence, to begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her\r\nwith the determined air of following his own inclination, and, when she\r\nceased speaking, replied thus:\r\n\r\n"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world in\r\nyour excellent judgement in all matters within the scope of your\r\nunderstanding; but permit me to say, that there must be a wide\r\ndifference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity,\r\nand those which regulate the clergy; for, give me leave to observe that\r\nI consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with\r\nthe highest rank in the kingdom--provided that a proper humility of\r\nbehaviour is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to\r\nfollow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to\r\nperform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to\r\nprofit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant\r\nguide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by\r\neducation and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young\r\nlady like yourself." And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr.\r\nDarcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose\r\nastonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced\r\nhis speech with a solemn bow and though she could not hear a word of\r\nit, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the\r\nwords "apology," "Hunsford," and "Lady Catherine de Bourgh." It vexed\r\nher to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him\r\nwith unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time\r\nto speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however,\r\nwas not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy\'s contempt seemed\r\nabundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the\r\nend of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr.\r\nCollins then returned to Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be dissatisfied with my\r\nreception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered\r\nme with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying\r\nthat he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine\'s discernment as to be\r\ncertain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very\r\nhandsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him."\r\n\r\nAs Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned\r\nher attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley; and the\r\ntrain of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to,\r\nmade her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in\r\nthat very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection\r\ncould bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances, of\r\nendeavouring even to like Bingley\'s two sisters. Her mother\'s thoughts\r\nshe plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to\r\nventure near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to\r\nsupper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which\r\nplaced them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find\r\nthat her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely,\r\nopenly, and of nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soon\r\nbe married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet\r\nseemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the\r\nmatch. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but\r\nthree miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation; and\r\nthen it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of\r\nJane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as\r\nshe could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger\r\ndaughters, as Jane\'s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of\r\nother rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be\r\nable to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that\r\nshe might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was\r\nnecessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on\r\nsuch occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less likely than Mrs.\r\nBennet to find comfort in staying home at any period of her life. She\r\nconcluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally\r\nfortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no\r\nchance of it.\r\n\r\nIn vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother\'s\r\nwords, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible\r\nwhisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the\r\nchief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her\r\nmother only scolded her for being nonsensical.\r\n\r\n"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am\r\nsure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say\r\nnothing _he_ may not like to hear."\r\n\r\n"For heaven\'s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be for you\r\nto offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by\r\nso doing!"\r\n\r\nNothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would\r\ntalk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and\r\nblushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently\r\nglancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what\r\nshe dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was\r\nconvinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression\r\nof his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and\r\nsteady gravity.\r\n\r\nAt length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who\r\nhad been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no\r\nlikelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and\r\nchicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of\r\ntranquillity; for, when supper was over, singing was talked of, and\r\nshe had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty,\r\npreparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent\r\nentreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance,\r\nbut in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of\r\nexhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. Elizabeth\'s\r\neyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she watched her\r\nprogress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very\r\nill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving, amongst the thanks\r\nof the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to\r\nfavour them again, after the pause of half a minute began another.\r\nMary\'s powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was\r\nweak, and her manner affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at\r\nJane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to\r\nBingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs\r\nof derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued, however,\r\nimperturbably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his\r\ninterference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint,\r\nand when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud, "That will do\r\nextremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other\r\nyoung ladies have time to exhibit."\r\n\r\nMary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and\r\nElizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father\'s speech, was afraid\r\nher anxiety had done no good. Others of the party were now applied to.\r\n\r\n"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I\r\nshould have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an\r\nair; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly\r\ncompatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however,\r\nto assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time\r\nto music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The\r\nrector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make\r\nsuch an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not\r\noffensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time\r\nthat remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care\r\nand improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making\r\nas comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance\r\nthat he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody,\r\nespecially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit\r\nhim of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an\r\noccasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the\r\nfamily." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had\r\nbeen spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. Many stared--many\r\nsmiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his\r\nwife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly,\r\nand observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably\r\nclever, good kind of young man.\r\n\r\nTo Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to\r\nexpose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would\r\nhave been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or\r\nfiner success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister\r\nthat some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his\r\nfeelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he\r\nmust have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should\r\nhave such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations, was bad enough,\r\nand she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the\r\ngentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more intolerable.\r\n\r\nThe rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by\r\nMr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though\r\nhe could not prevail on her to dance with him again, put it out of her\r\npower to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with\r\nsomebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.\r\nHe assured her, that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it;\r\nthat his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to\r\nher and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her\r\nthe whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed\r\nher greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and\r\ngood-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins\'s conversation to herself.\r\n\r\nShe was at least free from the offense of Mr. Darcy\'s further notice;\r\nthough often standing within a very short distance of her, quite\r\ndisengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the\r\nprobable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in\r\nit.\r\n\r\nThe Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and, by\r\na manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their carriage a quarter of\r\nan hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how\r\nheartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her\r\nsister scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and\r\nwere evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed\r\nevery attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing threw a\r\nlanguor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the\r\nlong speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his\r\nsisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and\r\npoliteness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said\r\nnothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene.\r\nMr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the\r\nrest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a\r\nsilence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too\r\nmuch fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of "Lord,\r\nhow tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.\r\n\r\nWhen at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly\r\ncivil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn, and\r\naddressed herself especially to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he\r\nwould make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without\r\nthe ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure,\r\nand he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on\r\nher, after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the next\r\nday for a short time.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under the\r\ndelightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of\r\nsettlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly\r\nsee her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four\r\nmonths. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought\r\nwith equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure.\r\nElizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the\r\nman and the match were quite good enough for _her_, the worth of each\r\nwas eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 19\r\n\r\n\r\nThe next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his\r\ndeclaration in form. Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as\r\nhis leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having\r\nno feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at\r\nthe moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the\r\nobservances, which he supposed a regular part of the business. On\r\nfinding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together,\r\nsoon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words:\r\n\r\n"May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth,\r\nwhen I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the\r\ncourse of this morning?"\r\n\r\nBefore Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs.\r\nBennet answered instantly, "Oh dear!--yes--certainly. I am sure Lizzy\r\nwill be very happy--I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I\r\nwant you up stairs." And, gathering her work together, she was hastening\r\naway, when Elizabeth called out:\r\n\r\n"Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse\r\nme. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am\r\ngoing away myself."\r\n\r\n"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are." And upon\r\nElizabeth\'s seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about to\r\nescape, she added: "Lizzy, I _insist_ upon your staying and hearing Mr.\r\nCollins."\r\n\r\nElizabeth would not oppose such an injunction--and a moment\'s\r\nconsideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to get it\r\nover as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again and tried to\r\nconceal, by incessant employment the feelings which were divided between\r\ndistress and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as\r\nthey were gone, Mr. Collins began.\r\n\r\n"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from\r\ndoing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You\r\nwould have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_ been this little\r\nunwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I have your respected\r\nmother\'s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the\r\npurport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to\r\ndissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as\r\nsoon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of\r\nmy future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this\r\nsubject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for\r\nmarrying--and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design\r\nof selecting a wife, as I certainly did."\r\n\r\nThe idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away\r\nwith by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing, that she could\r\nnot use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him further,\r\nand he continued:\r\n\r\n"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for\r\nevery clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example\r\nof matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced that it will\r\nadd very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I ought\r\nto have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and\r\nrecommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling\r\npatroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked\r\ntoo!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I\r\nleft Hunsford--between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was\r\narranging Miss de Bourgh\'s footstool, that she said, \'Mr. Collins, you\r\nmust marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose\r\na gentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let her be an active,\r\nuseful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small\r\nincome go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as\r\nyou can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.\' Allow me, by the\r\nway, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice\r\nand kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the\r\nadvantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond\r\nanything I can describe; and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be\r\nacceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and\r\nrespect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general\r\nintention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views\r\nwere directed towards Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I\r\ncan assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that\r\nbeing, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured\r\nfather (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy\r\nmyself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that\r\nthe loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy\r\nevent takes place--which, however, as I have already said, may not\r\nbe for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and\r\nI flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing\r\nremains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the\r\nviolence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and\r\nshall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well\r\naware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds\r\nin the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother\'s\r\ndecease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head,\r\ntherefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that\r\nno ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."\r\n\r\nIt was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.\r\n\r\n"You are too hasty, sir," she cried. "You forget that I have made no\r\nanswer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for\r\nthe compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of\r\nyour proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to\r\ndecline them."\r\n\r\n"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the\r\nhand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the\r\nman whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their\r\nfavour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second, or even a\r\nthird time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just\r\nsaid, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."\r\n\r\n"Upon my word, sir," cried Elizabeth, "your hope is a rather\r\nextraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not\r\none of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so\r\ndaring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second\r\ntime. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make _me_\r\nhappy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who\r\ncould make you so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I\r\nam persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the\r\nsituation."\r\n\r\n"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so," said Mr. Collins\r\nvery gravely--"but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all\r\ndisapprove of you. And you may be certain when I have the honour of\r\nseeing her again, I shall speak in the very highest terms of your\r\nmodesty, economy, and other amiable qualification."\r\n\r\n"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You\r\nmust give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment\r\nof believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by\r\nrefusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise.\r\nIn making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your\r\nfeelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn\r\nestate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may\r\nbe considered, therefore, as finally settled." And rising as she\r\nthus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had Mr. Collins not thus\r\naddressed her:\r\n\r\n"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject, I\r\nshall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given\r\nme; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I\r\nknow it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on\r\nthe first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to\r\nencourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the\r\nfemale character."\r\n\r\n"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle me\r\nexceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form\r\nof encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as\r\nto convince you of its being one."\r\n\r\n"You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your\r\nrefusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for\r\nbelieving it are briefly these: It does not appear to me that my hand is\r\nunworthy of your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would\r\nbe any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections\r\nwith the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are\r\ncircumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into further\r\nconsideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no\r\nmeans certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your\r\nportion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo\r\nthe effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must\r\ntherefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me,\r\nI shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by\r\nsuspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."\r\n\r\n"I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind\r\nof elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would\r\nrather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you\r\nagain and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but\r\nto accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect\r\nforbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant\r\nfemale, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking\r\nthe truth from her heart."\r\n\r\n"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of awkward\r\ngallantry; "and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express\r\nauthority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of\r\nbeing acceptable."\r\n\r\nTo such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make\r\nno reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, if\r\nhe persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering\r\nencouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered\r\nin such a manner as to be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could\r\nnot be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 20\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his\r\nsuccessful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule\r\nto watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open\r\nthe door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she\r\nentered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself in\r\nwarm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins\r\nreceived and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then\r\nproceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result\r\nof which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the\r\nrefusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow\r\nfrom her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.\r\n\r\nThis information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet; she would have been\r\nglad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage\r\nhim by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not believe it,\r\nand could not help saying so.\r\n\r\n"But, depend upon it, Mr. Collins," she added, "that Lizzy shall be\r\nbrought to reason. I will speak to her about it directly. She is a very\r\nheadstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest but I will\r\n_make_ her know it."\r\n\r\n"Pardon me for interrupting you, madam," cried Mr. Collins; "but if\r\nshe is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would\r\naltogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who\r\nnaturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she\r\nactually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not\r\nto force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of\r\ntemper, she could not contribute much to my felicity."\r\n\r\n"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. "Lizzy is\r\nonly headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as\r\ngood-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and\r\nwe shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure."\r\n\r\nShe would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her\r\nhusband, called out as she entered the library, "Oh! Mr. Bennet, you\r\nare wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must come and make\r\nLizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and if you\r\ndo not make haste he will change his mind and not have _her_."\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them\r\non her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by\r\nher communication.\r\n\r\n"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," said he, when she had\r\nfinished her speech. "Of what are you talking?"\r\n\r\n"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins,\r\nand Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy."\r\n\r\n"And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems an hopeless business."\r\n\r\n"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her\r\nmarrying him."\r\n\r\n"Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the\r\nlibrary.\r\n\r\n"Come here, child," cried her father as she appeared. "I have sent for\r\nyou on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made\r\nyou an offer of marriage. Is it true?" Elizabeth replied that it was.\r\n"Very well--and this offer of marriage you have refused?"\r\n\r\n"I have, sir."\r\n\r\n"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your\r\naccepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, or I will never see her again."\r\n\r\n"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must\r\nbe a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you\r\nagain if you do _not_ marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again\r\nif you _do_."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning,\r\nbut Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the\r\naffair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.\r\n\r\n"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking this way? You promised me to\r\n_insist_ upon her marrying him."\r\n\r\n"My dear," replied her husband, "I have two small favours to request.\r\nFirst, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the\r\npresent occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the\r\nlibrary to myself as soon as may be."\r\n\r\nNot yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did\r\nMrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again;\r\ncoaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane\r\nin her interest; but Jane, with all possible mildness, declined\r\ninterfering; and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness, and\r\nsometimes with playful gaiety, replied to her attacks. Though her manner\r\nvaried, however, her determination never did.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed.\r\nHe thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motives his cousin\r\ncould refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other\r\nway. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her\r\ndeserving her mother\'s reproach prevented his feeling any regret.\r\n\r\nWhile the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend\r\nthe day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to\r\nher, cried in a half whisper, "I am glad you are come, for there is such\r\nfun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has\r\nmade an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him."\r\n\r\nCharlotte hardly had time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty,\r\nwho came to tell the same news; and no sooner had they entered the\r\nbreakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on\r\nthe subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating\r\nher to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her\r\nfamily. "Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas," she added in a melancholy tone,\r\n"for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me. I am cruelly used,\r\nnobody feels for my poor nerves."\r\n\r\nCharlotte\'s reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"Aye, there she comes," continued Mrs. Bennet, "looking as unconcerned\r\nas may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided\r\nshe can have her own way. But I tell you, Miss Lizzy--if you take it\r\ninto your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way,\r\nyou will never get a husband at all--and I am sure I do not know who is\r\nto maintain you when your father is dead. I shall not be able to keep\r\nyou--and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day. I told\r\nyou in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again,\r\nand you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking\r\nto undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking\r\nto anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have\r\nno great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it\r\nis always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied."\r\n\r\nHer daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that\r\nany attempt to reason with her or soothe her would only increase the\r\nirritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of\r\nthem, till they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered the room with\r\nan air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to\r\nthe girls, "Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold\r\nyour tongues, and let me and Mr. Collins have a little conversation\r\ntogether."\r\n\r\nElizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but\r\nLydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte,\r\ndetained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after\r\nherself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little\r\ncuriosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending\r\nnot to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet began the projected\r\nconversation: "Oh! Mr. Collins!"\r\n\r\n"My dear madam," replied he, "let us be for ever silent on this point.\r\nFar be it from me," he presently continued, in a voice that marked his\r\ndispleasure, "to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation\r\nto inevitable evils is the duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a\r\nyoung man who has been so fortunate as I have been in early preferment;\r\nand I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt\r\nof my positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand;\r\nfor I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as\r\nwhen the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our\r\nestimation. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect\r\nto your family, my dear madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to\r\nyour daughter\'s favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the\r\ncompliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my\r\nbehalf. My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in having accepted my\r\ndismission from your daughter\'s lips instead of your own. But we are all\r\nliable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair.\r\nMy object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due\r\nconsideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my _manner_\r\nhas been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 21\r\n\r\n\r\nThe discussion of Mr. Collins\'s offer was now nearly at an end, and\r\nElizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily\r\nattending it, and occasionally from some peevish allusions of her\r\nmother. As for the gentleman himself, _his_ feelings were chiefly\r\nexpressed, not by embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid her,\r\nbut by stiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke\r\nto her, and the assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of\r\nhimself were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose\r\ncivility in listening to him was a seasonable relief to them all, and\r\nespecially to her friend.\r\n\r\nThe morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet\'s ill-humour or ill\r\nhealth. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth\r\nhad hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did\r\nnot appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on\r\nSaturday, and to Saturday he meant to stay.\r\n\r\nAfter breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr. Wickham\r\nwere returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball.\r\nHe joined them on their entering the town, and attended them to their\r\naunt\'s where his regret and vexation, and the concern of everybody, was\r\nwell talked over. To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged\r\nthat the necessity of his absence _had_ been self-imposed.\r\n\r\n"I found," said he, "as the time drew near that I had better not meet\r\nMr. Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so\r\nmany hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes\r\nmight arise unpleasant to more than myself."\r\n\r\nShe highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full\r\ndiscussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly\r\nbestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with\r\nthem to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended to\r\nher. His accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all the\r\ncompliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an\r\noccasion of introducing him to her father and mother.\r\n\r\nSoon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came\r\nfrom Netherfield. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little,\r\nhot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady\'s fair, flowing hand; and\r\nElizabeth saw her sister\'s countenance change as she read it, and saw\r\nher dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane recollected\r\nherself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual\r\ncheerfulness in the general conversation; but Elizabeth felt an anxiety\r\non the subject which drew off her attention even from Wickham; and no\r\nsooner had he and his companion taken leave, than a glance from Jane\r\ninvited her to follow her up stairs. When they had gained their own room,\r\nJane, taking out the letter, said:\r\n\r\n"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains has surprised me a good\r\ndeal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on\r\ntheir way to town--and without any intention of coming back again. You\r\nshall hear what she says."\r\n\r\nShe then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information\r\nof their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly,\r\nand of their meaning to dine in Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst had a\r\nhouse. The next was in these words: "I do not pretend to regret anything\r\nI shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend;\r\nbut we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that\r\ndelightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may\r\nlessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved\r\ncorrespondence. I depend on you for that." To these highflown\r\nexpressions Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of distrust;\r\nand though the suddenness of their removal surprised her, she saw\r\nnothing in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed that their\r\nabsence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley\'s being there; and as\r\nto the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must cease to\r\nregard it, in the enjoyment of his.\r\n\r\n"It is unlucky," said she, after a short pause, "that you should not be\r\nable to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not\r\nhope that the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks\r\nforward may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful\r\nintercourse you have known as friends will be renewed with yet greater\r\nsatisfaction as sisters? Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by\r\nthem."\r\n\r\n"Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into\r\nHertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you:"\r\n\r\n"When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which\r\ntook him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but as we\r\nare certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when\r\nCharles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have\r\ndetermined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend\r\nhis vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances are\r\nalready there for the winter; I wish that I could hear that you, my\r\ndearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd--but of\r\nthat I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may\r\nabound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your\r\nbeaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the\r\nthree of whom we shall deprive you."\r\n\r\n"It is evident by this," added Jane, "that he comes back no more this\r\nwinter."\r\n\r\n"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean that he _should_."\r\n\r\n"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own\r\nmaster. But you do not know _all_. I _will_ read you the passage which\r\nparticularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from _you_."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister; and, to confess the truth,\r\n_we_ are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think\r\nGeorgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments;\r\nand the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into\r\nsomething still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of\r\nher being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before\r\nmentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave the\r\ncountry without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them\r\nunreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already; he will have\r\nfrequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing;\r\nher relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister\'s\r\npartiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most\r\ncapable of engaging any woman\'s heart. With all these circumstances to\r\nfavour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest\r\nJane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness\r\nof so many?"\r\n\r\n"What do you think of _this_ sentence, my dear Lizzy?" said Jane as she\r\nfinished it. "Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that\r\nCaroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she is\r\nperfectly convinced of her brother\'s indifference; and that if she\r\nsuspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to\r\nput me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?"\r\n\r\n"Most willingly."\r\n\r\n"You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is\r\nin love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him\r\nto town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he\r\ndoes not care about you."\r\n\r\nJane shook her head.\r\n\r\n"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen you\r\ntogether can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot. She\r\nis not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr.\r\nDarcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the\r\ncase is this: We are not rich enough or grand enough for them; and she\r\nis the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion\r\nthat when there has been _one_ intermarriage, she may have less trouble\r\nin achieving a second; in which there is certainly some ingenuity, and\r\nI dare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But,\r\nmy dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley\r\ntells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest\r\ndegree less sensible of _your_ merit than when he took leave of you on\r\nTuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead\r\nof being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend."\r\n\r\n"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley," replied Jane, "your\r\nrepresentation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the\r\nfoundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving\r\nanyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving\r\nherself."\r\n\r\n"That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you\r\nwill not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived, by all means.\r\nYou have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer."\r\n\r\n"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in\r\naccepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry\r\nelsewhere?"\r\n\r\n"You must decide for yourself," said Elizabeth; "and if, upon mature\r\ndeliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is\r\nmore than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by\r\nall means to refuse him."\r\n\r\n"How can you talk so?" said Jane, faintly smiling. "You must know that\r\nthough I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could\r\nnot hesitate."\r\n\r\n"I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot consider\r\nyour situation with much compassion."\r\n\r\n"But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be\r\nrequired. A thousand things may arise in six months!"\r\n\r\nThe idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost\r\ncontempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline\'s\r\ninterested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those\r\nwishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man\r\nso totally independent of everyone.\r\n\r\nShe represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt\r\non the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect.\r\nJane\'s temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope,\r\nthough the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that\r\nBingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.\r\n\r\nThey agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the\r\nfamily, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman\'s conduct;\r\nbut even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern,\r\nand she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen\r\nto go away just as they were all getting so intimate together. After\r\nlamenting it, however, at some length, she had the consolation that Mr.\r\nBingley would be soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn, and the\r\nconclusion of all was the comfortable declaration, that though he had\r\nbeen invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two\r\nfull courses.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 22\r\n\r\n\r\nThe Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases and again during the\r\nchief of the day was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins.\r\nElizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. "It keeps him in good\r\nhumour," said she, "and I am more obliged to you than I can express."\r\nCharlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and\r\nthat it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was\r\nvery amiable, but Charlotte\'s kindness extended farther than Elizabeth\r\nhad any conception of; its object was nothing else than to secure her\r\nfrom any return of Mr. Collins\'s addresses, by engaging them towards\r\nherself. Such was Miss Lucas\'s scheme; and appearances were so\r\nfavourable, that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost\r\nsecure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very\r\nsoon. But here she did injustice to the fire and independence of his\r\ncharacter, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next\r\nmorning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw\r\nhimself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins,\r\nfrom a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to\r\nconjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known\r\ntill its success might be known likewise; for though feeling almost\r\nsecure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging,\r\nhe was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday.\r\nHis reception, however, was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas\r\nperceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and\r\ninstantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had\r\nshe dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.\r\n\r\nIn as short a time as Mr. Collins\'s long speeches would allow,\r\neverything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as\r\nthey entered the house he earnestly entreated her to name the day that\r\nwas to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must\r\nbe waived for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with\r\nhis happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must\r\nguard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its\r\ncontinuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure\r\nand disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that\r\nestablishment were gained.\r\n\r\nSir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent;\r\nand it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins\'s present\r\ncircumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom\r\nthey could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were\r\nexceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with more\r\ninterest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer\r\nMr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided\r\nopinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the\r\nLongbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife\r\nshould make their appearance at St. James\'s. The whole family, in short,\r\nwere properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes\r\nof _coming out_ a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have\r\ndone; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte\'s\r\ndying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had\r\ngained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were\r\nin general satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible\r\nnor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must\r\nbe imaginary. But still he would be her husband. Without thinking highly\r\neither of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was\r\nthe only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune,\r\nand however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest\r\npreservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained; and at\r\nthe age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all\r\nthe good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business\r\nwas the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship\r\nshe valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder,\r\nand probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be\r\nshaken, her feelings must be hurt by such a disapprobation. She resolved\r\nto give her the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins,\r\nwhen he returned to Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had\r\npassed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was of course very\r\ndutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the\r\ncuriosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct\r\nquestions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was\r\nat the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to\r\npublish his prosperous love.\r\n\r\nAs he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the\r\nfamily, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved\r\nfor the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality,\r\nsaid how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever\r\nhis engagements might allow him to visit them.\r\n\r\n"My dear madam," he replied, "this invitation is particularly\r\ngratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and\r\nyou may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as\r\npossible."\r\n\r\nThey were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for\r\nso speedy a return, immediately said:\r\n\r\n"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine\'s disapprobation here, my\r\ngood sir? You had better neglect your relations than run the risk of\r\noffending your patroness."\r\n\r\n"My dear sir," replied Mr. Collins, "I am particularly obliged to you\r\nfor this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so\r\nmaterial a step without her ladyship\'s concurrence."\r\n\r\n"You cannot be too much upon your guard. Risk anything rather than her\r\ndispleasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us\r\nagain, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home,\r\nand be satisfied that _we_ shall take no offence."\r\n\r\n"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such\r\naffectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive\r\nfrom me a letter of thanks for this, and for every other mark of your\r\nregard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though\r\nmy absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now\r\ntake the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my\r\ncousin Elizabeth."\r\n\r\nWith proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally\r\nsurprised that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to\r\nunderstand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her\r\nyounger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him.\r\nShe rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was\r\na solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no\r\nmeans so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read\r\nand improve himself by such an example as hers, he might become a very\r\nagreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this\r\nkind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a\r\nprivate conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.\r\n\r\nThe possibility of Mr. Collins\'s fancying himself in love with her\r\nfriend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but\r\nthat Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as far from\r\npossibility as she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was\r\nconsequently so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and\r\nshe could not help crying out:\r\n\r\n"Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte--impossible!"\r\n\r\nThe steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her\r\nstory, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a\r\nreproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained\r\nher composure, and calmly replied:\r\n\r\n"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it incredible\r\nthat Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman\'s good opinion,\r\nbecause he was not so happy as to succeed with you?"\r\n\r\nBut Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort\r\nfor it, was able to assure with tolerable firmness that the prospect of\r\ntheir relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her\r\nall imaginable happiness.\r\n\r\n"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte. "You must be surprised,\r\nvery much surprised--so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry\r\nyou. But when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be\r\nsatisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know; I never\r\nwas. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins\'s\r\ncharacter, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my\r\nchance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on\r\nentering the marriage state."\r\n\r\nElizabeth quietly answered "Undoubtedly;" and after an awkward pause,\r\nthey returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much\r\nlonger, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard.\r\nIt was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so\r\nunsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins\'s making two offers\r\nof marriage within three days was nothing in comparison of his being now\r\naccepted. She had always felt that Charlotte\'s opinion of matrimony was\r\nnot exactly like her own, but she had not supposed it to be possible\r\nthat, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better\r\nfeeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins was a\r\nmost humiliating picture! And to the pang of a friend disgracing herself\r\nand sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it\r\nwas impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had\r\nchosen.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 23\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what\r\nshe had heard, and doubting whether she was authorised to mention\r\nit, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to\r\nannounce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them,\r\nand much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the\r\nhouses, he unfolded the matter--to an audience not merely wondering, but\r\nincredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness,\r\nprotested he must be entirely mistaken; and Lydia, always unguarded and\r\noften uncivil, boisterously exclaimed:\r\n\r\n"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not you know\r\nthat Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?"\r\n\r\nNothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne\r\nwithout anger such treatment; but Sir William\'s good breeding carried\r\nhim through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the\r\ntruth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the\r\nmost forbearing courtesy.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant\r\na situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by\r\nmentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and\r\nendeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters\r\nby the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she\r\nwas readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the\r\nhappiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character\r\nof Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while\r\nSir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings\r\nfound a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving\r\nthe whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins\r\nhad been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be\r\nhappy together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two\r\ninferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole: one, that\r\nElizabeth was the real cause of the mischief; and the other that she\r\nherself had been barbarously misused by them all; and on these two\r\npoints she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could\r\nconsole and nothing could appease her. Nor did that day wear out her\r\nresentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without\r\nscolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William\r\nor Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she\r\ncould at all forgive their daughter.\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet\'s emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such\r\nas he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for\r\nit gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had\r\nbeen used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and\r\nmore foolish than his daughter!\r\n\r\nJane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said\r\nless of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness;\r\nnor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty\r\nand Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a\r\nclergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news\r\nto spread at Meryton.\r\n\r\nLady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort\r\non Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she\r\ncalled at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was,\r\nthough Mrs. Bennet\'s sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been\r\nenough to drive happiness away.\r\n\r\nBetween Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them\r\nmutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that\r\nno real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her\r\ndisappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her\r\nsister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could\r\nnever be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious,\r\nas Bingley had now been gone a week and nothing more was heard of his\r\nreturn.\r\n\r\nJane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting\r\nthe days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised\r\nletter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to\r\ntheir father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a\r\ntwelvemonth\'s abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging\r\nhis conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many\r\nrapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection\r\nof their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was\r\nmerely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready\r\nto close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, whither\r\nhe hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine,\r\nhe added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take\r\nplace as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable\r\nargument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him\r\nthe happiest of men.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins\'s return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of\r\npleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to\r\ncomplain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should come\r\nto Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient\r\nand exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house\r\nwhile her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the\r\nmost disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and\r\nthey gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley\'s continued\r\nabsence.\r\n\r\nNeither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after\r\nday passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the\r\nreport which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to\r\nNetherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs.\r\nBennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous\r\nfalsehood.\r\n\r\nEven Elizabeth began to fear--not that Bingley was indifferent--but that\r\nhis sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as\r\nshe was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane\'s happiness, and so\r\ndishonorable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its\r\nfrequently occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters\r\nand of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss\r\nDarcy and the amusements of London might be too much, she feared, for\r\nthe strength of his attachment.\r\n\r\nAs for Jane, _her_ anxiety under this suspense was, of course, more\r\npainful than Elizabeth\'s, but whatever she felt she was desirous of\r\nconcealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject\r\nwas never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother,\r\nan hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her\r\nimpatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he\r\ndid not come back she would think herself very ill used. It needed\r\nall Jane\'s steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable\r\ntranquillity.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins returned most punctually on Monday fortnight, but his\r\nreception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his\r\nfirst introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention;\r\nand luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them\r\nfrom a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by\r\nhim at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time\r\nto make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of\r\nanything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour,\r\nand wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight\r\nof Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she\r\nregarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see\r\nthem, she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and\r\nwhenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that\r\nthey were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself\r\nand her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She\r\ncomplained bitterly of all this to her husband.\r\n\r\n"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, "it is very hard to think that Charlotte\r\nLucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to\r\nmake way for _her_, and live to see her take her place in it!"\r\n\r\n"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for\r\nbetter things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."\r\n\r\nThis was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and therefore, instead of\r\nmaking any answer, she went on as before.\r\n\r\n"I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was\r\nnot for the entail, I should not mind it."\r\n\r\n"What should not you mind?"\r\n\r\n"I should not mind anything at all."\r\n\r\n"Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such\r\ninsensibility."\r\n\r\n"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail. How\r\nanyone could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one\'s own\r\ndaughters, I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr. Collins too!\r\nWhy should _he_ have it more than anybody else?"\r\n\r\n"I leave it to yourself to determine," said Mr. Bennet.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 24\r\n\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley\'s letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first\r\nsentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for\r\nthe winter, and concluded with her brother\'s regret at not having had\r\ntime to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left\r\nthe country.\r\n\r\nHope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest\r\nof the letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the\r\nwriter, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy\'s praise occupied\r\nthe chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline\r\nboasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict\r\nthe accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former\r\nletter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother\'s being an\r\ninmate of Mr. Darcy\'s house, and mentioned with raptures some plans of\r\nthe latter with regard to new furniture.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this,\r\nheard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern\r\nfor her sister, and resentment against all others. To Caroline\'s\r\nassertion of her brother\'s being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no\r\ncredit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she\r\nhad ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she\r\ncould not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness\r\nof temper, that want of proper resolution, which now made him the slave\r\nof his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice of his own happiness\r\nto the caprice of their inclination. Had his own happiness, however,\r\nbeen the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in\r\nwhatever manner he thought best, but her sister\'s was involved in it, as\r\nshe thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short,\r\non which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She\r\ncould think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley\'s regard had really\r\ndied away, or were suppressed by his friends\' interference; whether\r\nhe had been aware of Jane\'s attachment, or whether it had escaped his\r\nobservation; whatever were the case, though her opinion of him must be\r\nmaterially affected by the difference, her sister\'s situation remained\r\nthe same, her peace equally wounded.\r\n\r\nA day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to\r\nElizabeth; but at last, on Mrs. Bennet\'s leaving them together, after a\r\nlonger irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could\r\nnot help saying:\r\n\r\n"Oh, that my dear mother had more command over herself! She can have no\r\nidea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But\r\nI will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall\r\nall be as we were before."\r\n\r\nElizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said\r\nnothing.\r\n\r\n"You doubt me," cried Jane, slightly colouring; "indeed, you have\r\nno reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my\r\nacquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear,\r\nand nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not _that_ pain. A\r\nlittle time, therefore--I shall certainly try to get the better."\r\n\r\nWith a stronger voice she soon added, "I have this comfort immediately,\r\nthat it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it\r\nhas done no harm to anyone but myself."\r\n\r\n"My dear Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "you are too good. Your sweetness\r\nand disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say\r\nto you. I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you\r\ndeserve."\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back\r\nthe praise on her sister\'s warm affection.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Elizabeth, "this is not fair. _You_ wish to think all the\r\nworld respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want\r\nto think _you_ perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not\r\nbe afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your\r\nprivilege of universal good-will. You need not. There are few people\r\nwhom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see\r\nof the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms\r\nmy belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the\r\nlittle dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or\r\nsense. I have met with two instances lately, one I will not mention; the\r\nother is Charlotte\'s marriage. It is unaccountable! In every view it is\r\nunaccountable!"\r\n\r\n"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will\r\nruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference\r\nof situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins\'s respectability, and\r\nCharlotte\'s steady, prudent character. Remember that she is one of a\r\nlarge family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be\r\nready to believe, for everybody\'s sake, that she may feel something like\r\nregard and esteem for our cousin."\r\n\r\n"To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no one else\r\ncould be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded that\r\nCharlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her\r\nunderstanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a\r\nconceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as\r\nI do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who married him\r\ncannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though\r\nit is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one individual,\r\nchange the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade\r\nyourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of\r\ndanger security for happiness."\r\n\r\n"I must think your language too strong in speaking of both," replied\r\nJane; "and I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing them happy\r\ntogether. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You\r\nmentioned _two_ instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I entreat\r\nyou, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking _that person_ to blame, and\r\nsaying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy\r\nourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man\r\nto be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but\r\nour own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than\r\nit does."\r\n\r\n"And men take care that they should."\r\n\r\n"If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea\r\nof there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine."\r\n\r\n"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley\'s conduct to design,"\r\nsaid Elizabeth; "but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others\r\nunhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness,\r\nwant of attention to other people\'s feelings, and want of resolution,\r\nwill do the business."\r\n\r\n"And do you impute it to either of those?"\r\n\r\n"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what\r\nI think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can."\r\n\r\n"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, in conjunction with his friend."\r\n\r\n"I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can\r\nonly wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other woman can\r\nsecure it."\r\n\r\n"Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his\r\nhappiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they\r\nmay wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great\r\nconnections, and pride."\r\n\r\n"Beyond a doubt, they _do_ wish him to choose Miss Darcy," replied Jane;\r\n"but this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have\r\nknown her much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love\r\nher better. But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely\r\nthey should have opposed their brother\'s. What sister would think\r\nherself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very\r\nobjectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try\r\nto part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an\r\naffection, you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most\r\nunhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been\r\nmistaken--or, at least, it is light, it is nothing in comparison of what\r\nI should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in\r\nthe best light, in the light in which it may be understood."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley\'s\r\nname was scarcely ever mentioned between them.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no\r\nmore, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account\r\nfor it clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering it with\r\nless perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she\r\ndid not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the\r\neffect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her\r\nno more; but though the probability of the statement was admitted at\r\nthe time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet\'s best\r\ncomfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer.\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet treated the matter differently. "So, Lizzy," said he one day,\r\n"your sister is crossed in love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to\r\nbeing married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then.\r\nIt is something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction\r\namong her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to\r\nbe long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough in\r\nMeryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham\r\nbe _your_ man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably."\r\n\r\n"Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not\r\nall expect Jane\'s good fortune."\r\n\r\n"True," said Mr. Bennet, "but it is a comfort to think that whatever of\r\nthat kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will make\r\nthe most of it."\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham\'s society was of material service in dispelling the gloom\r\nwhich the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the Longbourn\r\nfamily. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now\r\nadded that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already\r\nheard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him,\r\nwas now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed; and everybody was\r\npleased to know how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they\r\nhad known anything of the matter.\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be\r\nany extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society\r\nof Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for\r\nallowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes--but by everybody else\r\nMr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 25\r\n\r\n\r\nAfter a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity,\r\nMr. Collins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of\r\nSaturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated on his\r\nside, by preparations for the reception of his bride; as he had reason\r\nto hope, that shortly after his return into Hertfordshire, the day would\r\nbe fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave of his\r\nrelations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before; wished his fair\r\ncousins health and happiness again, and promised their father another\r\nletter of thanks.\r\n\r\nOn the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving\r\nher brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas\r\nat Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly\r\nsuperior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield\r\nladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived\r\nby trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so\r\nwell-bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger\r\nthan Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant\r\nwoman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the\r\ntwo eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a particular regard.\r\nThey had frequently been staying with her in town.\r\n\r\nThe first part of Mrs. Gardiner\'s business on her arrival was to\r\ndistribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was\r\ndone she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen.\r\nMrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They\r\nhad all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her\r\ngirls had been upon the point of marriage, and after all there was\r\nnothing in it.\r\n\r\n"I do not blame Jane," she continued, "for Jane would have got Mr.\r\nBingley if she could. But Lizzy! Oh, sister! It is very hard to think\r\nthat she might have been Mr. Collins\'s wife by this time, had it not\r\nbeen for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room,\r\nand she refused him. The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have\r\na daughter married before I have, and that the Longbourn estate is just\r\nas much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed,\r\nsister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of\r\nthem, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted\r\nso in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of themselves\r\nbefore anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the\r\ngreatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of\r\nlong sleeves."\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before,\r\nin the course of Jane and Elizabeth\'s correspondence with her, made her\r\nsister a slight answer, and, in compassion to her nieces, turned the\r\nconversation.\r\n\r\nWhen alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. "It\r\nseems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane," said she. "I am\r\nsorry it went off. But these things happen so often! A young man, such\r\nas you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl\r\nfor a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets\r\nher, that these sort of inconsistencies are very frequent."\r\n\r\n"An excellent consolation in its way," said Elizabeth, "but it will not\r\ndo for _us_. We do not suffer by _accident_. It does not often\r\nhappen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of\r\nindependent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was violently in\r\nlove with only a few days before."\r\n\r\n"But that expression of \'violently in love\' is so hackneyed, so\r\ndoubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is as\r\noften applied to feelings which arise from a half-hour\'s acquaintance,\r\nas to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how _violent was_ Mr. Bingley\'s\r\nlove?"\r\n\r\n"I never saw a more promising inclination; he was growing quite\r\ninattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time\r\nthey met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he\r\noffended two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I\r\nspoke to him twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be\r\nfiner symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes!--of that kind of love which I suppose him to have felt. Poor\r\nJane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposition, she may not get\r\nover it immediately. It had better have happened to _you_, Lizzy; you\r\nwould have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she\r\nwould be prevailed upon to go back with us? Change of scene might be\r\nof service--and perhaps a little relief from home may be as useful as\r\nanything."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded\r\nof her sister\'s ready acquiescence.\r\n\r\n"I hope," added Mrs. Gardiner, "that no consideration with regard to\r\nthis young man will influence her. We live in so different a part of\r\ntown, all our connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go\r\nout so little, that it is very improbable that they should meet at all,\r\nunless he really comes to see her."\r\n\r\n"And _that_ is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody of his\r\nfriend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such\r\na part of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may\r\nperhaps have _heard_ of such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he\r\nwould hardly think a month\'s ablution enough to cleanse him from its\r\nimpurities, were he once to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley\r\nnever stirs without him."\r\n\r\n"So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane\r\ncorrespond with his sister? _She_ will not be able to help calling."\r\n\r\n"She will drop the acquaintance entirely."\r\n\r\nBut in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this\r\npoint, as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley\'s being\r\nwithheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject which\r\nconvinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it entirely\r\nhopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that\r\nhis affection might be reanimated, and the influence of his friends\r\nsuccessfully combated by the more natural influence of Jane\'s\r\nattractions.\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet accepted her aunt\'s invitation with pleasure; and the\r\nBingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the same time, than as she\r\nhoped by Caroline\'s not living in the same house with her brother,\r\nshe might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of\r\nseeing him.\r\n\r\nThe Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn; and what with the Phillipses,\r\nthe Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its\r\nengagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment\r\nof her brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family\r\ndinner. When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always\r\nmade part of it--of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and\r\non these occasions, Mrs. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth\'s\r\nwarm commendation, narrowly observed them both. Without supposing them,\r\nfrom what she saw, to be very seriously in love, their preference\r\nof each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy; and\r\nshe resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left\r\nHertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging such\r\nan attachment.\r\n\r\nTo Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure,\r\nunconnected with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago,\r\nbefore her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very\r\npart of Derbyshire to which he belonged. They had, therefore, many\r\nacquaintances in common; and though Wickham had been little there since\r\nthe death of Darcy\'s father, it was yet in his power to give her fresher\r\nintelligence of her former friends than she had been in the way of\r\nprocuring.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Darcy by\r\ncharacter perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible subject\r\nof discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberley with the minute\r\ndescription which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of\r\npraise on the character of its late possessor, she was delighting both\r\nhim and herself. On being made acquainted with the present Mr. Darcy\'s\r\ntreatment of him, she tried to remember some of that gentleman\'s\r\nreputed disposition when quite a lad which might agree with it, and\r\nwas confident at last that she recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam\r\nDarcy formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 26\r\n\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner\'s caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given\r\non the first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after\r\nhonestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:\r\n\r\n"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because\r\nyou are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking\r\nopenly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve\r\nyourself or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want\r\nof fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against\r\n_him_; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he\r\nought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is, you\r\nmust not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all\r\nexpect you to use it. Your father would depend on _your_ resolution and\r\ngood conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father."\r\n\r\n"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."\r\n\r\n"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise."\r\n\r\n"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of\r\nmyself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I\r\ncan prevent it."\r\n\r\n"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."\r\n\r\n"I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present I am not in love with\r\nMr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison,\r\nthe most agreeable man I ever saw--and if he becomes really attached to\r\nme--I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence\r\nof it. Oh! _that_ abominable Mr. Darcy! My father\'s opinion of me does\r\nme the greatest honour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My\r\nfather, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I\r\nshould be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but\r\nsince we see every day that where there is affection, young people\r\nare seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune from entering into\r\nengagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many\r\nof my fellow-creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it\r\nwould be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not\r\nto be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first\r\nobject. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short,\r\nI will do my best."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his coming here so very\r\noften. At least, you should not _remind_ your mother of inviting him."\r\n\r\n"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth with a conscious smile: "very\r\ntrue, it will be wise in me to refrain from _that_. But do not imagine\r\nthat he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been\r\nso frequently invited this week. You know my mother\'s ideas as to the\r\nnecessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my\r\nhonour, I will try to do what I think to be the wisest; and now I hope\r\nyou are satisfied."\r\n\r\nHer aunt assured her that she was, and Elizabeth having thanked her for\r\nthe kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice\r\nbeing given on such a point, without being resented.\r\n\r\nMr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted\r\nby the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases,\r\nhis arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was\r\nnow fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think\r\nit inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that\r\nshe "_wished_ they might be happy." Thursday was to be the wedding day,\r\nand on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she\r\nrose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother\'s ungracious and\r\nreluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her\r\nout of the room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said:\r\n\r\n"I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza."\r\n\r\n"_That_ you certainly shall."\r\n\r\n"And I have another favour to ask you. Will you come and see me?"\r\n\r\n"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire."\r\n\r\n"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to\r\ncome to Hunsford."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the\r\nvisit.\r\n\r\n"My father and Maria are coming to me in March," added Charlotte, "and I\r\nhope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as\r\nwelcome as either of them."\r\n\r\nThe wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from\r\nthe church door, and everybody had as much to say, or to hear, on\r\nthe subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and their\r\ncorrespondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been; that\r\nit should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never\r\naddress her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over,\r\nand though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the\r\nsake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte\'s first letters\r\nwere received with a good deal of eagerness; there could not but be\r\ncuriosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would\r\nlike Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself to\r\nbe; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte\r\nexpressed herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She\r\nwrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing\r\nwhich she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and\r\nroads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine\'s behaviour was most\r\nfriendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins\'s picture of Hunsford and\r\nRosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait\r\nfor her own visit there to know the rest.\r\n\r\nJane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their\r\nsafe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it\r\nwould be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.\r\n\r\nHer impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience\r\ngenerally is. Jane had been a week in town without either seeing or\r\nhearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that\r\nher last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some accident been\r\nlost.\r\n\r\n"My aunt," she continued, "is going to-morrow into that part of the\r\ntown, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street."\r\n\r\nShe wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley.\r\n"I did not think Caroline in spirits," were her words, "but she was very\r\nglad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming\r\nto London. I was right, therefore, my last letter had never reached\r\nher. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much\r\nengaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that\r\nMiss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was\r\nnot long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall\r\nsee them soon here."\r\n\r\nElizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that\r\naccident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister\'s being in town.\r\n\r\nFour weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to\r\npersuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be\r\nblind to Miss Bingley\'s inattention. After waiting at home every morning\r\nfor a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the\r\nvisitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more,\r\nthe alteration of her manner would allow Jane to deceive herself no\r\nlonger. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister will\r\nprove what she felt.\r\n\r\n"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her\r\nbetter judgement, at my expense, when I confess myself to have been\r\nentirely deceived in Miss Bingley\'s regard for me. But, my dear sister,\r\nthough the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I\r\nstill assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was\r\nas natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for\r\nwishing to be intimate with me; but if the same circumstances were to\r\nhappen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not\r\nreturn my visit till yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I\r\nreceive in the meantime. When she did come, it was very evident that\r\nshe had no pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal apology, for not\r\ncalling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was\r\nin every respect so altered a creature, that when she went away I was\r\nperfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity,\r\nthough I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out\r\nas she did; I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on\r\nher side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting\r\nwrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the\r\ncause of it. I need not explain myself farther; and though _we_ know\r\nthis anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily\r\naccount for her behaviour to me; and so deservedly dear as he is to\r\nhis sister, whatever anxiety she must feel on his behalf is natural and\r\namiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now,\r\nbecause, if he had at all cared about me, we must have met, long ago.\r\nHe knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said\r\nherself; and yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she\r\nwanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I\r\ncannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should\r\nbe almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity\r\nin all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought,\r\nand think only of what will make me happy--your affection, and the\r\ninvariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very\r\nsoon. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield\r\nagain, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better\r\nnot mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts\r\nfrom our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and\r\nMaria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.--Yours, etc."\r\n\r\nThis letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as she\r\nconsidered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least.\r\nAll expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not\r\neven wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on\r\nevery review of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible\r\nadvantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr.\r\nDarcy\'s sister, as by Wickham\'s account, she would make him abundantly\r\nregret what he had thrown away.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise\r\nconcerning that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth\r\nhad such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to\r\nherself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over,\r\nhe was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to\r\nsee it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain.\r\nHer heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied\r\nwith believing that _she_ would have been his only choice, had fortune\r\npermitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most\r\nremarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself\r\nagreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than\r\nin Charlotte\'s, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence.\r\nNothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and while able to\r\nsuppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was\r\nready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very\r\nsincerely wish him happy.\r\n\r\nAll this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the\r\ncircumstances, she thus went on: "I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that\r\nI have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure\r\nand elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and\r\nwish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial\r\ntowards _him_; they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find\r\nout that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to\r\nthink her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My\r\nwatchfulness has been effectual; and though I certainly should be a more\r\ninteresting object to all my acquaintances were I distractedly in love\r\nwith him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance.\r\nImportance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take\r\nhis defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the\r\nways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that\r\nhandsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 27\r\n\r\n\r\nWith no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise\r\ndiversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and\r\nsometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take\r\nElizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of\r\ngoing thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan\r\nand she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure\r\nas well as greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire of seeing\r\nCharlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There\r\nwas novelty in the scheme, and as, with such a mother and such\r\nuncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change\r\nwas not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give her\r\na peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, she would have\r\nbeen very sorry for any delay. Everything, however, went on smoothly,\r\nand was finally settled according to Charlotte\'s first sketch. She was\r\nto accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement\r\nof spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became\r\nperfect as plan could be.\r\n\r\nThe only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her,\r\nand who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going, that he\r\ntold her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her letter.\r\n\r\nThe farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on\r\nhis side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that\r\nElizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the\r\nfirst to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner\r\nof bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of\r\nwhat she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their\r\nopinion of her--their opinion of everybody--would always coincide, there\r\nwas a solicitude, an interest which she felt must ever attach her to\r\nhim with a most sincere regard; and she parted from him convinced that,\r\nwhether married or single, he must always be her model of the amiable\r\nand pleasing.\r\n\r\nHer fellow-travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her\r\nthink him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a\r\ngood-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say\r\nthat could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much\r\ndelight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but\r\nshe had known Sir William\'s too long. He could tell her nothing new of\r\nthe wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were\r\nworn out, like his information.\r\n\r\nIt was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early\r\nas to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner\'s\r\ndoor, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when\r\nthey entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth,\r\nlooking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and\r\nlovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls,\r\nwhose eagerness for their cousin\'s appearance would not allow them to\r\nwait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen\r\nher for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and\r\nkindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and\r\nshopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.\r\n\r\nElizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was her\r\nsister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to\r\nher minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her\r\nspirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however,\r\nto hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the\r\nparticulars also of Miss Bingley\'s visit in Gracechurch Street, and\r\nrepeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and\r\nherself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the\r\nacquaintance.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham\'s desertion, and\r\ncomplimented her on bearing it so well.\r\n\r\n"But my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sort of girl is Miss King? I\r\nshould be sorry to think our friend mercenary."\r\n\r\n"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs,\r\nbetween the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end,\r\nand avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me,\r\nbecause it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get\r\na girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is\r\nmercenary."\r\n\r\n"If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know\r\nwhat to think."\r\n\r\n"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her."\r\n\r\n"But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather\'s death\r\nmade her mistress of this fortune."\r\n\r\n"No--why should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain _my_\r\naffections because I had no money, what occasion could there be for\r\nmaking love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally\r\npoor?"\r\n\r\n"But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her\r\nso soon after this event."\r\n\r\n"A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant\r\ndecorums which other people may observe. If _she_ does not object to it,\r\nwhy should _we_?"\r\n\r\n"_Her_ not objecting does not justify _him_. It only shows her being\r\ndeficient in something herself--sense or feeling."\r\n\r\n"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose. _He_ shall be\r\nmercenary, and _she_ shall be foolish."\r\n\r\n"No, Lizzy, that is what I do _not_ choose. I should be sorry, you know,\r\nto think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire."\r\n\r\n"Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in\r\nDerbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not\r\nmuch better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow\r\nwhere I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has\r\nneither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones\r\nworth knowing, after all."\r\n\r\n"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment."\r\n\r\nBefore they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the\r\nunexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in\r\na tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.\r\n\r\n"We have not determined how far it shall carry us," said Mrs. Gardiner,\r\n"but, perhaps, to the Lakes."\r\n\r\nNo scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her\r\nacceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. "Oh, my dear,\r\ndear aunt," she rapturously cried, "what delight! what felicity! You\r\ngive me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What\r\nare young men to rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transport\r\nwe shall spend! And when we _do_ return, it shall not be like other\r\ntravellers, without being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We\r\n_will_ know where we have gone--we _will_ recollect what we have seen.\r\nLakes, mountains, and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our\r\nimaginations; nor when we attempt to describe any particular scene,\r\nwill we begin quarreling about its relative situation. Let _our_\r\nfirst effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of\r\ntravellers."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 28\r\n\r\n\r\nEvery object in the next day\'s journey was new and interesting to\r\nElizabeth; and her spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had\r\nseen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health,\r\nand the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight.\r\n\r\nWhen they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in\r\nsearch of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view.\r\nThe palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth\r\nsmiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.\r\n\r\nAt length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the\r\nroad, the house standing in it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge,\r\neverything declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte\r\nappeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which\r\nled by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of\r\nthe whole party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing\r\nat the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the\r\nliveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with\r\ncoming when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw\r\ninstantly that her cousin\'s manners were not altered by his marriage;\r\nhis formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some\r\nminutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her\r\nfamily. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the\r\nneatness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they\r\nwere in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious\r\nformality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife\'s\r\noffers of refreshment.\r\n\r\nElizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help\r\nin fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its\r\naspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her,\r\nas if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But\r\nthough everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to\r\ngratify him by any sigh of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at\r\nher friend that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion.\r\nWhen Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be\r\nashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily turned her\r\neye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but\r\nin general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to\r\nadmire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to\r\nthe fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had\r\nhappened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the\r\ngarden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of\r\nwhich he attended himself. To work in this garden was one of his most\r\nrespectable pleasures; and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance\r\nwith which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and\r\nowned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading the way\r\nthrough every walk and cross walk, and scarcely allowing them an\r\ninterval to utter the praises he asked for, every view was pointed out\r\nwith a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the\r\nfields in every direction, and could tell how many trees there were in\r\nthe most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which\r\nthe country or kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the\r\nprospect of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that bordered\r\nthe park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome\r\nmodern building, well situated on rising ground.\r\n\r\nFrom his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows;\r\nbut the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white\r\nfrost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte\r\ntook her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased,\r\nprobably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband\'s\r\nhelp. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything\r\nwas fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of which\r\nElizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be\r\nforgotten, there was really an air of great comfort throughout, and by\r\nCharlotte\'s evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often\r\nforgotten.\r\n\r\nShe had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It\r\nwas spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining\r\nin, observed:\r\n\r\n"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine\r\nde Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will\r\nbe delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I\r\ndoubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice\r\nwhen service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she\r\nwill include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she\r\nhonours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is\r\ncharming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed\r\nto walk home. Her ladyship\'s carriage is regularly ordered for us. I\r\n_should_ say, one of her ladyship\'s carriages, for she has several."\r\n\r\n"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed," added\r\nCharlotte, "and a most attentive neighbour."\r\n\r\n"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of\r\nwoman whom one cannot regard with too much deference."\r\n\r\nThe evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news,\r\nand telling again what had already been written; and when it closed,\r\nElizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon\r\nCharlotte\'s degree of contentment, to understand her address in guiding,\r\nand composure in bearing with, her husband, and to acknowledge that it\r\nwas all done very well. She had also to anticipate how her visit\r\nwould pass, the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious\r\ninterruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse with\r\nRosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all.\r\n\r\nAbout the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready\r\nfor a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in\r\nconfusion; and, after listening a moment, she heard somebody running\r\nup stairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened\r\nthe door and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with\r\nagitation, cried out--\r\n\r\n"Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for\r\nthere is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make\r\nhaste, and come down this moment."\r\n\r\nElizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more,\r\nand down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in\r\nquest of this wonder; It was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the\r\ngarden gate.\r\n\r\n"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected at least that the pigs\r\nwere got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her\r\ndaughter."\r\n\r\n"La! my dear," said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, "it is not\r\nLady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them;\r\nthe other is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little\r\ncreature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small?"\r\n\r\n"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind.\r\nWhy does she not come in?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours\r\nwhen Miss de Bourgh comes in."\r\n\r\n"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. "She\r\nlooks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will\r\nmake him a very proper wife."\r\n\r\nMr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation\r\nwith the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth\'s high diversion, was\r\nstationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the greatness\r\nbefore him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that\r\nway.\r\n\r\nAt length there was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on, and\r\nthe others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two\r\ngirls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which\r\nCharlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked\r\nto dine at Rosings the next day.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 29\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Collins\'s triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete.\r\nThe power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering\r\nvisitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his\r\nwife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity\r\nof doing it should be given so soon, was such an instance of Lady\r\nCatherine\'s condescension, as he knew not how to admire enough.\r\n\r\n"I confess," said he, "that I should not have been at all surprised by\r\nher ladyship\'s asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at\r\nRosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it\r\nwould happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who\r\ncould have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there\r\n(an invitation, moreover, including the whole party) so immediately\r\nafter your arrival!"\r\n\r\n"I am the less surprised at what has happened," replied Sir William,\r\n"from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which\r\nmy situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the court, such\r\ninstances of elegant breeding are not uncommon."\r\n\r\nScarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their\r\nvisit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what\r\nthey were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and\r\nso splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them.\r\n\r\nWhen the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth--\r\n\r\n"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady\r\nCatherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which\r\nbecomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to put on\r\nwhatever of your clothes is superior to the rest--there is no occasion\r\nfor anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you\r\nfor being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank\r\npreserved."\r\n\r\nWhile they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different\r\ndoors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much\r\nobjected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts of\r\nher ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas\r\nwho had been little used to company, and she looked forward to her\r\nintroduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father had done\r\nto his presentation at St. James\'s.\r\n\r\nAs the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a\r\nmile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects; and\r\nElizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such\r\nraptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but\r\nslightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the\r\nhouse, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally\r\ncost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.\r\n\r\nWhen they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria\'s alarm was every\r\nmoment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm.\r\nElizabeth\'s courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady\r\nCatherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or\r\nmiraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money or rank she thought\r\nshe could witness without trepidation.\r\n\r\nFrom the entrance-hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a\r\nrapturous air, the fine proportion and the finished ornaments, they\r\nfollowed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady\r\nCatherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship,\r\nwith great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had\r\nsettled it with her husband that the office of introduction should\r\nbe hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those\r\napologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.\r\n\r\nIn spite of having been at St. James\'s, Sir William was so completely\r\nawed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage\r\nenough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word;\r\nand his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge\r\nof her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself\r\nquite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her\r\ncomposedly. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked\r\nfeatures, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not\r\nconciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her\r\nvisitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by\r\nsilence; but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone,\r\nas marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to\r\nElizabeth\'s mind; and from the observation of the day altogether, she\r\nbelieved Lady Catherine to be exactly what he represented.\r\n\r\nWhen, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment\r\nshe soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the\r\ndaughter, she could almost have joined in Maria\'s astonishment at her\r\nbeing so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any\r\nlikeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; her\r\nfeatures, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very\r\nlittle, except in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance\r\nthere was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening\r\nto what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before\r\nher eyes.\r\n\r\nAfter sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to\r\nadmire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point out its beauties,\r\nand Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much better worth\r\nlooking at in the summer.\r\n\r\nThe dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and\r\nall the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had\r\nlikewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her\r\nladyship\'s desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish\r\nnothing greater. He carved, and ate, and praised with delighted\r\nalacrity; and every dish was commended, first by him and then by Sir\r\nWilliam, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son-in-law\r\nsaid, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear.\r\nBut Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and\r\ngave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved\r\na novelty to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth\r\nwas ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated\r\nbetween Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh--the former of whom was engaged in\r\nlistening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all\r\ndinner-time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little\r\nMiss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing\r\nshe was indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the\r\ngentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.\r\n\r\nWhen the ladies returned to the drawing-room, there was little to\r\nbe done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any\r\nintermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every\r\nsubject in so decisive a manner, as proved that she was not used to\r\nhave her judgement controverted. She inquired into Charlotte\'s domestic\r\nconcerns familiarly and minutely, gave her a great deal of advice as\r\nto the management of them all; told her how everything ought to be\r\nregulated in so small a family as hers, and instructed her as to the\r\ncare of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing was\r\nbeneath this great lady\'s attention, which could furnish her with an\r\noccasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse\r\nwith Mrs. Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and\r\nElizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew\r\nthe least, and who she observed to Mrs. Collins was a very genteel,\r\npretty kind of girl. She asked her, at different times, how many sisters\r\nshe had, whether they were older or younger than herself, whether any of\r\nthem were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they\r\nhad been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what had been\r\nher mother\'s maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of\r\nher questions but answered them very composedly. Lady Catherine then\r\nobserved,\r\n\r\n"Your father\'s estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your\r\nsake," turning to Charlotte, "I am glad of it; but otherwise I see no\r\noccasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought\r\nnecessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh\'s family. Do you play and sing, Miss\r\nBennet?"\r\n\r\n"A little."\r\n\r\n"Oh! then--some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our\r\ninstrument is a capital one, probably superior to----You shall try it\r\nsome day. Do your sisters play and sing?"\r\n\r\n"One of them does."\r\n\r\n"Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss\r\nWebbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do\r\nyou draw?"\r\n\r\n"No, not at all."\r\n\r\n"What, none of you?"\r\n\r\n"Not one."\r\n\r\n"That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother\r\nshould have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters."\r\n\r\n"My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London."\r\n\r\n"Has your governess left you?"\r\n\r\n"We never had any governess."\r\n\r\n"No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home\r\nwithout a governess! I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must\r\nhave been quite a slave to your education."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could hardly help smiling as she assured her that had not been\r\nthe case.\r\n\r\n"Then, who taught you? who attended to you? Without a governess, you\r\nmust have been neglected."\r\n\r\n"Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as\r\nwished to learn never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to\r\nread, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be\r\nidle, certainly might."\r\n\r\n"Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent, and if I had\r\nknown your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage\r\none. I always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady\r\nand regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is\r\nwonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that\r\nway. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces\r\nof Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means; and\r\nit was but the other day that I recommended another young person,\r\nwho was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are quite\r\ndelighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalf\'s\r\ncalling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. \'Lady\r\nCatherine,\' said she, \'you have given me a treasure.\' Are any of your\r\nyounger sisters out, Miss Bennet?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, ma\'am, all."\r\n\r\n"All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second. The\r\nyounger ones out before the elder ones are married! Your younger sisters\r\nmust be very young?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps _she_ is full young to be\r\nmuch in company. But really, ma\'am, I think it would be very hard upon\r\nyounger sisters, that they should not have their share of society and\r\namusement, because the elder may not have the means or inclination to\r\nmarry early. The last-born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth\r\nas the first. And to be kept back on _such_ a motive! I think it would\r\nnot be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind."\r\n\r\n"Upon my word," said her ladyship, "you give your opinion very decidedly\r\nfor so young a person. Pray, what is your age?"\r\n\r\n"With three younger sisters grown up," replied Elizabeth, smiling, "your\r\nladyship can hardly expect me to own it."\r\n\r\nLady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer;\r\nand Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever\r\ndared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.\r\n\r\n"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, therefore you need not\r\nconceal your age."\r\n\r\n"I am not one-and-twenty."\r\n\r\nWhen the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card-tables\r\nwere placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat\r\ndown to quadrille; and as Miss de Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the\r\ntwo girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her\r\nparty. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was\r\nuttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson\r\nexpressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh\'s being too hot or too cold, or\r\nhaving too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the\r\nother table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking--stating the mistakes\r\nof the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins\r\nwas employed in agreeing to everything her ladyship said, thanking her\r\nfor every fish he won, and apologising if he thought he won too many.\r\nSir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes\r\nand noble names.\r\n\r\nWhen Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose,\r\nthe tables were broken up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins,\r\ngratefully accepted and immediately ordered. The party then gathered\r\nround the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were\r\nto have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by\r\nthe arrival of the coach; and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr.\r\nCollins\'s side and as many bows on Sir William\'s they departed. As soon\r\nas they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin\r\nto give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for\r\nCharlotte\'s sake, she made more favourable than it really was. But her\r\ncommendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy\r\nMr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship\'s praise\r\ninto his own hands.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 30\r\n\r\n\r\nSir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long\r\nenough to convince him of his daughter\'s being most comfortably settled,\r\nand of her possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not\r\noften met with. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his\r\nmorning to driving him out in his gig, and showing him the country; but\r\nwhen he went away, the whole family returned to their usual employments,\r\nand Elizabeth was thankful to find that they did not see more of her\r\ncousin by the alteration, for the chief of the time between breakfast\r\nand dinner was now passed by him either at work in the garden or in\r\nreading and writing, and looking out of the window in his own book-room,\r\nwhich fronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards.\r\nElizabeth had at first rather wondered that Charlotte should not prefer\r\nthe dining-parlour for common use; it was a better sized room, and had a\r\nmore pleasant aspect; but she soon saw that her friend had an excellent\r\nreason for what she did, for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been\r\nmuch less in his own apartment, had they sat in one equally lively; and\r\nshe gave Charlotte credit for the arrangement.\r\n\r\nFrom the drawing-room they could distinguish nothing in the lane, and\r\nwere indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went\r\nalong, and how often especially Miss de Bourgh drove by in her phaeton,\r\nwhich he never failed coming to inform them of, though it happened\r\nalmost every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage, and\r\nhad a few minutes\' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever\r\nprevailed upon to get out.\r\n\r\nVery few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and\r\nnot many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise;\r\nand till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings\r\nto be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many\r\nhours. Now and then they were honoured with a call from her ladyship,\r\nand nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room during\r\nthese visits. She examined into their employments, looked at their work,\r\nand advised them to do it differently; found fault with the arrangement\r\nof the furniture; or detected the housemaid in negligence; and if she\r\naccepted any refreshment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding\r\nout that Mrs. Collins\'s joints of meat were too large for her family.\r\n\r\nElizabeth soon perceived, that though this great lady was not in\r\ncommission of the peace of the county, she was a most active magistrate\r\nin her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her\r\nby Mr. Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to\r\nbe quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth into the\r\nvillage to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold\r\nthem into harmony and plenty.\r\n\r\nThe entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week;\r\nand, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one\r\ncard-table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart\r\nof the first. Their other engagements were few, as the style of living\r\nin the neighbourhood in general was beyond Mr. Collins\'s reach. This,\r\nhowever, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time\r\ncomfortably enough; there were half-hours of pleasant conversation with\r\nCharlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that she had\r\noften great enjoyment out of doors. Her favourite walk, and where she\r\nfrequently went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine, was\r\nalong the open grove which edged that side of the park, where there was\r\na nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value but herself, and\r\nwhere she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine\'s curiosity.\r\n\r\nIn this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away.\r\nEaster was approaching, and the week preceding it was to bring an\r\naddition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be\r\nimportant. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival that Mr. Darcy was\r\nexpected there in the course of a few weeks, and though there were not\r\nmany of her acquaintances whom she did not prefer, his coming would\r\nfurnish one comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties, and\r\nshe might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley\'s designs on him\r\nwere, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently\r\ndestined by Lady Catherine, who talked of his coming with the greatest\r\nsatisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and\r\nseemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by\r\nMiss Lucas and herself.\r\n\r\nHis arrival was soon known at the Parsonage; for Mr. Collins was walking\r\nthe whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane,\r\nin order to have the earliest assurance of it, and after making his\r\nbow as the carriage turned into the Park, hurried home with the great\r\nintelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his\r\nrespects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for\r\nMr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of\r\nhis uncle Lord ----, and, to the great surprise of all the party, when\r\nMr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen\r\nthem from her husband\'s room, crossing the road, and immediately running\r\ninto the other, told the girls what an honour they might expect, adding:\r\n\r\n"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would\r\nnever have come so soon to wait upon me."\r\n\r\nElizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment,\r\nbefore their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly\r\nafterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam,\r\nwho led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and\r\naddress most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been\r\nused to look in Hertfordshire--paid his compliments, with his usual\r\nreserve, to Mrs. Collins, and whatever might be his feelings toward her\r\nfriend, met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely\r\ncurtseyed to him without saying a word.\r\n\r\nColonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the\r\nreadiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but\r\nhis cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and\r\ngarden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anybody.\r\nAt length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to inquire of\r\nElizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual\r\nway, and after a moment\'s pause, added:\r\n\r\n"My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never\r\nhappened to see her there?"\r\n\r\nShe was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see\r\nwhether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between\r\nthe Bingleys and Jane, and she thought he looked a little confused as he\r\nanswered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The\r\nsubject was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went\r\naway.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 31\r\n\r\n\r\nColonel Fitzwilliam\'s manners were very much admired at the Parsonage,\r\nand the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasures\r\nof their engagements at Rosings. It was some days, however, before they\r\nreceived any invitation thither--for while there were visitors in the\r\nhouse, they could not be necessary; and it was not till Easter-day,\r\nalmost a week after the gentlemen\'s arrival, that they were honoured by\r\nsuch an attention, and then they were merely asked on leaving church to\r\ncome there in the evening. For the last week they had seen very little\r\nof Lady Catherine or her daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the\r\nParsonage more than once during the time, but Mr. Darcy they had seen\r\nonly at church.\r\n\r\nThe invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour they joined\r\nthe party in Lady Catherine\'s drawing-room. Her ladyship received\r\nthem civilly, but it was plain that their company was by no means so\r\nacceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact,\r\nalmost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy,\r\nmuch more than to any other person in the room.\r\n\r\nColonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; anything was a\r\nwelcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins\'s pretty friend had\r\nmoreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himself by her, and\r\ntalked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying\r\nat home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so\r\nwell entertained in that room before; and they conversed with so much\r\nspirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself,\r\nas well as of Mr. Darcy. _His_ eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned\r\ntowards them with a look of curiosity; and that her ladyship, after a\r\nwhile, shared the feeling, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not\r\nscruple to call out:\r\n\r\n"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking\r\nof? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."\r\n\r\n"We are speaking of music, madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid\r\na reply.\r\n\r\n"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I\r\nmust have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music.\r\nThere are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment\r\nof music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt,\r\nI should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health\r\nhad allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed\r\ndelightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister\'s proficiency.\r\n\r\n"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said Lady\r\nCatherine; "and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel\r\nif she does not practice a good deal."\r\n\r\n"I assure you, madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice.\r\nShe practises very constantly."\r\n\r\n"So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write\r\nto her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often\r\ntell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without\r\nconstant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she\r\nwill never play really well unless she practises more; and though Mrs.\r\nCollins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told\r\nher, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs.\r\nJenkinson\'s room. She would be in nobody\'s way, you know, in that part\r\nof the house."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt\'s ill-breeding, and made\r\nno answer.\r\n\r\nWhen coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having\r\npromised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He\r\ndrew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then\r\ntalked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away\r\nfrom her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte\r\nstationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer\'s\r\ncountenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first\r\nconvenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said:\r\n\r\n"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear\r\nme? I will not be alarmed though your sister _does_ play so well. There\r\nis a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the\r\nwill of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate\r\nme."\r\n\r\n"I shall not say you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not\r\nreally believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have\r\nhad the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find\r\ngreat enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are\r\nnot your own."\r\n\r\nElizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to\r\nColonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of\r\nme, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky\r\nin meeting with a person so able to expose my real character, in a part\r\nof the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of\r\ncredit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all\r\nthat you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire--and, give me leave to\r\nsay, very impolitic too--for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such\r\nthings may come out as will shock your relations to hear."\r\n\r\n"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.\r\n\r\n"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."\r\n\r\n"You shall hear then--but prepare yourself for something very dreadful.\r\nThe first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know,\r\nwas at a ball--and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced\r\nonly four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain\r\nknowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a\r\npartner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."\r\n\r\n"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly\r\nbeyond my own party."\r\n\r\n"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. Well, Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, had I sought an\r\nintroduction; but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers."\r\n\r\n"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" said Elizabeth, still\r\naddressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense and\r\neducation, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend\r\nhimself to strangers?"\r\n\r\n"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam, "without applying to\r\nhim. It is because he will not give himself the trouble."\r\n\r\n"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy,\r\n"of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot\r\ncatch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their\r\nconcerns, as I often see done."\r\n\r\n"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the\r\nmasterly manner which I see so many women\'s do. They have not the same\r\nforce or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I\r\nhave always supposed it to be my own fault--because I will not take the\r\ntrouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe _my_ fingers as\r\ncapable as any other woman\'s of superior execution."\r\n\r\nDarcy smiled and said, "You are perfectly right. You have employed your\r\ntime much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can\r\nthink anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."\r\n\r\nHere they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know\r\nwhat they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again.\r\nLady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said\r\nto Darcy:\r\n\r\n"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if she practised more, and\r\ncould have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion\r\nof fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne\'s. Anne would have\r\nbeen a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn."\r\n\r\nElizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his\r\ncousin\'s praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other could she\r\ndiscern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss\r\nde Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might have\r\nbeen just as likely to marry _her_, had she been his relation.\r\n\r\nLady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth\'s performance, mixing\r\nwith them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received\r\nthem with all the forbearance of civility, and, at the request of the\r\ngentlemen, remained at the instrument till her ladyship\'s carriage was\r\nready to take them all home.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 32\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane\r\nwhile Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village,\r\nwhen she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a\r\nvisitor. As she had heard no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to\r\nbe Lady Catherine, and under that apprehension was putting away her\r\nhalf-finished letter that she might escape all impertinent questions,\r\nwhen the door opened, and, to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and\r\nMr. Darcy only, entered the room.\r\n\r\nHe seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and apologised for his\r\nintrusion by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies were\r\nto be within.\r\n\r\nThey then sat down, and when her inquiries after Rosings were made,\r\nseemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely\r\nnecessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergence\r\nrecollecting _when_ she had seen him last in Hertfordshire, and\r\nfeeling curious to know what he would say on the subject of their hasty\r\ndeparture, she observed:\r\n\r\n"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!\r\nIt must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you\r\nall after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day\r\nbefore. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?"\r\n\r\n"Perfectly so, I thank you."\r\n\r\nShe found that she was to receive no other answer, and, after a short\r\npause added:\r\n\r\n"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever\r\nreturning to Netherfield again?"\r\n\r\n"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend\r\nvery little of his time there in the future. He has many friends, and\r\nis at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually\r\nincreasing."\r\n\r\n"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for\r\nthe neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we\r\nmight possibly get a settled family there. But, perhaps, Mr. Bingley did\r\nnot take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as\r\nfor his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the same\r\nprinciple."\r\n\r\n"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if he were to give it up as\r\nsoon as any eligible purchase offers."\r\n\r\nElizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his\r\nfriend; and, having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave the\r\ntrouble of finding a subject to him.\r\n\r\nHe took the hint, and soon began with, "This seems a very comfortable\r\nhouse. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr.\r\nCollins first came to Hunsford."\r\n\r\n"I believe she did--and I am sure she could not have bestowed her\r\nkindness on a more grateful object."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife."\r\n\r\n"Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one\r\nof the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made\r\nhim happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding--though\r\nI am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the\r\nwisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a\r\nprudential light it is certainly a very good match for her."\r\n\r\n"It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a\r\ndistance of her own family and friends."\r\n\r\n"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles."\r\n\r\n"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day\'s\r\njourney. Yes, I call it a _very_ easy distance."\r\n\r\n"I should never have considered the distance as one of the _advantages_\r\nof the match," cried Elizabeth. "I should never have said Mrs. Collins\r\nwas settled _near_ her family."\r\n\r\n"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond\r\nthe very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far."\r\n\r\nAs he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she\r\nunderstood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and\r\nNetherfield, and she blushed as she answered:\r\n\r\n"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her\r\nfamily. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many\r\nvarying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of\r\ntravelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the\r\ncase _here_. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not\r\nsuch a one as will allow of frequent journeys--and I am persuaded my\r\nfriend would not call herself _near_ her family under less than _half_\r\nthe present distance."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "_You_ cannot\r\nhave a right to such very strong local attachment. _You_ cannot have\r\nbeen always at Longbourn."\r\n\r\nElizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of\r\nfeeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and\r\nglancing over it, said, in a colder voice:\r\n\r\n"Are you pleased with Kent?"\r\n\r\nA short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side\r\ncalm and concise--and soon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotte\r\nand her sister, just returned from her walk. The tete-a-tete surprised\r\nthem. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding\r\non Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying\r\nmuch to anybody, went away.\r\n\r\n"What can be the meaning of this?" said Charlotte, as soon as he was\r\ngone. "My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never\r\nhave called us in this familiar way."\r\n\r\nBut when Elizabeth told of his silence, it did not seem very likely,\r\neven to Charlotte\'s wishes, to be the case; and after various\r\nconjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit to proceed from\r\nthe difficulty of finding anything to do, which was the more probable\r\nfrom the time of year. All field sports were over. Within doors there\r\nwas Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard-table, but gentlemen cannot\r\nalways be within doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the\r\npleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the\r\ntwo cousins found a temptation from this period of walking thither\r\nalmost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes\r\nseparately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their\r\naunt. It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he\r\nhad pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended\r\nhim still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in\r\nbeing with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her, of her\r\nformer favourite George Wickham; and though, in comparing them, she saw\r\nthere was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam\'s manners,\r\nshe believed he might have the best informed mind.\r\n\r\nBut why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult\r\nto understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there\r\nten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak,\r\nit seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice--a sacrifice\r\nto propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really\r\nanimated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam\'s occasionally laughing at his stupidity, proved that he was\r\ngenerally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told\r\nher; and as she would liked to have believed this change the effect\r\nof love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, she set herself\r\nseriously to work to find it out. She watched him whenever they were at\r\nRosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He\r\ncertainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that\r\nlook was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often\r\ndoubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it\r\nseemed nothing but absence of mind.\r\n\r\nShe had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his\r\nbeing partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs.\r\nCollins did not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of\r\nraising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her\r\nopinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend\'s dislike would\r\nvanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.\r\n\r\n\r\nIn her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying\r\nColonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the most pleasant man; he\r\ncertainly admired her, and his situation in life was most eligible; but,\r\nto counterbalance these advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage\r\nin the church, and his cousin could have none at all.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 33\r\n\r\n\r\nMore than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park,\r\nunexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the\r\nmischance that should bring him where no one else was brought, and, to\r\nprevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that\r\nit was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time,\r\ntherefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like\r\nwilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was\r\nnot merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away,\r\nbut he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He\r\nnever said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking\r\nor of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third\r\nrencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions--about\r\nher pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her\r\nopinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins\'s happiness; and that in speaking of\r\nRosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to\r\nexpect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying\r\n_there_ too. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he must\r\nmean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed\r\nher a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the\r\npales opposite the Parsonage.\r\n\r\nShe was engaged one day as she walked, in perusing Jane\'s last letter,\r\nand dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in\r\nspirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw\r\non looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the\r\nletter immediately and forcing a smile, she said:\r\n\r\n"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."\r\n\r\n"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally\r\ndo every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are\r\nyou going much farther?"\r\n\r\n"No, I should have turned in a moment."\r\n\r\nAnd accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage\r\ntogether.\r\n\r\n"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.\r\n\r\n"Yes--if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He\r\narranges the business just as he pleases."\r\n\r\n"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least\r\npleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems\r\nmore to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy."\r\n\r\n"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam.\r\n"But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it\r\nthan many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak\r\nfeelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and\r\ndependence."\r\n\r\n"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of\r\neither. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and\r\ndependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going\r\nwherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"\r\n\r\n"These are home questions--and perhaps I cannot say that I have\r\nexperienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater\r\nweight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where\r\nthey like."\r\n\r\n"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often\r\ndo."\r\n\r\n"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many\r\nin my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to\r\nmoney."\r\n\r\n"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" and she coloured at the\r\nidea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, "And pray, what\r\nis the usual price of an earl\'s younger son? Unless the elder brother is\r\nvery sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."\r\n\r\nHe answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt\r\na silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed,\r\nshe soon afterwards said:\r\n\r\n"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of\r\nhaving someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a\r\nlasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well\r\nfor the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he\r\nlikes with her."\r\n\r\n"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which he must\r\ndivide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy."\r\n\r\n"Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your\r\ncharge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a\r\nlittle difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she\r\nmay like to have her own way."\r\n\r\nAs she spoke she observed him looking at her earnestly; and the manner\r\nin which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to\r\ngive them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other\r\ngot pretty near the truth. She directly replied:\r\n\r\n"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and I dare\r\nsay she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a\r\nvery great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and\r\nMiss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them."\r\n\r\n"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man--he\r\nis a great friend of Darcy\'s."\r\n\r\n"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily; "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr.\r\nBingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."\r\n\r\n"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy _does_ take care of him in\r\nthose points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in\r\nour journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to\r\nhim. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that\r\nBingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture."\r\n\r\n"What is it you mean?"\r\n\r\n"It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known,\r\nbecause if it were to get round to the lady\'s family, it would be an\r\nunpleasant thing."\r\n\r\n"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."\r\n\r\n"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be\r\nBingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself\r\non having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most\r\nimprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other\r\nparticulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing\r\nhim the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from\r\nknowing them to have been together the whole of last summer."\r\n\r\n"Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?"\r\n\r\n"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the\r\nlady."\r\n\r\n"And what arts did he use to separate them?"\r\n\r\n"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He\r\nonly told me what I have now told you."\r\n\r\nElizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with\r\nindignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she\r\nwas so thoughtful.\r\n\r\n"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your\r\ncousin\'s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"\r\n\r\n"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"\r\n\r\n"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his\r\nfriend\'s inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to\r\ndetermine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy.\r\nBut," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we know none of the\r\nparticulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed\r\nthat there was much affection in the case."\r\n\r\n"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is a\r\nlessening of the honour of my cousin\'s triumph very sadly."\r\n\r\nThis was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture\r\nof Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer, and\r\ntherefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on indifferent\r\nmatters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room,\r\nas soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption\r\nof all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other\r\npeople could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There\r\ncould not exist in the world _two_ men over whom Mr. Darcy could have\r\nsuch boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures\r\ntaken to separate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted; but she had\r\nalways attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement\r\nof them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, _he_ was\r\nthe cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had\r\nsuffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while\r\nevery hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the\r\nworld; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.\r\n\r\n"There were some very strong objections against the lady," were Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam\'s words; and those strong objections probably were, her\r\nhaving one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in\r\nbusiness in London.\r\n\r\n"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could be no possibility of\r\nobjection; all loveliness and goodness as she is!--her understanding\r\nexcellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither\r\ncould anything be urged against my father, who, though with some\r\npeculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and\r\nrespectability which he will probably never reach." When she thought of\r\nher mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow\r\nthat any objections _there_ had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose\r\npride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of\r\nimportance in his friend\'s connections, than from their want of sense;\r\nand she was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed\r\nby this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr.\r\nBingley for his sister.\r\n\r\nThe agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a\r\nheadache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening, that, added to\r\nher unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her\r\ncousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins,\r\nseeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go and as much\r\nas possible prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins\r\ncould not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine\'s being rather\r\ndispleased by her staying at home.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 34\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself\r\nas much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the\r\nexamination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her\r\nbeing in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any\r\nrevival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering.\r\nBut in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that\r\ncheerfulness which had been used to characterise her style, and which,\r\nproceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindly\r\ndisposed towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth\r\nnoticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an\r\nattention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy\'s\r\nshameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her\r\na keener sense of her sister\'s sufferings. It was some consolation\r\nto think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the\r\nnext--and, a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should\r\nherself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of\r\nher spirits, by all that affection could do.\r\n\r\nShe could not think of Darcy\'s leaving Kent without remembering that\r\nhis cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear\r\nthat he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not\r\nmean to be unhappy about him.\r\n\r\nWhile settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the\r\ndoor-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its\r\nbeing Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in\r\nthe evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her.\r\nBut this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently\r\naffected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the\r\nroom. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her\r\nhealth, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better.\r\nShe answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and\r\nthen getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but\r\nsaid not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her\r\nin an agitated manner, and thus began:\r\n\r\n"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be\r\nrepressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love\r\nyou."\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured,\r\ndoubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement;\r\nand the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her,\r\nimmediately followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides\r\nthose of the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the\r\nsubject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority--of\r\nits being a degradation--of the family obstacles which had always\r\nopposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to\r\nthe consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his\r\nsuit.\r\n\r\nIn spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to\r\nthe compliment of such a man\'s affection, and though her intentions did\r\nnot vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to\r\nreceive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she\r\nlost all compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to\r\nanswer him with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with\r\nrepresenting to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite\r\nof all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with\r\nexpressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of\r\nhis hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt\r\nof a favourable answer. He _spoke_ of apprehension and anxiety, but\r\nhis countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could\r\nonly exasperate farther, and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her\r\ncheeks, and she said:\r\n\r\n"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to\r\nexpress a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however\r\nunequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should\r\nbe felt, and if I could _feel_ gratitude, I would now thank you. But I\r\ncannot--I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly\r\nbestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to\r\nanyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be\r\nof short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented\r\nthe acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in\r\novercoming it after this explanation."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed\r\non her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than\r\nsurprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance\r\nof his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the\r\nappearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed\r\nhimself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth\'s feelings\r\ndreadful. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:\r\n\r\n"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting!\r\nI might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little _endeavour_ at\r\ncivility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."\r\n\r\n"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a desire\r\nof offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me\r\nagainst your will, against your reason, and even against your character?\r\nWas not this some excuse for incivility, if I _was_ uncivil? But I have\r\nother provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against\r\nyou--had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you\r\nthink that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has\r\nbeen the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most\r\nbeloved sister?"\r\n\r\nAs she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion\r\nwas short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she\r\ncontinued:\r\n\r\n"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can\r\nexcuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted _there_. You dare not,\r\nyou cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means\r\nof dividing them from each other--of exposing one to the censure of the\r\nworld for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for\r\ndisappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest\r\nkind."\r\n\r\nShe paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening\r\nwith an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.\r\nHe even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.\r\n\r\n"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.\r\n\r\nWith assumed tranquillity he then replied: "I have no wish of denying\r\nthat I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your\r\nsister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards _him_ I have been\r\nkinder than towards myself."\r\n\r\nElizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection,\r\nbut its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.\r\n\r\n"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike\r\nis founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was\r\ndecided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received\r\nmany months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to\r\nsay? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?\r\nor under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"\r\n\r\n"You take an eager interest in that gentleman\'s concerns," said Darcy,\r\nin a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.\r\n\r\n"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an\r\ninterest in him?"\r\n\r\n"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes\r\nhave been great indeed."\r\n\r\n"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced\r\nhim to his present state of poverty--comparative poverty. You have\r\nwithheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for\r\nhim. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence\r\nwhich was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this!\r\nand yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and\r\nridicule."\r\n\r\n"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room,\r\n"is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me!\r\nI thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this\r\ncalculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in\r\nhis walk, and turning towards her, "these offenses might have been\r\noverlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the\r\nscruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These\r\nbitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater\r\npolicy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of\r\nmy being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by\r\nreflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.\r\nNor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and\r\njust. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your\r\nconnections?--to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose\r\ncondition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to\r\nthe utmost to speak with composure when she said:\r\n\r\n"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your\r\ndeclaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern\r\nwhich I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more\r\ngentlemanlike manner."\r\n\r\nShe saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:\r\n\r\n"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that\r\nwould have tempted me to accept it."\r\n\r\nAgain his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an\r\nexpression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:\r\n\r\n"From the very beginning--from the first moment, I may almost say--of\r\nmy acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest\r\nbelief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of\r\nthe feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of\r\ndisapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a\r\ndislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the\r\nlast man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."\r\n\r\n"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your\r\nfeelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.\r\nForgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best\r\nwishes for your health and happiness."\r\n\r\nAnd with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him\r\nthe next moment open the front door and quit the house.\r\n\r\nThe tumult of her mind, was now painfully great. She knew not how\r\nto support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for\r\nhalf-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed,\r\nwas increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of\r\nmarriage from Mr. Darcy! That he should have been in love with her for\r\nso many months! So much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of\r\nall the objections which had made him prevent his friend\'s marrying\r\nher sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his\r\nown case--was almost incredible! It was gratifying to have inspired\r\nunconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable\r\npride--his shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to\r\nJane--his unpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he could\r\nnot justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr.\r\nWickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon\r\novercame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for\r\na moment excited. She continued in very agitated reflections till the\r\nsound of Lady Catherine\'s carriage made her feel how unequal she was to\r\nencounter Charlotte\'s observation, and hurried her away to her room.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 35\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations\r\nwhich had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the\r\nsurprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything\r\nelse; and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after\r\nbreakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding\r\ndirectly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy\'s\r\nsometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park,\r\nshe turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. The\r\npark paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one\r\nof the gates into the ground.\r\n\r\nAfter walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was\r\ntempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and\r\nlook into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had\r\nmade a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the\r\nverdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk,\r\nwhen she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which\r\nedged the park; he was moving that way; and, fearful of its being Mr.\r\nDarcy, she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now\r\nnear enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced\r\nher name. She had turned away; but on hearing herself called, though\r\nin a voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the\r\ngate. He had by that time reached it also, and, holding out a letter,\r\nwhich she instinctively took, said, with a look of haughty composure,\r\n"I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.\r\nWill you do me the honour of reading that letter?" And then, with a\r\nslight bow, turned again into the plantation, and was soon out of sight.\r\n\r\nWith no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity,\r\nElizabeth opened the letter, and, to her still increasing wonder,\r\nperceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written\r\nquite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise\r\nfull. Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated\r\nfrom Rosings, at eight o\'clock in the morning, and was as follows:--\r\n\r\n"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension\r\nof its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those\r\noffers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any\r\nintention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes\r\nwhich, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the\r\neffort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion,\r\nshould have been spared, had not my character required it to be written\r\nand read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand\r\nyour attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I\r\ndemand it of your justice.\r\n\r\n"Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal\r\nmagnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was,\r\nthat, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley\r\nfrom your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various\r\nclaims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate\r\nprosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and\r\nwantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged\r\nfavourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other\r\ndependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect\r\nits exertion, would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young\r\npersons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could\r\nbear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last\r\nnight so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope\r\nto be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions\r\nand their motives has been read. If, in the explanation of them, which\r\nis due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which\r\nmay be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity\r\nmust be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.\r\n\r\n"I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with\r\nothers, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young\r\nwoman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance\r\nat Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious\r\nattachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I\r\nhad the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir\r\nWilliam Lucas\'s accidental information, that Bingley\'s attentions to\r\nyour sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage.\r\nHe spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could\r\nbe undecided. From that moment I observed my friend\'s behaviour\r\nattentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss\r\nBennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also\r\nwatched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever,\r\nbut without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced\r\nfrom the evening\'s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions\r\nwith pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of\r\nsentiment. If _you_ have not been mistaken here, _I_ must have been\r\nin error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter\r\nprobable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict\r\npain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not\r\nscruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister\'s countenance and\r\nair was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction\r\nthat, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be\r\neasily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is\r\ncertain--but I will venture to say that my investigation and decisions\r\nare not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe\r\nher to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial\r\nconviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My objections to the\r\nmarriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have\r\nthe utmost force of passion to put aside, in my own case; the want of\r\nconnection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me. But\r\nthere were other causes of repugnance; causes which, though still\r\nexisting, and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had\r\nmyself endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately before\r\nme. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your\r\nmother\'s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that\r\ntotal want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by\r\nherself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your\r\nfather. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern\r\nfor the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this\r\nrepresentation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to\r\nhave conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure,\r\nis praise no less generally bestowed on you and your elder sister, than\r\nit is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say\r\nfarther that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties\r\nwas confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could have led\r\nme before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy\r\nconnection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as\r\nyou, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning.\r\n\r\n"The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters\' uneasiness\r\nhad been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was\r\nsoon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in\r\ndetaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in\r\nLondon. We accordingly went--and there I readily engaged in the office\r\nof pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I\r\ndescribed, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance\r\nmight have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose\r\nthat it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been\r\nseconded by the assurance that I hesitated not in giving, of your\r\nsister\'s indifference. He had before believed her to return his\r\naffection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But Bingley has great\r\nnatural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgement than on his\r\nown. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was\r\nno very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into\r\nHertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the\r\nwork of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There\r\nis but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not\r\nreflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the\r\nmeasures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister\'s being in\r\ntown. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her\r\nbrother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without\r\nill consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to me\r\nenough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this\r\nconcealment, this disguise was beneath me; it is done, however, and it\r\nwas done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no\r\nother apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister\'s feelings, it\r\nwas unknowingly done and though the motives which governed me may to\r\nyou very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn\r\nthem.\r\n\r\n"With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured\r\nMr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his\r\nconnection with my family. Of what he has _particularly_ accused me I\r\nam ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more\r\nthan one witness of undoubted veracity.\r\n\r\n"Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many\r\nyears the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good\r\nconduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to\r\nbe of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his\r\nkindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at\r\nschool, and afterwards at Cambridge--most important assistance, as his\r\nown father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have\r\nbeen unable to give him a gentleman\'s education. My father was not only\r\nfond of this young man\'s society, whose manners were always engaging; he\r\nhad also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be\r\nhis profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is\r\nmany, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different\r\nmanner. The vicious propensities--the want of principle, which he was\r\ncareful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape\r\nthe observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself,\r\nand who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr.\r\nDarcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain--to what degree\r\nyou only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham\r\nhas created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from\r\nunfolding his real character--it adds even another motive.\r\n\r\n"My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to\r\nMr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly\r\nrecommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner\r\nthat his profession might allow--and if he took orders, desired that a\r\nvaluable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There\r\nwas also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long\r\nsurvive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham\r\nwrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders,\r\nhe hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more\r\nimmediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he\r\ncould not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying\r\nlaw, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would\r\nbe a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed\r\nhim to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to\r\nhis proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the\r\nbusiness was therefore soon settled--he resigned all claim to assistance\r\nin the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to\r\nreceive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection\r\nbetween us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him\r\nto Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly\r\nlived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free\r\nfrom all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation.\r\nFor about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the\r\nincumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to\r\nme again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured\r\nme, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He\r\nhad found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely\r\nresolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in\r\nquestion--of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was\r\nwell assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not\r\nhave forgotten my revered father\'s intentions. You will hardly blame\r\nme for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every\r\nrepetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of\r\nhis circumstances--and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me\r\nto others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every\r\nappearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But\r\nlast summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.\r\n\r\n"I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself,\r\nand which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold\r\nto any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your\r\nsecrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to\r\nthe guardianship of my mother\'s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself.\r\nAbout a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed\r\nfor her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided\r\nover it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by\r\ndesign; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him\r\nand Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and\r\nby her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana,\r\nwhose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to\r\nher as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and\r\nto consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her\r\nexcuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed\r\nthe knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two\r\nbefore the intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to support the\r\nidea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as\r\na father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and\r\nhow I acted. Regard for my sister\'s credit and feelings prevented\r\nany public exposure; but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place\r\nimmediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr.\r\nWickham\'s chief object was unquestionably my sister\'s fortune, which\r\nis thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of\r\nrevenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have\r\nbeen complete indeed.\r\n\r\n"This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have\r\nbeen concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as\r\nfalse, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr.\r\nWickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he\r\nhad imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered\r\nat. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either,\r\ndetection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in\r\nyour inclination.\r\n\r\n"You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; but\r\nI was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to\r\nbe revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more\r\nparticularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our\r\nnear relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of\r\nthe executors of my father\'s will, has been unavoidably acquainted\r\nwith every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of _me_\r\nshould make _my_ assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by\r\nthe same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be\r\nthe possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some\r\nopportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the\r\nmorning. I will only add, God bless you.\r\n\r\n"FITZWILLIAM DARCY"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 36\r\n\r\n\r\nIf Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to\r\ncontain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of\r\nits contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed how eagerly\r\nshe went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited.\r\nHer feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did\r\nshe first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power;\r\nand steadfastly was she persuaded, that he could have no explanation\r\nto give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong\r\nprejudice against everything he might say, she began his account of what\r\nhad happened at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness which hardly\r\nleft her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the\r\nnext sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of\r\nthe one before her eyes. His belief of her sister\'s insensibility she\r\ninstantly resolved to be false; and his account of the real, the worst\r\nobjections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing\r\nhim justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied\r\nher; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and\r\ninsolence.\r\n\r\nBut when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham--when\r\nshe read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of events which,\r\nif true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which\r\nbore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself--her\r\nfeelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.\r\nAstonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished\r\nto discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This must be false!\r\nThis cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!"--and when she had\r\ngone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing anything of the\r\nlast page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not\r\nregard it, that she would never look in it again.\r\n\r\nIn this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on\r\nnothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter\r\nwas unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she\r\nagain began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and\r\ncommanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.\r\nThe account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what\r\nhe had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though\r\nshe had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own\r\nwords. So far each recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the\r\nwill, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living\r\nwas fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was\r\nimpossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the\r\nother; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did\r\nnot err. But when she read and re-read with the closest attention, the\r\nparticulars immediately following of Wickham\'s resigning all pretensions\r\nto the living, of his receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three\r\nthousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down\r\nthe letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be\r\nimpartiality--deliberated on the probability of each statement--but with\r\nlittle success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read\r\non; but every line proved more clearly that the affair, which she had\r\nbelieved it impossible that any contrivance could so represent as to\r\nrender Mr. Darcy\'s conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a\r\nturn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.\r\n\r\nThe extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay at\r\nMr. Wickham\'s charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could\r\nbring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his\r\nentrance into the ----shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the\r\npersuasion of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town,\r\nhad there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life\r\nnothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As\r\nto his real character, had information been in her power, she had\r\nnever felt a wish of inquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had\r\nestablished him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried\r\nto recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of\r\nintegrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of\r\nMr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those\r\ncasual errors under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy\r\nhad described as the idleness and vice of many years\' continuance. But\r\nno such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before\r\nher, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more\r\nsubstantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and\r\nthe regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After\r\npausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to\r\nread. But, alas! the story which followed, of his designs on Miss\r\nDarcy, received some confirmation from what had passed between Colonel\r\nFitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she was\r\nreferred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam\r\nhimself--from whom she had previously received the information of his\r\nnear concern in all his cousin\'s affairs, and whose character she had no\r\nreason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to\r\nhim, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and\r\nat length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never\r\nhave hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his\r\ncousin\'s corroboration.\r\n\r\nShe perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation\r\nbetween Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips\'s.\r\nMany of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was _now_\r\nstruck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and\r\nwondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting\r\nhimself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions\r\nwith his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear\r\nof seeing Mr. Darcy--that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that\r\n_he_ should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball\r\nthe very next week. She remembered also that, till the Netherfield\r\nfamily had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but\r\nherself; but that after their removal it had been everywhere discussed;\r\nthat he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy\'s\r\ncharacter, though he had assured her that respect for the father would\r\nalways prevent his exposing the son.\r\n\r\nHow differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned!\r\nHis attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and\r\nhatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer\r\nthe moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything.\r\nHis behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had\r\neither been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying\r\nhis vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most\r\nincautiously shown. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter\r\nand fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not\r\nbut allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago\r\nasserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive as\r\nwere his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their\r\nacquaintance--an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much\r\ntogether, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways--seen anything\r\nthat betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust--anything that spoke him\r\nof irreligious or immoral habits; that among his own connections he was\r\nesteemed and valued--that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a\r\nbrother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of his\r\nsister as to prove him capable of _some_ amiable feeling; that had his\r\nactions been what Mr. Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of\r\neverything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and\r\nthat friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man\r\nas Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.\r\n\r\nShe grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham\r\ncould she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced,\r\nabsurd.\r\n\r\n"How despicably I have acted!" she cried; "I, who have prided myself\r\non my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have\r\noften disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified\r\nmy vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this\r\ndiscovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could\r\nnot have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my\r\nfolly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect\r\nof the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted\r\nprepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were\r\nconcerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."\r\n\r\nFrom herself to Jane--from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line\r\nwhich soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy\'s explanation\r\n_there_ had appeared very insufficient, and she read it again. Widely\r\ndifferent was the effect of a second perusal. How could she deny that\r\ncredit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obliged to\r\ngive in the other? He declared himself to be totally unsuspicious of her\r\nsister\'s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte\'s\r\nopinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his\r\ndescription of Jane. She felt that Jane\'s feelings, though fervent, were\r\nlittle displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air\r\nand manner not often united with great sensibility.\r\n\r\nWhen she came to that part of the letter in which her family were\r\nmentioned in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense\r\nof shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly\r\nfor denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded as\r\nhaving passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first\r\ndisapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind\r\nthan on hers.\r\n\r\nThe compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed,\r\nbut it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been\r\nself-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered\r\nthat Jane\'s disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest\r\nrelations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt\r\nby such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she\r\nhad ever known before.\r\n\r\nAfter wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every\r\nvariety of thought--re-considering events, determining probabilities,\r\nand reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and\r\nso important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made\r\nher at length return home; and she entered the house with the wish\r\nof appearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such\r\nreflections as must make her unfit for conversation.\r\n\r\nShe was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each\r\ncalled during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, to take\r\nleave--but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least\r\nan hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her\r\ntill she could be found. Elizabeth could but just _affect_ concern\r\nin missing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no\r\nlonger an object; she could think only of her letter.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 37\r\n\r\n\r\nThe two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins having\r\nbeen in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was\r\nable to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very\r\ngood health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the\r\nmelancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then\r\nhastened, to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return\r\nbrought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her ladyship,\r\nimporting that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of\r\nhaving them all to dine with her.\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had\r\nshe chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as\r\nher future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her\r\nladyship\'s indignation would have been. "What would she have said? how\r\nwould she have behaved?" were questions with which she amused herself.\r\n\r\nTheir first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. "I assure\r\nyou, I feel it exceedingly," said Lady Catherine; "I believe no one\r\nfeels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly\r\nattached to these young men, and know them to be so much attached to\r\nme! They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The\r\ndear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy\r\nseemed to feel it most acutely, more, I think, than last year. His\r\nattachment to Rosings certainly increases."\r\n\r\nMr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which\r\nwere kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.\r\n\r\nLady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of\r\nspirits, and immediately accounting for it by herself, by supposing that\r\nshe did not like to go home again so soon, she added:\r\n\r\n"But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that\r\nyou may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your\r\ncompany, I am sure."\r\n\r\n"I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation," replied\r\nElizabeth, "but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town\r\nnext Saturday."\r\n\r\n"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected\r\nyou to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There\r\ncan be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly\r\nspare you for another fortnight."\r\n\r\n"But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return."\r\n\r\n"Oh! your father of course may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters\r\nare never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will stay\r\nanother _month_ complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as\r\nfar as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; and as\r\nDawson does not object to the barouche-box, there will be very good room\r\nfor one of you--and indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I\r\nshould not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large."\r\n\r\n"You are all kindness, madam; but I believe we must abide by our\r\noriginal plan."\r\n\r\nLady Catherine seemed resigned. "Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant\r\nwith them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea\r\nof two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper.\r\nYou must contrive to send somebody. I have the greatest dislike in\r\nthe world to that sort of thing. Young women should always be properly\r\nguarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When my\r\nniece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her\r\nhaving two men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, the daughter of\r\nMr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have appeared with\r\npropriety in a different manner. I am excessively attentive to all those\r\nthings. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I\r\nam glad it occurred to me to mention it; for it would really be\r\ndiscreditable to _you_ to let them go alone."\r\n\r\n"My uncle is to send a servant for us."\r\n\r\n"Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you\r\nhave somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change horses?\r\nOh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be\r\nattended to."\r\n\r\nLady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey,\r\nand as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary,\r\nwhich Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a mind so\r\noccupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be\r\nreserved for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it\r\nas the greatest relief; and not a day went by without a solitary\r\nwalk, in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant\r\nrecollections.\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy\'s letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She\r\nstudied every sentence; and her feelings towards its writer were at\r\ntimes widely different. When she remembered the style of his address,\r\nshe was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly\r\nshe had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against\r\nherself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion.\r\nHis attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but she\r\ncould not approve him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal,\r\nor feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. In her own past\r\nbehaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret; and in\r\nthe unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin.\r\nThey were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at\r\nthem, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his\r\nyoungest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right\r\nherself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently\r\nunited with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine\r\nand Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother\'s indulgence,\r\nwhat chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited,\r\nirritable, and completely under Lydia\'s guidance, had been always\r\naffronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would\r\nscarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While\r\nthere was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while\r\nMeryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there\r\nforever.\r\n\r\nAnxiety on Jane\'s behalf was another prevailing concern; and Mr. Darcy\'s\r\nexplanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good opinion,\r\nheightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was proved\r\nto have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless any\r\ncould attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How\r\ngrievous then was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every\r\nrespect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness, Jane had\r\nbeen deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her own family!\r\n\r\nWhen to these recollections was added the development of Wickham\'s\r\ncharacter, it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had\r\nseldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it\r\nalmost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.\r\n\r\nTheir engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the last week of\r\nher stay as they had been at first. The very last evening was spent\r\nthere; and her ladyship again inquired minutely into the particulars of\r\ntheir journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing,\r\nand was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right\r\nway, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the\r\nwork of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.\r\n\r\nWhen they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them\r\na good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year;\r\nand Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her\r\nhand to both.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 38\r\n\r\n\r\nOn Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few\r\nminutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of\r\npaying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.\r\n\r\n"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said he, "whether Mrs. Collins has yet\r\nexpressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us; but I am very\r\ncertain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for\r\nit. The favour of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We\r\nknow how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode. Our plain\r\nmanner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and the little we\r\nsee of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like\r\nyourself; but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension,\r\nand that we have done everything in our power to prevent your spending\r\nyour time unpleasantly."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She\r\nhad spent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with\r\nCharlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make _her_\r\nfeel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling\r\nsolemnity replied:\r\n\r\n"It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your time not\r\ndisagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most fortunately\r\nhaving it in our power to introduce you to very superior society, and,\r\nfrom our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the\r\nhumble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford\r\nvisit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to\r\nLady Catherine\'s family is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage\r\nand blessing which few can boast. You see on what a footing we are. You\r\nsee how continually we are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge\r\nthat, with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should\r\nnot think anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, while they are\r\nsharers of our intimacy at Rosings."\r\n\r\nWords were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was\r\nobliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility\r\nand truth in a few short sentences.\r\n\r\n"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into\r\nHertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will\r\nbe able to do so. Lady Catherine\'s great attentions to Mrs. Collins you\r\nhave been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear\r\nthat your friend has drawn an unfortunate--but on this point it will be\r\nas well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth,\r\nthat I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in\r\nmarriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of\r\nthinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of\r\ncharacter and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each\r\nother."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness where that was\r\nthe case, and with equal sincerity could add, that she firmly believed\r\nand rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry, however, to\r\nhave the recital of them interrupted by the lady from whom they sprang.\r\nPoor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she\r\nhad chosen it with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that\r\nher visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her\r\nhome and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their\r\ndependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms.\r\n\r\nAt length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels\r\nplaced within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate\r\nparting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by\r\nMr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning her\r\nwith his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks\r\nfor the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his\r\ncompliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her\r\nin, Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being closed,\r\nwhen he suddenly reminded them, with some consternation, that they had\r\nhitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies at Rosings.\r\n\r\n"But," he added, "you will of course wish to have your humble respects\r\ndelivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you\r\nwhile you have been here."\r\n\r\nElizabeth made no objection; the door was then allowed to be shut, and\r\nthe carriage drove off.\r\n\r\n"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a few minutes\' silence, "it seems\r\nbut a day or two since we first came! and yet how many things have\r\nhappened!"\r\n\r\n"A great many indeed," said her companion with a sigh.\r\n\r\n"We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice!\r\nHow much I shall have to tell!"\r\n\r\nElizabeth added privately, "And how much I shall have to conceal!"\r\n\r\nTheir journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm; and\r\nwithin four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr. Gardiner\'s\r\nhouse, where they were to remain a few days.\r\n\r\nJane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her\r\nspirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her\r\naunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at\r\nLongbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.\r\n\r\nIt was not without an effort, meanwhile, that she could wait even for\r\nLongbourn, before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy\'s proposals. To know\r\nthat she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish\r\nJane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever of her own\r\nvanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was such a temptation\r\nto openness as nothing could have conquered but the state of indecision\r\nin which she remained as to the extent of what she should communicate;\r\nand her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hurried\r\ninto repeating something of Bingley which might only grieve her sister\r\nfurther.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 39\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out\r\ntogether from Gracechurch Street for the town of ----, in Hertfordshire;\r\nand, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet\'s carriage\r\nwas to meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman\'s\r\npunctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room up stairs.\r\nThese two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed\r\nin visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and\r\ndressing a salad and cucumber.\r\n\r\nAfter welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set\r\nout with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming,\r\n"Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?"\r\n\r\n"And we mean to treat you all," added Lydia, "but you must lend us the\r\nmoney, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there." Then, showing\r\nher purchases--"Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think\r\nit is very pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall\r\npull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any\r\nbetter."\r\n\r\nAnd when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect\r\nunconcern, "Oh! but there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and\r\nwhen I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I\r\nthink it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what\r\none wears this summer, after the ----shire have left Meryton, and they\r\nare going in a fortnight."\r\n\r\n"Are they indeed!" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.\r\n\r\n"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want papa to\r\ntake us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme;\r\nand I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to\r\ngo too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall\r\nhave!"\r\n\r\n"Yes," thought Elizabeth, "_that_ would be a delightful scheme indeed,\r\nand completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole\r\ncampful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor\r\nregiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!"\r\n\r\n"Now I have got some news for you," said Lydia, as they sat down at\r\ntable. "What do you think? It is excellent news--capital news--and about\r\na certain person we all like!"\r\n\r\nJane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he need\r\nnot stay. Lydia laughed, and said:\r\n\r\n"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the\r\nwaiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse\r\nthings said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad\r\nhe is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for\r\nmy news; it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is it not?\r\nThere is no danger of Wickham\'s marrying Mary King. There\'s for you! She\r\nis gone down to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay. Wickham is safe."\r\n\r\n"And Mary King is safe!" added Elizabeth; "safe from a connection\r\nimprudent as to fortune."\r\n\r\n"She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him."\r\n\r\n"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side," said Jane.\r\n\r\n"I am sure there is not on _his_. I will answer for it, he never cared\r\nthree straws about her--who could about such a nasty little freckled\r\nthing?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such\r\ncoarseness of _expression_ herself, the coarseness of the _sentiment_\r\nwas little other than her own breast had harboured and fancied liberal!\r\n\r\nAs soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was\r\nordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their\r\nboxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty\'s and\r\nLydia\'s purchases, were seated in it.\r\n\r\n"How nicely we are all crammed in," cried Lydia. "I am glad I bought my\r\nbonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now\r\nlet us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way\r\nhome. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all\r\nsince you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any\r\nflirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband\r\nbefore you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare.\r\nShe is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be of not\r\nbeing married before three-and-twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so to\r\nget husbands, you can\'t think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr.\r\nCollins; but _I_ do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord!\r\nhow I should like to be married before any of you; and then I would\r\nchaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece\r\nof fun the other day at Colonel Forster\'s. Kitty and me were to spend\r\nthe day there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the\r\nevening; (by the bye, Mrs. Forster and me are _such_ friends!) and so\r\nshe asked the two Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen\r\nwas forced to come by herself; and then, what do you think we did? We\r\ndressed up Chamberlayne in woman\'s clothes on purpose to pass for a\r\nlady, only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs.\r\nForster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow\r\none of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny,\r\nand Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they\r\ndid not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs.\r\nForster. I thought I should have died. And _that_ made the men suspect\r\nsomething, and then they soon found out what was the matter."\r\n\r\nWith such kinds of histories of their parties and good jokes, did\r\nLydia, assisted by Kitty\'s hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her\r\ncompanions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she\r\ncould, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham\'s name.\r\n\r\nTheir reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane\r\nin undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet\r\nsay voluntarily to Elizabeth:\r\n\r\n"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."\r\n\r\nTheir party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases\r\ncame to meet Maria and hear the news; and various were the subjects that\r\noccupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiring of Maria, after the welfare and\r\npoultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly engaged, on one\r\nhand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who sat\r\nsome way below her, and, on the other, retailing them all to the younger\r\nLucases; and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person\'s,\r\nwas enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who\r\nwould hear her.\r\n\r\n"Oh! Mary," said she, "I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun!\r\nAs we went along, Kitty and I drew up the blinds, and pretended there\r\nwas nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty\r\nhad not been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved\r\nvery handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold\r\nluncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated\r\nyou too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never\r\nshould have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then\r\nwe were so merry all the way home! we talked and laughed so loud, that\r\nanybody might have heard us ten miles off!"\r\n\r\nTo this Mary very gravely replied, "Far be it from me, my dear sister,\r\nto depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial with the\r\ngenerality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for\r\n_me_--I should infinitely prefer a book."\r\n\r\nBut of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom listened to\r\nanybody for more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at all.\r\n\r\nIn the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk\r\nto Meryton, and to see how everybody went on; but Elizabeth steadily\r\nopposed the scheme. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could\r\nnot be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers.\r\nThere was another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Mr.\r\nWickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The\r\ncomfort to _her_ of the regiment\'s approaching removal was indeed beyond\r\nexpression. In a fortnight they were to go--and once gone, she hoped\r\nthere could be nothing more to plague her on his account.\r\n\r\nShe had not been many hours at home before she found that the Brighton\r\nscheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under\r\nfrequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw directly that her\r\nfather had not the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers were\r\nat the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often\r\ndisheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 40\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could\r\nno longer be overcome; and at length, resolving to suppress every\r\nparticular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be\r\nsurprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the scene\r\nbetween Mr. Darcy and herself.\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet\'s astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly\r\npartiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly\r\nnatural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was\r\nsorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so\r\nlittle suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the\r\nunhappiness which her sister\'s refusal must have given him.\r\n\r\n"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong," said she, "and certainly\r\nought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his\r\ndisappointment!"\r\n\r\n"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorry for him; but he has\r\nother feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me.\r\nYou do not blame me, however, for refusing him?"\r\n\r\n"Blame you! Oh, no."\r\n\r\n"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?"\r\n\r\n"No--I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did."\r\n\r\n"But you _will_ know it, when I tell you what happened the very next\r\nday."\r\n\r\nShe then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far\r\nas they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane!\r\nwho would willingly have gone through the world without believing that\r\nso much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here\r\ncollected in one individual. Nor was Darcy\'s vindication, though\r\ngrateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery.\r\nMost earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and\r\nseek to clear the one without involving the other.\r\n\r\n"This will not do," said Elizabeth; "you never will be able to make both\r\nof them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied\r\nwith only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just\r\nenough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting\r\nabout pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy\'s;\r\nbut you shall do as you choose."\r\n\r\nIt was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.\r\n\r\n"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said she. "Wickham so\r\nvery bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only\r\nconsider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the\r\nknowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing\r\nof his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it\r\nso."\r\n\r\n"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so\r\nfull of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am\r\ngrowing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion\r\nmakes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will\r\nbe as light as a feather."\r\n\r\n"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his\r\ncountenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!"\r\n\r\n"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those\r\ntwo young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the\r\nappearance of it."\r\n\r\n"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the _appearance_ of it as you\r\nused to do."\r\n\r\n"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike\r\nto him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one\'s genius, such an\r\nopening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually\r\nabusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always be laughing\r\nat a man without now and then stumbling on something witty."\r\n\r\n"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat\r\nthe matter as you do now."\r\n\r\n"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say unhappy. And\r\nwith no one to speak to about what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say\r\nthat I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I\r\nhad! Oh! how I wanted you!"\r\n\r\n"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions\r\nin speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they _do_ appear wholly\r\nundeserved."\r\n\r\n"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most\r\nnatural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There\r\nis one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I\r\nought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand\r\nWickham\'s character."\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can be no\r\noccasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?"\r\n\r\n"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me\r\nto make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular\r\nrelative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to\r\nmyself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his\r\nconduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy\r\nis so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in\r\nMeryton to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal\r\nto it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to\r\nanyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found out,\r\nand then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At\r\npresent I will say nothing about it."\r\n\r\n"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for\r\never. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to\r\nre-establish a character. We must not make him desperate."\r\n\r\nThe tumult of Elizabeth\'s mind was allayed by this conversation. She had\r\ngot rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight,\r\nand was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might wish\r\nto talk again of either. But there was still something lurking behind,\r\nof which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the other\r\nhalf of Mr. Darcy\'s letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she\r\nhad been valued by her friend. Here was knowledge in which no one\r\ncould partake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect\r\nunderstanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off\r\nthis last encumbrance of mystery. "And then," said she, "if that very\r\nimprobable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to\r\ntell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The\r\nliberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!"\r\n\r\nShe was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real\r\nstate of her sister\'s spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a\r\nvery tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself\r\nin love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment,\r\nand, from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first\r\nattachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance,\r\nand prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her\r\nattention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the\r\nindulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own\r\nhealth and their tranquillity.\r\n\r\n"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "what is your opinion _now_ of\r\nthis sad business of Jane\'s? For my part, I am determined never to speak\r\nof it again to anybody. I told my sister Phillips so the other day. But\r\nI cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is\r\na very undeserving young man--and I do not suppose there\'s the least\r\nchance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of\r\nhis coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of\r\neverybody, too, who is likely to know."\r\n\r\n"I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more."\r\n\r\n"Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I\r\nshall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I\r\nwould not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will\r\ndie of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."\r\n\r\nBut as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation,\r\nshe made no answer.\r\n\r\n"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother, soon afterwards, "and so the\r\nCollinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope\r\nit will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an\r\nexcellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her\r\nmother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in _their_\r\nhousekeeping, I dare say."\r\n\r\n"No, nothing at all."\r\n\r\n"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes, _they_ will\r\ntake care not to outrun their income. _They_ will never be distressed\r\nfor money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often\r\ntalk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it as\r\nquite their own, I dare say, whenever that happens."\r\n\r\n"It was a subject which they could not mention before me."\r\n\r\n"No; it would have been strange if they had; but I make no doubt they\r\noften talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an\r\nestate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be\r\nashamed of having one that was only entailed on me."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 41\r\n\r\n\r\nThe first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was\r\nthe last of the regiment\'s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies\r\nin the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost\r\nuniversal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink,\r\nand sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very\r\nfrequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and\r\nLydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such\r\nhard-heartedness in any of the family.\r\n\r\n"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?" would they\r\noften exclaim in the bitterness of woe. "How can you be smiling so,\r\nLizzy?"\r\n\r\nTheir affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what\r\nshe had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years\r\nago.\r\n\r\n"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel\r\nMiller\'s regiment went away. I thought I should have broken my heart."\r\n\r\n"I am sure I shall break _mine_," said Lydia.\r\n\r\n"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs. Bennet.\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes!--if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so\r\ndisagreeable."\r\n\r\n"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."\r\n\r\n"And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do _me_ a great deal of good,"\r\nadded Kitty.\r\n\r\nSuch were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through\r\nLongbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense\r\nof pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy\'s\r\nobjections; and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his\r\ninterference in the views of his friend.\r\n\r\nBut the gloom of Lydia\'s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she\r\nreceived an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of\r\nthe regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a\r\nvery young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour\r\nand good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of\r\ntheir _three_ months\' acquaintance they had been intimate _two_.\r\n\r\nThe rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster,\r\nthe delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely\r\nto be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister\'s feelings, Lydia\r\nflew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone\'s\r\ncongratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever;\r\nwhilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repined at her fate\r\nin terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.\r\n\r\n"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask _me_ as well as Lydia,"\r\nsaid she, "Though I am _not_ her particular friend. I have just as much\r\nright to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."\r\n\r\nIn vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make\r\nher resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from\r\nexciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she\r\nconsidered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense\r\nfor the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it\r\nknown, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her\r\ngo. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia\'s general\r\nbehaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of\r\nsuch a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more\r\nimprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must\r\nbe greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said:\r\n\r\n"Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public\r\nplace or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so\r\nlittle expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present\r\ncircumstances."\r\n\r\n"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to\r\nus all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia\'s unguarded and\r\nimprudent manner--nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you\r\nwould judge differently in the affair."\r\n\r\n"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she frightened away\r\nsome of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such\r\nsqueamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity\r\nare not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who\r\nhave been kept aloof by Lydia\'s folly."\r\n\r\n"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not\r\nof particular, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our\r\nimportance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the\r\nwild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark\r\nLydia\'s character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear\r\nfather, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and\r\nof teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of\r\nher life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character\r\nwill be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt\r\nthat ever made herself or her family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the\r\nworst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond\r\nyouth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness\r\nof her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal\r\ncontempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger\r\nKitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain,\r\nignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you\r\nsuppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever\r\nthey are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the\r\ndisgrace?"\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and\r\naffectionately taking her hand said in reply:\r\n\r\n"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known\r\nyou must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less\r\nadvantage for having a couple of--or I may say, three--very silly\r\nsisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to\r\nBrighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will\r\nkeep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an\r\nobject of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance\r\neven as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find\r\nwomen better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being\r\nthere may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow\r\nmany degrees worse, without authorising us to lock her up for the rest\r\nof her life."\r\n\r\nWith this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion\r\ncontinued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not\r\nin her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on\r\nthem. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret\r\nover unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her\r\ndisposition.\r\n\r\nHad Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her\r\nfather, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their\r\nunited volubility. In Lydia\'s imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised\r\nevery possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the creative eye\r\nof fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers.\r\nShe saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them\r\nat present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp--its tents\r\nstretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young\r\nand the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and, to complete the view, she\r\nsaw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six\r\nofficers at once.\r\n\r\nHad she known her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and such\r\nrealities as these, what would have been her sensations? They could have\r\nbeen understood only by her mother, who might have felt nearly the same.\r\nLydia\'s going to Brighton was all that consoled her for her melancholy\r\nconviction of her husband\'s never intending to go there himself.\r\n\r\nBut they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures\r\ncontinued, with little intermission, to the very day of Lydia\'s leaving\r\nhome.\r\n\r\nElizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. Having been\r\nfrequently in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty\r\nwell over; the agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had even\r\nlearnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted\r\nher, an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present\r\nbehaviour to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure,\r\nfor the inclination he soon testified of renewing those intentions which\r\nhad marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve, after\r\nwhat had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern for him in\r\nfinding herself thus selected as the object of such idle and frivolous\r\ngallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the\r\nreproof contained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever\r\ncause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified,\r\nand her preference secured at any time by their renewal.\r\n\r\nOn the very last day of the regiment\'s remaining at Meryton, he dined,\r\nwith other of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth\r\ndisposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making some\r\ninquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she\r\nmentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam\'s and Mr. Darcy\'s having both spent three\r\nweeks at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.\r\n\r\nHe looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment\'s\r\nrecollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen\r\nhim often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man,\r\nasked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour.\r\nWith an air of indifference he soon afterwards added:\r\n\r\n"How long did you say he was at Rosings?"\r\n\r\n"Nearly three weeks."\r\n\r\n"And you saw him frequently?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, almost every day."\r\n\r\n"His manners are very different from his cousin\'s."\r\n\r\n"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance."\r\n\r\n"Indeed!" cried Mr. Wickham with a look which did not escape her. "And\r\npray, may I ask?--" But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is\r\nit in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility\r\nto his ordinary style?--for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower\r\nand more serious tone, "that he is improved in essentials."\r\n\r\n"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very much\r\nwhat he ever was."\r\n\r\nWhile she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to\r\nrejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a\r\nsomething in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive\r\nand anxious attention, while she added:\r\n\r\n"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that\r\nhis mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from\r\nknowing him better, his disposition was better understood."\r\n\r\nWickham\'s alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated\r\nlook; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking off his\r\nembarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of\r\naccents:\r\n\r\n"You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Darcy, will readily\r\ncomprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume\r\neven the _appearance_ of what is right. His pride, in that direction,\r\nmay be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must only\r\ndeter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only\r\nfear that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been\r\nalluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good\r\nopinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always\r\noperated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be\r\nimputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I\r\nam certain he has very much at heart."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a\r\nslight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on\r\nthe old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humour to indulge\r\nhim. The rest of the evening passed with the _appearance_, on his\r\nside, of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to distinguish\r\nElizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a\r\nmutual desire of never meeting again.\r\n\r\nWhen the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton,\r\nfrom whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation\r\nbetween her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the\r\nonly one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs.\r\nBennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter,\r\nand impressive in her injunctions that she should not miss the\r\nopportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible--advice which\r\nthere was every reason to believe would be well attended to; and in\r\nthe clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more\r\ngentle adieus of her sisters were uttered without being heard.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 42\r\n\r\n\r\nHad Elizabeth\'s opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could\r\nnot have formed a very pleasing opinion of conjugal felicity or domestic\r\ncomfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance\r\nof good humour which youth and beauty generally give, had married a\r\nwoman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early in\r\ntheir marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,\r\nesteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views\r\nof domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of\r\na disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own\r\nimprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often\r\nconsole the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of\r\nthe country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal\r\nenjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as\r\nher ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not\r\nthe sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his\r\nwife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true\r\nphilosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her\r\nfather\'s behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but\r\nrespecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of\r\nherself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to\r\nbanish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation\r\nand decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own\r\nchildren, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so\r\nstrongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so\r\nunsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising\r\nfrom so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, which, rightly used,\r\nmight at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even\r\nif incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.\r\n\r\nWhen Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham\'s departure she found little\r\nother cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties\r\nabroad were less varied than before, and at home she had a mother and\r\nsister whose constant repinings at the dullness of everything around\r\nthem threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty\r\nmight in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the disturbers\r\nof her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition\r\ngreater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all\r\nher folly and assurance by a situation of such double danger as a\r\nwatering-place and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she found, what\r\nhas been sometimes found before, that an event to which she had been\r\nlooking with impatient desire did not, in taking place, bring all the\r\nsatisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary to\r\nname some other period for the commencement of actual felicity--to have\r\nsome other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by\r\nagain enjoying the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the\r\npresent, and prepare for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes\r\nwas now the object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation\r\nfor all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of her mother\r\nand Kitty made inevitable; and could she have included Jane in the\r\nscheme, every part of it would have been perfect.\r\n\r\n"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something to wish for.\r\nWere the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain.\r\nBut here, by carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my\r\nsister\'s absence, I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of\r\npleasure realised. A scheme of which every part promises delight can\r\nnever be successful; and general disappointment is only warded off by\r\nthe defence of some little peculiar vexation."\r\n\r\nWhen Lydia went away she promised to write very often and very minutely\r\nto her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and\r\nalways very short. Those to her mother contained little else than that\r\nthey were just returned from the library, where such and such officers\r\nhad attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as\r\nmade her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which\r\nshe would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave off in a\r\nviolent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going off to\r\nthe camp; and from her correspondence with her sister, there was still\r\nless to be learnt--for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were\r\nmuch too full of lines under the words to be made public.\r\n\r\nAfter the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good\r\nhumour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. Everything wore\r\na happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter came\r\nback again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet\r\nwas restored to her usual querulous serenity; and, by the middle of\r\nJune, Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without\r\ntears; an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that by\r\nthe following Christmas she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to\r\nmention an officer above once a day, unless, by some cruel and malicious\r\narrangement at the War Office, another regiment should be quartered in\r\nMeryton.\r\n\r\nThe time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now fast\r\napproaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter\r\narrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and\r\ncurtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from\r\nsetting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again\r\nwithin a month, and as that left too short a period for them to go so\r\nfar, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with\r\nthe leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up\r\nthe Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour, and, according to the\r\npresent plan, were to go no farther northwards than Derbyshire. In that\r\ncounty there was enough to be seen to occupy the chief of their three\r\nweeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The\r\ntown where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where\r\nthey were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of\r\nher curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth,\r\nDovedale, or the Peak.\r\n\r\nElizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on seeing\r\nthe Lakes, and still thought there might have been time enough. But it\r\nwas her business to be satisfied--and certainly her temper to be happy;\r\nand all was soon right again.\r\n\r\nWith the mention of Derbyshire there were many ideas connected. It was\r\nimpossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its\r\nowner. "But surely," said she, "I may enter his county with impunity,\r\nand rob it of a few petrified spars without his perceiving me."\r\n\r\nThe period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass away\r\nbefore her uncle and aunt\'s arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr.\r\nand Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at length appear at\r\nLongbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two\r\nyounger boys, were to be left under the particular care of their\r\ncousin Jane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense and\r\nsweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every\r\nway--teaching them, playing with them, and loving them.\r\n\r\nThe Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off the\r\nnext morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement.\r\nOne enjoyment was certain--that of suitableness of companions;\r\na suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear\r\ninconveniences--cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure--and affection\r\nand intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were\r\ndisappointments abroad.\r\n\r\nIt is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire,\r\nnor of any of the remarkable places through which their route thither\r\nlay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham, etc. are\r\nsufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present\r\nconcern. To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner\'s\r\nformer residence, and where she had lately learned some acquaintance\r\nstill remained, they bent their steps, after having seen all the\r\nprincipal wonders of the country; and within five miles of Lambton,\r\nElizabeth found from her aunt that Pemberley was situated. It was not\r\nin their direct road, nor more than a mile or two out of it. In\r\ntalking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed\r\nan inclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his\r\nwillingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.\r\n\r\n"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have heard\r\nso much?" said her aunt; "a place, too, with which so many of your\r\nacquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you\r\nknow."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at\r\nPemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She\r\nmust own that she was tired of seeing great houses; after going over so\r\nmany, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it were merely a fine house\r\nrichly furnished," said she, "I should not care about it myself; but\r\nthe grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the\r\ncountry."\r\n\r\nElizabeth said no more--but her mind could not acquiesce. The\r\npossibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly\r\noccurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea, and\r\nthought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run such\r\na risk. But against this there were objections; and she finally resolved\r\nthat it could be the last resource, if her private inquiries to the\r\nabsence of the family were unfavourably answered.\r\n\r\nAccordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid\r\nwhether Pemberley were not a very fine place? what was the name of its\r\nproprietor? and, with no little alarm, whether the family were down for\r\nthe summer? A most welcome negative followed the last question--and her\r\nalarms now being removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of\r\ncuriosity to see the house herself; and when the subject was revived the\r\nnext morning, and she was again applied to, could readily answer, and\r\nwith a proper air of indifference, that she had not really any dislike\r\nto the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 43\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of\r\nPemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned\r\nin at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.\r\n\r\nThe park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They\r\nentered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through\r\na beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired\r\nevery remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for\r\nhalf-a-mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable\r\neminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by\r\nPemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which\r\nthe road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone\r\nbuilding, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of\r\nhigh woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance was\r\nswelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks\r\nwere neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She\r\nhad never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural\r\nbeauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were\r\nall of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that\r\nto be mistress of Pemberley might be something!\r\n\r\nThey descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door; and,\r\nwhile examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehension of\r\nmeeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been\r\nmistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the\r\nhall; and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to\r\nwonder at her being where she was.\r\n\r\nThe housekeeper came; a respectable-looking elderly woman, much less\r\nfine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They\r\nfollowed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well proportioned\r\nroom, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went\r\nto a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, which\r\nthey had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance,\r\nwas a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and\r\nshe looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its\r\nbanks and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it,\r\nwith delight. As they passed into other rooms these objects were taking\r\ndifferent positions; but from every window there were beauties to be\r\nseen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to\r\nthe fortune of its proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of\r\nhis taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of\r\nsplendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.\r\n\r\n"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been mistress! With\r\nthese rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of\r\nviewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and\r\nwelcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But no,"--recollecting\r\nherself--"that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to\r\nme; I should not have been allowed to invite them."\r\n\r\nThis was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something very like\r\nregret.\r\n\r\nShe longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really\r\nabsent, but had not the courage for it. At length however, the question\r\nwas asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs.\r\nReynolds replied that he was, adding, "But we expect him to-morrow, with\r\na large party of friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own\r\njourney had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!\r\n\r\nHer aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached and saw the\r\nlikeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst several other miniatures,\r\nover the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it.\r\nThe housekeeper came forward, and told them it was a picture of a young\r\ngentleman, the son of her late master\'s steward, who had been brought\r\nup by him at his own expense. "He is now gone into the army," she added;\r\n"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not\r\nreturn it.\r\n\r\n"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures,\r\n"is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the\r\nother--about eight years ago."\r\n\r\n"I have heard much of your master\'s fine person," said Mrs. Gardiner,\r\nlooking at the picture; "it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell\r\nus whether it is like or not."\r\n\r\nMrs. Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this\r\nintimation of her knowing her master.\r\n\r\n"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth coloured, and said: "A little."\r\n\r\n"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma\'am?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, very handsome."\r\n\r\n"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery up stairs you\r\nwill see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late\r\nmaster\'s favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to\r\nbe then. He was very fond of them."\r\n\r\nThis accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham\'s being among them.\r\n\r\nMrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn\r\nwhen she was only eight years old.\r\n\r\n"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mrs. Gardiner.\r\n\r\n"Oh! yes--the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so\r\naccomplished!--She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is\r\na new instrument just come down for her--a present from my master; she\r\ncomes here to-morrow with him."\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant, encouraged her\r\ncommunicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs. Reynolds, either\r\nby pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her\r\nmaster and his sister.\r\n\r\n"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"\r\n\r\n"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare say he may spend half his\r\ntime here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months."\r\n\r\n"Except," thought Elizabeth, "when she goes to Ramsgate."\r\n\r\n"If your master would marry, you might see more of him."\r\n\r\n"Yes, sir; but I do not know when _that_ will be. I do not know who is\r\ngood enough for him."\r\n\r\nMr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, "It is\r\nvery much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so."\r\n\r\n"I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows him,"\r\nreplied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far; and she\r\nlistened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "I have\r\nnever known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever\r\nsince he was four years old."\r\n\r\nThis was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to her\r\nideas. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion.\r\nHer keenest attention was awakened; she longed to hear more, and was\r\ngrateful to her uncle for saying:\r\n\r\n"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in\r\nhaving such a master."\r\n\r\n"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could\r\nnot meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are\r\ngood-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and\r\nhe was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the\r\nworld."\r\n\r\nElizabeth almost stared at her. "Can this be Mr. Darcy?" thought she.\r\n\r\n"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs. Gardiner.\r\n\r\n"Yes, ma\'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him--just\r\nas affable to the poor."\r\n\r\nElizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs.\r\nReynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subjects\r\nof the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the\r\nfurniture, in vain. Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family\r\nprejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her\r\nmaster, soon led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his\r\nmany merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase.\r\n\r\n"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that ever\r\nlived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but\r\nthemselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but will give\r\nhim a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw\r\nanything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away\r\nlike other young men."\r\n\r\n"In what an amiable light does this place him!" thought Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt as they walked, "is not\r\nquite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps we might be deceived."\r\n\r\n"That is not very likely; our authority was too good."\r\n\r\nOn reaching the spacious lobby above they were shown into a very pretty\r\nsitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than\r\nthe apartments below; and were informed that it was but just done to\r\ngive pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room when\r\nlast at Pemberley.\r\n\r\n"He is certainly a good brother," said Elizabeth, as she walked towards\r\none of the windows.\r\n\r\nMrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy\'s delight, when she should enter\r\nthe room. "And this is always the way with him," she added. "Whatever\r\ncan give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There\r\nis nothing he would not do for her."\r\n\r\nThe picture-gallery, and two or three of the principal bedrooms, were\r\nall that remained to be shown. In the former were many good paintings;\r\nbut Elizabeth knew nothing of the art; and from such as had been already\r\nvisible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss\r\nDarcy\'s, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and\r\nalso more intelligible.\r\n\r\nIn the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have\r\nlittle to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth walked in quest of\r\nthe only face whose features would be known to her. At last it arrested\r\nher--and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy, with such a\r\nsmile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he\r\nlooked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture, in earnest\r\ncontemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery.\r\nMrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father\'s\r\nlifetime.\r\n\r\nThere was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth\'s mind, a more gentle\r\nsensation towards the original than she had ever felt at the height of\r\ntheir acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds\r\nwas of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise\r\nof an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she\r\nconsidered how many people\'s happiness were in his guardianship!--how\r\nmuch of pleasure or pain was it in his power to bestow!--how much of\r\ngood or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought\r\nforward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she\r\nstood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his\r\neyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of\r\ngratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and\r\nsoftened its impropriety of expression.\r\n\r\nWhen all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen,\r\nthey returned downstairs, and, taking leave of the housekeeper, were\r\nconsigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall-door.\r\n\r\nAs they walked across the hall towards the river, Elizabeth turned back\r\nto look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and while the former\r\nwas conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself\r\nsuddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables.\r\n\r\nThey were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his\r\nappearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes\r\ninstantly met, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest\r\nblush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from\r\nsurprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party,\r\nand spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least\r\nof perfect civility.\r\n\r\nShe had instinctively turned away; but stopping on his approach,\r\nreceived his compliments with an embarrassment impossible to be\r\novercome. Had his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture\r\nthey had just been examining, been insufficient to assure the other two\r\nthat they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardener\'s expression of surprise, on\r\nbeholding his master, must immediately have told it. They stood a little\r\naloof while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and confused,\r\nscarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what answer\r\nshe returned to his civil inquiries after her family. Amazed at the\r\nalteration of his manner since they last parted, every sentence that\r\nhe uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the\r\nimpropriety of her being found there recurring to her mind, the few\r\nminutes in which they continued were some of the most uncomfortable in\r\nher life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his accent\r\nhad none of its usual sedateness; and he repeated his inquiries as\r\nto the time of her having left Longbourn, and of her having stayed in\r\nDerbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly spoke the\r\ndistraction of his thoughts.\r\n\r\nAt length every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few\r\nmoments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and took\r\nleave.\r\n\r\nThe others then joined her, and expressed admiration of his figure; but\r\nElizabeth heard not a word, and wholly engrossed by her own feelings,\r\nfollowed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her\r\ncoming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the\r\nworld! How strange it must appear to him! In what a disgraceful light\r\nmight it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely\r\nthrown herself in his way again! Oh! why did she come? Or, why did he\r\nthus come a day before he was expected? Had they been only ten minutes\r\nsooner, they should have been beyond the reach of his discrimination;\r\nfor it was plain that he was that moment arrived--that moment alighted\r\nfrom his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and again over\r\nthe perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour, so strikingly\r\naltered--what could it mean? That he should even speak to her was\r\namazing!--but to speak with such civility, to inquire after her family!\r\nNever in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, never\r\nhad he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What\r\na contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put\r\nhis letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, or how to account\r\nfor it.\r\n\r\nThey had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and\r\nevery step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer\r\nreach of the woods to which they were approaching; but it was some time\r\nbefore Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered\r\nmechanically to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and\r\nseemed to direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she\r\ndistinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that\r\none spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then\r\nwas. She longed to know what at the moment was passing in his mind--in\r\nwhat manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of everything,\r\nshe was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only because he\r\nfelt himself at ease; yet there had been _that_ in his voice which was\r\nnot like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in\r\nseeing her she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with\r\ncomposure.\r\n\r\nAt length, however, the remarks of her companions on her absence of mind\r\naroused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like herself.\r\n\r\nThey entered the woods, and bidding adieu to the river for a while,\r\nascended some of the higher grounds; when, in spots where the opening of\r\nthe trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming views of the\r\nvalley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods overspreading\r\nmany, and occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish\r\nof going round the whole park, but feared it might be beyond a walk.\r\nWith a triumphant smile they were told that it was ten miles round.\r\nIt settled the matter; and they pursued the accustomed circuit; which\r\nbrought them again, after some time, in a descent among hanging woods,\r\nto the edge of the water, and one of its narrowest parts. They crossed\r\nit by a simple bridge, in character with the general air of the scene;\r\nit was a spot less adorned than any they had yet visited; and the\r\nvalley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for the stream,\r\nand a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it.\r\nElizabeth longed to explore its windings; but when they had crossed the\r\nbridge, and perceived their distance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner,\r\nwho was not a great walker, could go no farther, and thought only\r\nof returning to the carriage as quickly as possible. Her niece was,\r\ntherefore, obliged to submit, and they took their way towards the house\r\non the opposite side of the river, in the nearest direction; but their\r\nprogress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldom able to indulge the\r\ntaste, was very fond of fishing, and was so much engaged in watching the\r\noccasional appearance of some trout in the water, and talking to the\r\nman about them, that he advanced but little. Whilst wandering on in this\r\nslow manner, they were again surprised, and Elizabeth\'s astonishment\r\nwas quite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr. Darcy\r\napproaching them, and at no great distance. The walk being here\r\nless sheltered than on the other side, allowed them to see him before\r\nthey met. Elizabeth, however astonished, was at least more prepared\r\nfor an interview than before, and resolved to appear and to speak with\r\ncalmness, if he really intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed,\r\nshe felt that he would probably strike into some other path. The idea\r\nlasted while a turning in the walk concealed him from their view; the\r\nturning past, he was immediately before them. With a glance, she saw\r\nthat he had lost none of his recent civility; and, to imitate his\r\npoliteness, she began, as they met, to admire the beauty of the place;\r\nbut she had not got beyond the words "delightful," and "charming," when\r\nsome unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied that praise of\r\nPemberley from her might be mischievously construed. Her colour changed,\r\nand she said no more.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her pausing, he asked\r\nher if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends.\r\nThis was a stroke of civility for which she was quite unprepared;\r\nand she could hardly suppress a smile at his being now seeking the\r\nacquaintance of some of those very people against whom his pride had\r\nrevolted in his offer to herself. "What will be his surprise," thought\r\nshe, "when he knows who they are? He takes them now for people of\r\nfashion."\r\n\r\nThe introduction, however, was immediately made; and as she named their\r\nrelationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him, to see how he bore\r\nit, and was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he\r\ncould from such disgraceful companions. That he was _surprised_ by the\r\nconnection was evident; he sustained it, however, with fortitude, and\r\nso far from going away, turned back with them, and entered into\r\nconversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could not but be pleased,\r\ncould not but triumph. It was consoling that he should know she had\r\nsome relations for whom there was no need to blush. She listened most\r\nattentively to all that passed between them, and gloried in every\r\nexpression, every sentence of her uncle, which marked his intelligence,\r\nhis taste, or his good manners.\r\n\r\nThe conversation soon turned upon fishing; and she heard Mr. Darcy\r\ninvite him, with the greatest civility, to fish there as often as he\r\nchose while he continued in the neighbourhood, offering at the same time\r\nto supply him with fishing tackle, and pointing out those parts of\r\nthe stream where there was usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was\r\nwalking arm-in-arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive of wonder.\r\nElizabeth said nothing, but it gratified her exceedingly; the compliment\r\nmust be all for herself. Her astonishment, however, was extreme, and\r\ncontinually was she repeating, "Why is he so altered? From what can\r\nit proceed? It cannot be for _me_--it cannot be for _my_ sake that his\r\nmanners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a\r\nchange as this. It is impossible that he should still love me."\r\n\r\nAfter walking some time in this way, the two ladies in front, the two\r\ngentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after descending to\r\nthe brink of the river for the better inspection of some curious\r\nwater-plant, there chanced to be a little alteration. It originated\r\nin Mrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found\r\nElizabeth\'s arm inadequate to her support, and consequently preferred\r\nher husband\'s. Mr. Darcy took her place by her niece, and they walked on\r\ntogether. After a short silence, the lady first spoke. She wished him\r\nto know that she had been assured of his absence before she came to the\r\nplace, and accordingly began by observing, that his arrival had been\r\nvery unexpected--"for your housekeeper," she added, "informed us that\r\nyou would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed, before we\r\nleft Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected\r\nin the country." He acknowledged the truth of it all, and said that\r\nbusiness with his steward had occasioned his coming forward a few hours\r\nbefore the rest of the party with whom he had been travelling. "They\r\nwill join me early to-morrow," he continued, "and among them are some\r\nwho will claim an acquaintance with you--Mr. Bingley and his sisters."\r\n\r\nElizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly\r\ndriven back to the time when Mr. Bingley\'s name had been the last\r\nmentioned between them; and, if she might judge by his complexion, _his_\r\nmind was not very differently engaged.\r\n\r\n"There is also one other person in the party," he continued after a\r\npause, "who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow\r\nme, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance\r\nduring your stay at Lambton?"\r\n\r\nThe surprise of such an application was great indeed; it was too great\r\nfor her to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately felt\r\nthat whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her\r\nmust be the work of her brother, and, without looking farther, it was\r\nsatisfactory; it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not made\r\nhim think really ill of her.\r\n\r\nThey now walked on in silence, each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth\r\nwas not comfortable; that was impossible; but she was flattered and\r\npleased. His wish of introducing his sister to her was a compliment of\r\nthe highest kind. They soon outstripped the others, and when they had\r\nreached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a\r\nmile behind.\r\n\r\nHe then asked her to walk into the house--but she declared herself not\r\ntired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a time much might\r\nhave been said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but\r\nthere seemed to be an embargo on every subject. At last she recollected\r\nthat she had been travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale\r\nwith great perseverance. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly--and her\r\npatience and her ideas were nearly worn out before the tete-a-tete was\r\nover. On Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner\'s coming up they were all pressed to go\r\ninto the house and take some refreshment; but this was declined, and\r\nthey parted on each side with utmost politeness. Mr. Darcy handed the\r\nladies into the carriage; and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him\r\nwalking slowly towards the house.\r\n\r\nThe observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them\r\npronounced him to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected.\r\n"He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming," said her uncle.\r\n\r\n"There _is_ something a little stately in him, to be sure," replied her\r\naunt, "but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now\r\nsay with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I\r\nhave seen nothing of it."\r\n\r\n"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more\r\nthan civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such\r\nattention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling."\r\n\r\n"To be sure, Lizzy," said her aunt, "he is not so handsome as Wickham;\r\nor, rather, he has not Wickham\'s countenance, for his features\r\nare perfectly good. But how came you to tell me that he was so\r\ndisagreeable?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that she had liked\r\nhim better when they had met in Kent than before, and that she had never\r\nseen him so pleasant as this morning.\r\n\r\n"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities," replied\r\nher uncle. "Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him\r\nat his word, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off\r\nhis grounds."\r\n\r\nElizabeth felt that they had entirely misunderstood his character, but\r\nsaid nothing.\r\n\r\n"From what we have seen of him," continued Mrs. Gardiner, "I really\r\nshould not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by\r\nanybody as he has done by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured look.\r\nOn the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he\r\nspeaks. And there is something of dignity in his countenance that would\r\nnot give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But, to be sure, the\r\ngood lady who showed us his house did give him a most flaming character!\r\nI could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal\r\nmaster, I suppose, and _that_ in the eye of a servant comprehends every\r\nvirtue."\r\n\r\nElizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication of\r\nhis behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave them to understand, in\r\nas guarded a manner as she could, that by what she had heard from\r\nhis relations in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different\r\nconstruction; and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor\r\nWickham\'s so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire. In\r\nconfirmation of this, she related the particulars of all the pecuniary\r\ntransactions in which they had been connected, without actually naming\r\nher authority, but stating it to be such as might be relied on.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they were now\r\napproaching the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave way to\r\nthe charm of recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing out\r\nto her husband all the interesting spots in its environs to think of\r\nanything else. Fatigued as she had been by the morning\'s walk they\r\nhad no sooner dined than she set off again in quest of her former\r\nacquaintance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions of a\r\nintercourse renewed after many years\' discontinuance.\r\n\r\nThe occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave Elizabeth\r\nmuch attention for any of these new friends; and she could do nothing\r\nbut think, and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy\'s civility, and, above\r\nall, of his wishing her to be acquainted with his sister.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 44\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit\r\nher the very day after her reaching Pemberley; and was consequently\r\nresolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning.\r\nBut her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after their\r\narrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking about the\r\nplace with some of their new friends, and were just returning to the inn\r\nto dress themselves for dining with the same family, when the sound of a\r\ncarriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman and a lady in\r\na curricle driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately recognizing\r\nthe livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small degree of her\r\nsurprise to her relations by acquainting them with the honour which she\r\nexpected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement; and the embarrassment\r\nof her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance itself, and many\r\nof the circumstances of the preceding day, opened to them a new idea on\r\nthe business. Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they felt that\r\nthere was no other way of accounting for such attentions from such a\r\nquarter than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While these\r\nnewly-born notions were passing in their heads, the perturbation of\r\nElizabeth\'s feelings was at every moment increasing. She was quite\r\namazed at her own discomposure; but amongst other causes of disquiet,\r\nshe dreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much\r\nin her favour; and, more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally\r\nsuspected that every power of pleasing would fail her.\r\n\r\nShe retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked\r\nup and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks of\r\ninquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt as made everything worse.\r\n\r\nMiss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction\r\ntook place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see that her new\r\nacquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her\r\nbeing at Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud;\r\nbut the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was\r\nonly exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from\r\nher beyond a monosyllable.\r\n\r\nMiss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though\r\nlittle more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance\r\nwomanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother; but there\r\nwas sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly\r\nunassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as\r\nacute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much\r\nrelieved by discerning such different feelings.\r\n\r\nThey had not long been together before Mr. Darcy told her that Bingley\r\nwas also coming to wait on her; and she had barely time to express her\r\nsatisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley\'s quick\r\nstep was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All\r\nElizabeth\'s anger against him had been long done away; but had she still\r\nfelt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected\r\ncordiality with which he expressed himself on seeing her again. He\r\ninquired in a friendly, though general way, after her family, and looked\r\nand spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever done.\r\n\r\nTo Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting personage\r\nthan to herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party before\r\nthem, indeed, excited a lively attention. The suspicions which had just\r\narisen of Mr. Darcy and their niece directed their observation towards\r\neach with an earnest though guarded inquiry; and they soon drew from\r\nthose inquiries the full conviction that one of them at least knew\r\nwhat it was to love. Of the lady\'s sensations they remained a little\r\nin doubt; but that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration was\r\nevident enough.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the\r\nfeelings of each of her visitors; she wanted to compose her own, and\r\nto make herself agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where she\r\nfeared most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to whom she\r\nendeavoured to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley\r\nwas ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased.\r\n\r\nIn seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and, oh!\r\nhow ardently did she long to know whether any of his were directed in\r\na like manner. Sometimes she could fancy that he talked less than on\r\nformer occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion\r\nthat, as he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But,\r\nthough this might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his\r\nbehaviour to Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival to Jane. No look\r\nappeared on either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing occurred\r\nbetween them that could justify the hopes of his sister. On this point\r\nshe was soon satisfied; and two or three little circumstances occurred\r\nere they parted, which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted a\r\nrecollection of Jane not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying\r\nmore that might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed\r\nto her, at a moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone\r\nwhich had something of real regret, that it "was a very long time since\r\nhe had had the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before she could reply,\r\nhe added, "It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of\r\nNovember, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards\r\ntook occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest, whether\r\n_all_ her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question,\r\nnor in the preceding remark; but there was a look and a manner which\r\ngave them meaning.\r\n\r\nIt was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself;\r\nbut, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general\r\ncomplaisance, and in all that he said she heard an accent so removed\r\nfrom _hauteur_ or disdain of his companions, as convinced her that\r\nthe improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed however\r\ntemporary its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day. When\r\nshe saw him thus seeking the acquaintance and courting the good opinion\r\nof people with whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been a\r\ndisgrace--when she saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the\r\nvery relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last\r\nlively scene in Hunsford Parsonage--the difference, the change was\r\nso great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could hardly\r\nrestrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even in the company\r\nof his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations\r\nat Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from\r\nself-consequence or unbending reserve, as now, when no importance\r\ncould result from the success of his endeavours, and when even the\r\nacquaintance of those to whom his attentions were addressed would draw\r\ndown the ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and\r\nRosings.\r\n\r\nTheir visitors stayed with them above half-an-hour; and when they arose\r\nto depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing\r\ntheir wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner\r\nat Pemberley, before they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a\r\ndiffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations,\r\nreadily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing\r\nhow _she_, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed as to its\r\nacceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Presuming however,\r\nthat this studied avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment than\r\nany dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who was fond of\r\nsociety, a perfect willingness to accept it, she ventured to engage for\r\nher attendance, and the day after the next was fixed on.\r\n\r\nBingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth\r\nagain, having still a great deal to say to her, and many inquiries to\r\nmake after all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, construing all\r\nthis into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased, and on\r\nthis account, as well as some others, found herself, when their\r\nvisitors left them, capable of considering the last half-hour with some\r\nsatisfaction, though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been\r\nlittle. Eager to be alone, and fearful of inquiries or hints from her\r\nuncle and aunt, she stayed with them only long enough to hear their\r\nfavourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress.\r\n\r\nBut she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner\'s curiosity; it was\r\nnot their wish to force her communication. It was evident that she was\r\nmuch better acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of;\r\nit was evident that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to\r\ninterest, but nothing to justify inquiry.\r\n\r\nOf Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far\r\nas their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could\r\nnot be untouched by his politeness; and had they drawn his character\r\nfrom their own feelings and his servant\'s report, without any reference\r\nto any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known\r\nwould not have recognized it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest,\r\nhowever, in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became sensible\r\nthat the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four\r\nyears old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be\r\nhastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred in the intelligence of\r\ntheir Lambton friends that could materially lessen its weight. They had\r\nnothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if not,\r\nit would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small market-town\r\nwhere the family did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he\r\nwas a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.\r\n\r\nWith respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held\r\nthere in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns with the\r\nson of his patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well-known\r\nfact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind\r\nhim, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.\r\n\r\nAs for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than\r\nthe last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not\r\nlong enough to determine her feelings towards _one_ in that mansion;\r\nand she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She\r\ncertainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she\r\nhad almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him,\r\nthat could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his\r\nvaluable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some\r\ntime ceased to be repugnant to her feeling; and it was now heightened\r\ninto somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in\r\nhis favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light,\r\nwhich yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem,\r\nthere was a motive within her of goodwill which could not be overlooked.\r\nIt was gratitude; gratitude, not merely for having once loved her,\r\nbut for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and\r\nacrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations\r\naccompanying her rejection. He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid\r\nher as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most\r\neager to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display\r\nof regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only\r\nwere concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent\r\non making her known to his sister. Such a change in a man of so much\r\npride exciting not only astonishment but gratitude--for to love, ardent\r\nlove, it must be attributed; and as such its impression on her was of a\r\nsort to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be\r\nexactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him,\r\nshe felt a real interest in his welfare; and she only wanted to know how\r\nfar she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would\r\nbe for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which her\r\nfancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on her the renewal of\r\nhis addresses.\r\n\r\nIt had been settled in the evening between the aunt and the niece, that\r\nsuch a striking civility as Miss Darcy\'s in coming to see them on the\r\nvery day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a\r\nlate breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be equalled,\r\nby some exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that\r\nit would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following\r\nmorning. They were, therefore, to go. Elizabeth was pleased; though when\r\nshe asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been\r\nrenewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting\r\nsome of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 45\r\n\r\n\r\nConvinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley\'s dislike of her had\r\noriginated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how unwelcome her\r\nappearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with how\r\nmuch civility on that lady\'s side the acquaintance would now be renewed.\r\n\r\nOn reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon,\r\nwhose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows\r\nopening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody\r\nhills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts\r\nwhich were scattered over the intermediate lawn.\r\n\r\nIn this house they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there\r\nwith Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in\r\nLondon. Georgiana\'s reception of them was very civil, but attended with\r\nall the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear\r\nof doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior\r\nthe belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece,\r\nhowever, did her justice, and pitied her.\r\n\r\nBy Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley they were noticed only by a curtsey; and,\r\non their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be,\r\nsucceeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a\r\ngenteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind\r\nof discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the\r\nothers; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from\r\nElizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she\r\nwished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a\r\nshort sentence when there was least danger of its being heard.\r\n\r\nElizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley,\r\nand that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without\r\ncalling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her\r\nfrom trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an\r\ninconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity\r\nof saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every\r\nmoment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she\r\nfeared that the master of the house might be amongst them; and whether\r\nshe wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After\r\nsitting in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss\r\nBingley\'s voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold\r\ninquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal\r\nindifference and brevity, and the other said no more.\r\n\r\nThe next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the\r\nentrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the\r\nfinest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many\r\na significant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been\r\ngiven, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole\r\nparty--for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and the\r\nbeautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected\r\nthem round the table.\r\n\r\nWhile thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether\r\nshe most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the\r\nfeelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though but\r\na moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to\r\nregret that he came.\r\n\r\nHe had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two or three other\r\ngentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him\r\nonly on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to\r\nGeorgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely\r\nresolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed; a resolution the more\r\nnecessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she\r\nsaw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them,\r\nand that there was scarcely an eye which did not watch his behaviour\r\nwhen he first came into the room. In no countenance was attentive\r\ncuriosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley\'s, in spite of the\r\nsmiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its\r\nobjects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions\r\nto Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother\'s\r\nentrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he\r\nwas anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded\r\nas much as possible, every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss\r\nBingley saw all this likewise; and, in the imprudence of anger, took the\r\nfirst opportunity of saying, with sneering civility:\r\n\r\n"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ----shire Militia removed from Meryton?\r\nThey must be a great loss to _your_ family."\r\n\r\nIn Darcy\'s presence she dared not mention Wickham\'s name; but Elizabeth\r\ninstantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and the\r\nvarious recollections connected with him gave her a moment\'s distress;\r\nbut exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she\r\npresently answered the question in a tolerably detached tone. While\r\nshe spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened\r\ncomplexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with\r\nconfusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what\r\npain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would\r\nhave refrained from the hint; but she had merely intended to discompose\r\nElizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed\r\nher partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in\r\nDarcy\'s opinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter of all the follies\r\nand absurdities by which some part of her family were connected\r\nwith that corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy\'s\r\nmeditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy\r\nwas possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley\'s connections\r\nher brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from the very\r\nwish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their becoming\r\nhereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without\r\nmeaning that it should affect his endeavour to separate him from Miss\r\nBennet, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern\r\nfor the welfare of his friend.\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion; and\r\nas Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to\r\nWickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able\r\nto speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely\r\nrecollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which\r\nhad been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have\r\nfixed them on her more and more cheerfully.\r\n\r\nTheir visit did not continue long after the question and answer above\r\nmentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage Miss\r\nBingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth\'s person,\r\nbehaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother\'s\r\nrecommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his judgement could not\r\nerr. And he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana\r\nwithout the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable. When\r\nDarcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to\r\nhim some part of what she had been saying to his sister.\r\n\r\n"How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she\r\ncried; "I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since\r\nthe winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing\r\nthat we should not have known her again."\r\n\r\nHowever little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented\r\nhimself with coolly replying that he perceived no other alteration than\r\nher being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling in the\r\nsummer.\r\n\r\n"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I never could\r\nsee any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no\r\nbrilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose\r\nwants character--there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are\r\ntolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes,\r\nwhich have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything\r\nextraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do\r\nnot like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency\r\nwithout fashion, which is intolerable."\r\n\r\nPersuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not\r\nthe best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always\r\nwise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the\r\nsuccess she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, and, from a\r\ndetermination of making him speak, she continued:\r\n\r\n"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all\r\nwere to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect\r\nyour saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, \'_She_\r\na beauty!--I should as soon call her mother a wit.\' But afterwards she\r\nseemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at\r\none time."\r\n\r\n"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, "but _that_\r\nwas only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have\r\nconsidered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."\r\n\r\nHe then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of\r\nhaving forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their\r\nvisit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested them\r\nboth. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were discussed,\r\nexcept of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked\r\nof his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit--of everything but\r\nhimself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of\r\nhim, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by her niece\'s\r\nbeginning the subject.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 46\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from\r\nJane on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been\r\nrenewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but\r\non the third her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the\r\nreceipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that\r\nit had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as\r\nJane had written the direction remarkably ill.\r\n\r\nThey had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and\r\nher uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by\r\nthemselves. The one missent must first be attended to; it had been\r\nwritten five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their\r\nlittle parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded;\r\nbut the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident\r\nagitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:\r\n\r\n"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a\r\nmost unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you--be\r\nassured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia.\r\nAn express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed,\r\nfrom Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland\r\nwith one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our\r\nsurprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am\r\nvery, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing\r\nto hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood.\r\nThoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step\r\n(and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is\r\ndisinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing.\r\nOur poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How\r\nthankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against\r\nhim; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about\r\ntwelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at\r\neight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have\r\npassed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect\r\nhim here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of\r\ntheir intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor\r\nmother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly\r\nknow what I have written."\r\n\r\nWithout allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing\r\nwhat she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter instantly seized the\r\nother, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it\r\nhad been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.\r\n\r\n"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I\r\nwish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my\r\nhead is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest\r\nLizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you,\r\nand it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham\r\nand our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has\r\ntaken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone\r\nto Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the\r\nday before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia\'s short\r\nletter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna\r\nGreen, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W.\r\nnever intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was\r\nrepeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B.\r\nintending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham,\r\nbut no further; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney\r\ncoach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that\r\nis known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London road.\r\nI know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that\r\nside London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing\r\nthem at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but\r\nwithout any success--no such people had been seen to pass through. With\r\nthe kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions\r\nto us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved\r\nfor him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on them. Our\r\ndistress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the\r\nworst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make\r\nit more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue\r\ntheir first plan; and even if _he_ could form such a design against a\r\nyoung woman of Lydia\'s connections, which is not likely, can I suppose\r\nher so lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that\r\nColonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his\r\nhead when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to\r\nbe trusted. My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she\r\nexert herself, it would be better; but this is not to be expected. And\r\nas to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has\r\nanger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of\r\nconfidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you\r\nhave been spared something of these distressing scenes; but now, as the\r\nfirst shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not\r\nso selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I\r\ntake up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not; but\r\ncircumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to\r\ncome here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well,\r\nthat I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something\r\nmore to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel\r\nForster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure\r\nI know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any\r\nmeasure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to\r\nbe at Brighton again to-morrow evening. In such an exigence, my\r\nuncle\'s advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will\r\nimmediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness."\r\n\r\n"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat\r\nas she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing\r\na moment of the time so precious; but as she reached the door it was\r\nopened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous\r\nmanner made him start, and before he could recover himself to speak,\r\nshe, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia\'s situation,\r\nhastily exclaimed, "I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find\r\nMr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not\r\nan instant to lose."\r\n\r\n"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than\r\npoliteness; then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you a minute;\r\nbut let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are\r\nnot well enough; you cannot go yourself."\r\n\r\nElizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how\r\nlittle would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back\r\nthe servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless\r\nan accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and\r\nmistress home instantly.\r\n\r\nOn his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and\r\nlooking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her,\r\nor to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,\r\n"Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you\r\npresent relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."\r\n\r\n"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There\r\nis nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by\r\nsome dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn."\r\n\r\nShe burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could\r\nnot speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say\r\nsomething indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate\r\nsilence. At length she spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane,\r\nwith such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger\r\nsister has left all her friends--has eloped; has thrown herself into\r\nthe power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton.\r\n_You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no\r\nconnections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost for ever."\r\n\r\nDarcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I consider," she added in a yet\r\nmore agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what\r\nhe was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of what I\r\nlearnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not\r\nhave happened. But it is all--all too late now."\r\n\r\n"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved--shocked. But is it\r\ncertain--absolutely certain?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced\r\nalmost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to\r\nScotland."\r\n\r\n"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"\r\n\r\n"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle\'s\r\nimmediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But\r\nnothing can be done--I know very well that nothing can be done. How is\r\nsuch a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have\r\nnot the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"\r\n\r\nDarcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.\r\n\r\n"When _my_ eyes were opened to his real character--Oh! had I known what\r\nI ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing too\r\nmuch. Wretched, wretched mistake!"\r\n\r\nDarcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking\r\nup and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air\r\ngloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her\r\npower was sinking; everything _must_ sink under such a proof of family\r\nweakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither\r\nwonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing\r\nconsolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It\r\nwas, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own\r\nwishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved\r\nhim, as now, when all love must be vain.\r\n\r\nBut self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--the\r\nhumiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed\r\nup every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,\r\nElizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of\r\nseveral minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by\r\nthe voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke\r\ncompassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "I am afraid you have been\r\nlong desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my\r\nstay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything\r\ncould be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to\r\nsuch distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may\r\nseem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I\r\nfear, prevent my sister\'s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley\r\nto-day."\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that\r\nurgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as\r\nlong as it is possible, I know it cannot be long."\r\n\r\nHe readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for\r\nher distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present\r\nreason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only\r\none serious, parting look, went away.\r\n\r\nAs he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they\r\nshould ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as\r\nhad marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a\r\nretrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full\r\nof contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those\r\nfeelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would\r\nformerly have rejoiced in its termination.\r\n\r\nIf gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth\'s\r\nchange of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if\r\notherwise--if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or\r\nunnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on\r\na first interview with its object, and even before two words have been\r\nexchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given\r\nsomewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham,\r\nand that its ill success might, perhaps, authorise her to seek the other\r\nless interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him\r\ngo with regret; and in this early example of what Lydia\'s infamy must\r\nproduce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched\r\nbusiness. Never, since reading Jane\'s second letter, had she entertained\r\na hope of Wickham\'s meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought,\r\ncould flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least\r\nof her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first\r\nletter remained in her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment that\r\nWickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry\r\nfor money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared\r\nincomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment\r\nas this she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose\r\nLydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement without the intention\r\nof marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue\r\nnor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.\r\n\r\nShe had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that\r\nLydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia\r\nwanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one\r\nofficer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions\r\nraised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been\r\nfluctuating but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and\r\nmistaken indulgence towards such a girl--oh! how acutely did she now\r\nfeel it!\r\n\r\nShe was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to\r\nshare with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a\r\nfamily so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and\r\nrequiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing\r\ncould be done for Lydia, her uncle\'s interference seemed of the utmost\r\nimportance, and till he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr.\r\nand Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant\'s\r\naccount that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them\r\ninstantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their\r\nsummons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript\r\nof the last with trembling energy.--Though Lydia had never been a\r\nfavourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply\r\nafflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the\r\nfirst exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promised every\r\nassistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked\r\nhim with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit,\r\neverything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to\r\nbe off as soon as possible. "But what is to be done about Pemberley?"\r\ncried Mrs. Gardiner. "John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for\r\nus; was it so?"\r\n\r\n"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement.\r\n_That_ is all settled."\r\n\r\n"What is all settled?" repeated the other, as she ran into her room to\r\nprepare. "And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real\r\ntruth? Oh, that I knew how it was!"\r\n\r\nBut wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in the\r\nhurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure\r\nto be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was\r\nimpossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of\r\nbusiness as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to\r\nbe written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their\r\nsudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.\r\nGardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn, nothing\r\nremained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of\r\nthe morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she could\r\nhave supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 47\r\n\r\n\r\n"I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth," said her uncle, as they\r\ndrove from the town; "and really, upon serious consideration, I am much\r\nmore inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does on the\r\nmatter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should\r\nform such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or\r\nfriendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel\'s family, that I\r\nam strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends\r\nwould not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the\r\nregiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is\r\nnot adequate to the risk!"\r\n\r\n"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.\r\n\r\n"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I begin to be of your uncle\'s\r\nopinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and\r\ninterest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so very ill of\r\nWickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe\r\nhim capable of it?"\r\n\r\n"Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest; but of every other\r\nneglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I\r\ndare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that had been\r\nthe case?"\r\n\r\n"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "there is no absolute proof\r\nthat they are not gone to Scotland."\r\n\r\n"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach is such\r\na presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the\r\nBarnet road."\r\n\r\n"Well, then--supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though\r\nfor the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptional purpose. It is\r\nnot likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it\r\nmight strike them that they could be more economically, though less\r\nexpeditiously, married in London than in Scotland."\r\n\r\n"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their\r\nmarriage be private? Oh, no, no--this is not likely. His most particular\r\nfriend, you see by Jane\'s account, was persuaded of his never intending\r\nto marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He\r\ncannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia--what attraction has she\r\nbeyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake,\r\nforego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what\r\nrestraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a\r\ndishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know\r\nnothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your\r\nother objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has\r\nno brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father\'s\r\nbehaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever\r\nseemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that _he_ would\r\ndo as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in\r\nsuch a matter."\r\n\r\n"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him\r\nas to consent to live with him on any terms other than marriage?"\r\n\r\n"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed," replied Elizabeth, with\r\ntears in her eyes, "that a sister\'s sense of decency and virtue in such\r\na point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say.\r\nPerhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never\r\nbeen taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half-year,\r\nnay, for a twelvemonth--she has been given up to nothing but amusement\r\nand vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle\r\nand frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way.\r\nSince the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love,\r\nflirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing\r\neverything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give\r\ngreater--what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are\r\nnaturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of\r\nperson and address that can captivate a woman."\r\n\r\n"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does not think so very ill of\r\nWickham as to believe him capable of the attempt."\r\n\r\n"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be\r\ntheir former conduct, that she would think capable of such an attempt,\r\ntill it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what\r\nWickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every\r\nsense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is\r\nas false and deceitful as he is insinuating."\r\n\r\n"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity\r\nas to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.\r\n\r\n"I do indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you, the other day,\r\nof his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you yourself, when last at\r\nLongbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved\r\nwith such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other\r\ncircumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to\r\nrelate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From\r\nwhat he said of Miss Darcy I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud,\r\nreserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He\r\nmust know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found\r\nher."\r\n\r\n"But does Lydia know nothing of this? can she be ignorant of what you\r\nand Jane seem so well to understand?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes!--that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw\r\nso much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was\r\nignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire\r\nwas to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight\'s time. As that was the\r\ncase, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it\r\nnecessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could\r\nit apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the\r\nneighbourhood had of him should then be overthrown? And even when it was\r\nsettled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening\r\nher eyes to his character never occurred to me. That _she_ could be\r\nin any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a\r\nconsequence as _this_ could ensue, you may easily believe, was far\r\nenough from my thoughts."\r\n\r\n"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I\r\nsuppose, to believe them fond of each other?"\r\n\r\n"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either\r\nside; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware\r\nthat ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first\r\nhe entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all\r\nwere. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for\r\nthe first two months; but he never distinguished _her_ by any particular\r\nattention; and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and\r\nwild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment,\r\nwho treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites."\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\nIt may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added\r\nto their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject, by\r\nits repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during\r\nthe whole of the journey. From Elizabeth\'s thoughts it was never absent.\r\nFixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she could find\r\nno interval of ease or forgetfulness.\r\n\r\nThey travelled as expeditiously as possible, and, sleeping one night\r\non the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. It was a\r\ncomfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied\r\nby long expectations.\r\n\r\nThe little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing\r\non the steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and, when the\r\ncarriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their\r\nfaces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of\r\ncapers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.\r\n\r\nElizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them a hasty kiss,\r\nhurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down from her\r\nmother\'s apartment, immediately met her.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the\r\neyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been\r\nheard of the fugitives.\r\n\r\n"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope\r\neverything will be well."\r\n\r\n"Is my father in town?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word."\r\n\r\n"And have you heard from him often?"\r\n\r\n"We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say\r\nthat he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I\r\nparticularly begged him to do. He merely added that he should not write\r\nagain till he had something of importance to mention."\r\n\r\n"And my mother--how is she? How are you all?"\r\n\r\n"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly\r\nshaken. She is up stairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you\r\nall. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank\r\nHeaven, are quite well."\r\n\r\n"But you--how are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale. How much you\r\nmust have gone through!"\r\n\r\nHer sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their\r\nconversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were\r\nengaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach\r\nof the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and\r\nthanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.\r\n\r\nWhen they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth\r\nhad already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon\r\nfound that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of\r\ngood, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had not yet\r\ndeserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that\r\nevery morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,\r\nto explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce their marriage.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes\'\r\nconversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with\r\ntears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous\r\nconduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage;\r\nblaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the\r\nerrors of her daughter must principally be owing.\r\n\r\n"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point in going to Brighton,\r\nwith all my family, _this_ would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia\r\nhad nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out\r\nof their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their\r\nside, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been\r\nwell looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the\r\ncharge of her; but I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child!\r\nAnd now here\'s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham,\r\nwherever he meets him and then he will be killed, and what is to become\r\nof us all? The Collinses will turn us out before he is cold in his\r\ngrave, and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we\r\nshall do."\r\n\r\nThey all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after\r\ngeneral assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her\r\nthat he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr.\r\nBennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.\r\n\r\n"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he; "though it is right to be\r\nprepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.\r\nIt is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more we\r\nmay gain some news of them; and till we know that they are not married,\r\nand have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as\r\nlost. As soon as I get to town I shall go to my brother, and make\r\nhim come home with me to Gracechurch Street; and then we may consult\r\ntogether as to what is to be done."\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is exactly what I\r\ncould most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,\r\nwherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them\r\nmarry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but\r\ntell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them,\r\nafter they are married. And, above all, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting.\r\nTell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frighted out of my\r\nwits--and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me--such\r\nspasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that\r\nI can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to\r\ngive any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does\r\nnot know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I\r\nknow you will contrive it all."\r\n\r\nBut Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours\r\nin the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well\r\nin her hopes as her fear; and after talking with her in this manner till\r\ndinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feelings on\r\nthe housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.\r\n\r\nThough her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real\r\noccasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to\r\noppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her\r\ntongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it\r\nbetter that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could\r\nmost trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the\r\nsubject.\r\n\r\nIn the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been\r\ntoo busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance\r\nbefore. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The\r\nfaces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible\r\nin either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger\r\nwhich she had herself incurred in this business, had given more of\r\nfretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was\r\nmistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance\r\nof grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table:\r\n\r\n"This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.\r\nBut we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of\r\neach other the balm of sisterly consolation."\r\n\r\nThen, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,\r\n"Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful\r\nlesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one\r\nfalse step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less\r\nbrittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in\r\nher behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."\r\n\r\nElizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed\r\nto make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such\r\nkind of moral extractions from the evil before them.\r\n\r\nIn the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for\r\nhalf-an-hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of\r\nthe opportunity of making any inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to\r\nsatisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel\r\nof this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss\r\nBennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued\r\nthe subject, by saying, "But tell me all and everything about it which\r\nI have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel\r\nForster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement\r\ntook place? They must have seen them together for ever."\r\n\r\n"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,\r\nespecially on Lydia\'s side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so\r\ngrieved for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He\r\n_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had\r\nany idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension\r\nfirst got abroad, it hastened his journey."\r\n\r\n"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of\r\ntheir intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"\r\n\r\n"Yes; but, when questioned by _him_, Denny denied knowing anything of\r\ntheir plans, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not\r\nrepeat his persuasion of their not marrying--and from _that_, I am\r\ninclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before."\r\n\r\n"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a\r\ndoubt, I suppose, of their being really married?"\r\n\r\n"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt\r\na little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister\'s happiness with him\r\nin marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite\r\nright. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only felt how\r\nimprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural\r\ntriumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia\'s last letter\r\nshe had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their\r\nbeing in love with each other, many weeks."\r\n\r\n"But not before they went to Brighton?"\r\n\r\n"No, I believe not."\r\n\r\n"And did Colonel Forster appear to think well of Wickham himself? Does\r\nhe know his real character?"\r\n\r\n"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly\r\ndid. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad\r\naffair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt;\r\nbut I hope this may be false."\r\n\r\n"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,\r\nthis could not have happened!"\r\n\r\n"Perhaps it would have been better," replied her sister. "But to expose\r\nthe former faults of any person without knowing what their present\r\nfeelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions."\r\n\r\n"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia\'s note to his\r\nwife?"\r\n\r\n"He brought it with him for us to see."\r\n\r\nJane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These\r\nwere the contents:\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR HARRIET,\r\n\r\n"You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help\r\nlaughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am\r\nmissed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who,\r\nI shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I\r\nlove, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think\r\nit no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my\r\ngoing, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater,\r\nwhen I write to them and sign my name \'Lydia Wickham.\' What a good joke\r\nit will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to\r\nPratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him to-night.\r\nTell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all; and tell him I will\r\ndance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall\r\nsend for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell\r\nSally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are\r\npacked up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will\r\ndrink to our good journey.\r\n\r\n"Your affectionate friend,\r\n\r\n"LYDIA BENNET."\r\n\r\n"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth when she had\r\nfinished it. "What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment!\r\nBut at least it shows that _she_ was serious on the subject of their\r\njourney. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her\r\nside a _scheme_ of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it!"\r\n\r\n"I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten\r\nminutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in\r\nsuch confusion!"\r\n\r\n"Oh! Jane," cried Elizabeth, "was there a servant belonging to it who\r\ndid not know the whole story before the end of the day?"\r\n\r\n"I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is\r\nvery difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to\r\ngive her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so\r\nmuch as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen\r\nalmost took from me my faculties."\r\n\r\n"Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look\r\nwell. Oh that I had been with you! you have had every care and anxiety\r\nupon yourself alone."\r\n\r\n"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every\r\nfatigue, I am sure; but I did not think it right for either of them.\r\nKitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that her hours\r\nof repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn\r\non Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till\r\nThursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all. And\r\nLady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to\r\ncondole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters\', if\r\nthey should be of use to us."\r\n\r\n"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth; "perhaps she\r\n_meant_ well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see\r\ntoo little of one\'s neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence\r\ninsufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied."\r\n\r\nShe then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had\r\nintended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.\r\n\r\n"He meant I believe," replied Jane, "to go to Epsom, the place where\r\nthey last changed horses, see the postilions and try if anything could\r\nbe made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the\r\nnumber of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come\r\nwith a fare from London; and as he thought that the circumstance of a\r\ngentleman and lady\'s removing from one carriage into another might\r\nbe remarked he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow\r\ndiscover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he\r\ndetermined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible\r\nto find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any\r\nother designs that he had formed; but he was in such a hurry to be gone,\r\nand his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding\r\nout even so much as this."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 48\r\n\r\n\r\nThe whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next\r\nmorning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.\r\nHis family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and\r\ndilatory correspondent; but at such a time they had hoped for exertion.\r\nThey were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence to\r\nsend; but even of _that_ they would have been glad to be certain. Mr.\r\nGardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.\r\n\r\nWhen he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant\r\ninformation of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,\r\nto prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could,\r\nto the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only\r\nsecurity for her husband\'s not being killed in a duel.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few\r\ndays longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable\r\nto her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a\r\ngreat comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also\r\nvisited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of\r\ncheering and heartening them up--though, as she never came without\r\nreporting some fresh instance of Wickham\'s extravagance or irregularity,\r\nshe seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found\r\nthem.\r\n\r\nAll Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months\r\nbefore, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt\r\nto every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with\r\nthe title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman\'s family.\r\nEverybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;\r\nand everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the\r\nappearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above\r\nhalf of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of\r\nher sister\'s ruin more certain; and even Jane, who believed still less\r\nof it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come\r\nwhen, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before entirely\r\ndespaired of, they must in all probability have gained some news of\r\nthem.\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday his wife received a\r\nletter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately\r\nfound out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street;\r\nthat Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival,\r\nbut without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now\r\ndetermined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet\r\nthought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first\r\ncoming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself\r\ndid not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was\r\neager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added that Mr.\r\nBennet seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London and promised\r\nto write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this effect:\r\n\r\n"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if\r\npossible, from some of the young man\'s intimates in the regiment,\r\nwhether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be likely to\r\nknow in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there were\r\nanyone that one could apply to with a probability of gaining such a\r\nclue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we have\r\nnothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do everything in\r\nhis power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts, perhaps,\r\nLizzy could tell us what relations he has now living, better than any\r\nother person."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference to her\r\nauthority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any information\r\nof so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved. She had never\r\nheard of his having had any relations, except a father and mother, both\r\nof whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however, that some of\r\nhis companions in the ----shire might be able to give more information;\r\nand though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application\r\nwas a something to look forward to.\r\n\r\nEvery day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious\r\npart of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters\r\nwas the grand object of every morning\'s impatience. Through letters,\r\nwhatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and every\r\nsucceeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.\r\n\r\nBut before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for\r\ntheir father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane\r\nhad received directions to open all that came for him in his absence,\r\nshe accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his\r\nletters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as\r\nfollows:\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR SIR,\r\n\r\n"I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation\r\nin life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now\r\nsuffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from\r\nHertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself\r\nsincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in\r\nyour present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because\r\nproceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be\r\nwanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune--or that\r\nmay comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others the\r\nmost afflicting to a parent\'s mind. The death of your daughter would\r\nhave been a blessing in comparison of this. And it is the more to\r\nbe lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my dear Charlotte\r\ninforms me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter has\r\nproceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same time,\r\nfor the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think\r\nthat her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be\r\nguilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be,\r\nyou are grievously to be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joined\r\nby Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to\r\nwhom I have related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that\r\nthis false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of\r\nall the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says,\r\nwill connect themselves with such a family? And this consideration leads\r\nme moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event\r\nof last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved\r\nin all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir, to\r\nconsole yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child\r\nfrom your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her\r\nown heinous offense.\r\n\r\n"I am, dear sir, etc., etc."\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner did not write again till he had received an answer from\r\nColonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send.\r\nIt was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with whom he\r\nkept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one\r\nliving. His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since he\r\nhad been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of\r\nparticular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore,\r\nwho could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in the\r\nwretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for\r\nsecrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia\'s relations, for\r\nit had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a\r\nvery considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a\r\nthousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton.\r\nHe owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more\r\nformidable. Mr. Gardiner did not attempt to conceal these particulars\r\nfrom the Longbourn family. Jane heard them with horror. "A gamester!"\r\nshe cried. "This is wholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it."\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see their\r\nfather at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered\r\nspiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded\r\nto his brother-in-law\'s entreaty that he would return to his family, and\r\nleave it to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable\r\nfor continuing their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did\r\nnot express so much satisfaction as her children expected, considering\r\nwhat her anxiety for his life had been before.\r\n\r\n"What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?" she cried. "Sure he\r\nwill not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham,\r\nand make him marry her, if he comes away?"\r\n\r\nAs Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she\r\nand the children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet\r\ncame from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their\r\njourney, and brought its master back to Longbourn.\r\n\r\nMrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her\r\nDerbyshire friend that had attended her from that part of the world. His\r\nname had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece; and\r\nthe kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of their\r\nbeing followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing. Elizabeth had\r\nreceived none since her return that could come from Pemberley.\r\n\r\nThe present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for\r\nthe lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be\r\nfairly conjectured from _that_, though Elizabeth, who was by this time\r\ntolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware\r\nthat, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of\r\nLydia\'s infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought,\r\none sleepless night out of two.\r\n\r\nWhen Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual\r\nphilosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the\r\nhabit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him\r\naway, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of\r\nit.\r\n\r\nIt was not till the afternoon, when he had joined them at tea, that\r\nElizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly\r\nexpressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, "Say\r\nnothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing,\r\nand I ought to feel it."\r\n\r\n"You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone\r\nto fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have\r\nbeen to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression.\r\nIt will pass away soon enough."\r\n\r\n"Do you suppose them to be in London?"\r\n\r\n"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"\r\n\r\n"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.\r\n\r\n"She is happy then," said her father drily; "and her residence there\r\nwill probably be of some duration."\r\n\r\nThen after a short silence he continued:\r\n\r\n"Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me\r\nlast May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind."\r\n\r\nThey were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother\'s\r\ntea.\r\n\r\n"This is a parade," he cried, "which does one good; it gives such an\r\nelegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in my\r\nlibrary, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as\r\nI can; or, perhaps, I may defer it till Kitty runs away."\r\n\r\n"I am not going to run away, papa," said Kitty fretfully. "If I should\r\never go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia."\r\n\r\n"_You_ go to Brighton. I would not trust you so near it as Eastbourne\r\nfor fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and\r\nyou will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter into\r\nmy house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be\r\nabsolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters.\r\nAnd you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have\r\nspent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner."\r\n\r\nKitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.\r\n\r\n"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good\r\ngirl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of\r\nthem."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 49\r\n\r\n\r\nTwo days after Mr. Bennet\'s return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking\r\ntogether in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper\r\ncoming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their\r\nmother, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons,\r\nwhen they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, "I beg your pardon,\r\nmadam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some\r\ngood news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask."\r\n\r\n"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town."\r\n\r\n"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, "don\'t you know\r\nthere is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here\r\nthis half-hour, and master has had a letter."\r\n\r\nAway ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They\r\nran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; from thence to the\r\nlibrary; their father was in neither; and they were on the point of\r\nseeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the\r\nbutler, who said:\r\n\r\n"If you are looking for my master, ma\'am, he is walking towards the\r\nlittle copse."\r\n\r\nUpon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once\r\nmore, and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately\r\npursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.\r\n\r\nJane, who was not so light nor so much in the habit of running as\r\nElizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath,\r\ncame up with him, and eagerly cried out:\r\n\r\n"Oh, papa, what news--what news? Have you heard from my uncle?"\r\n\r\n"Yes I have had a letter from him by express."\r\n\r\n"Well, and what news does it bring--good or bad?"\r\n\r\n"What is there of good to be expected?" said he, taking the letter from\r\nhis pocket. "But perhaps you would like to read it."\r\n\r\nElizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.\r\n\r\n"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardly know myself what it is\r\nabout."\r\n\r\n"Gracechurch Street, Monday, August 2.\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR BROTHER,\r\n\r\n"At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such as,\r\nupon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfaction. Soon after you\r\nleft me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of\r\nLondon they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet; it is enough\r\nto know they are discovered. I have seen them both--"\r\n\r\n"Then it is as I always hoped," cried Jane; "they are married!"\r\n\r\nElizabeth read on:\r\n\r\n"I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find there\r\nwas any intention of being so; but if you are willing to perform the\r\nengagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will\r\nnot be long before they are. All that is required of you is, to assure\r\nto your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand\r\npounds secured among your children after the decease of yourself and\r\nmy sister; and, moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her,\r\nduring your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions\r\nwhich, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with,\r\nas far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by\r\nexpress, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You\r\nwill easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham\'s\r\ncircumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be.\r\nThe world has been deceived in that respect; and I am happy to say there\r\nwill be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, to\r\nsettle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune. If, as I conclude\r\nwill be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name throughout\r\nthe whole of this business, I will immediately give directions to\r\nHaggerston for preparing a proper settlement. There will not be the\r\nsmallest occasion for your coming to town again; therefore stay quiet at\r\nLongbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. Send back your answer as\r\nfast as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it\r\nbest that my niece should be married from this house, of which I hope\r\nyou will approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as\r\nanything more is determined on. Yours, etc.,\r\n\r\n"EDW. GARDINER."\r\n\r\n"Is it possible?" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. "Can it be\r\npossible that he will marry her?"\r\n\r\n"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we thought him," said her\r\nsister. "My dear father, I congratulate you."\r\n\r\n"And have you answered the letter?" cried Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"No; but it must be done soon."\r\n\r\nMost earnestly did she then entreat him to lose no more time before he\r\nwrote.\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear father," she cried, "come back and write immediately.\r\nConsider how important every moment is in such a case."\r\n\r\n"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislike the trouble\r\nyourself."\r\n\r\n"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it must be done."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.\r\n\r\n"And may I ask--" said Elizabeth; "but the terms, I suppose, must be\r\ncomplied with."\r\n\r\n"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little."\r\n\r\n"And they _must_ marry! Yet he is _such_ a man!"\r\n\r\n"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there\r\nare two things that I want very much to know; one is, how much money\r\nyour uncle has laid down to bring it about; and the other, how am I ever\r\nto pay him."\r\n\r\n"Money! My uncle!" cried Jane, "what do you mean, sir?"\r\n\r\n"I mean, that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a\r\ntemptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am\r\ngone."\r\n\r\n"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not occurred to me\r\nbefore. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh!\r\nit must be my uncle\'s doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has\r\ndistressed himself. A small sum could not do all this."\r\n\r\n"No," said her father; "Wickham\'s a fool if he takes her with a farthing\r\nless than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him,\r\nin the very beginning of our relationship."\r\n\r\n"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be\r\nrepaid?"\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued\r\nsilent till they reached the house. Their father then went on to the\r\nlibrary to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.\r\n\r\n"And they are really to be married!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as they\r\nwere by themselves. "How strange this is! And for _this_ we are to be\r\nthankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness,\r\nand wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice. Oh, Lydia!"\r\n\r\n"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane, "that he certainly would\r\nnot marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind\r\nuncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten\r\nthousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced. He has children\r\nof his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten thousand\r\npounds?"\r\n\r\n"If he were ever able to learn what Wickham\'s debts have been," said\r\nElizabeth, "and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall\r\nexactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has\r\nnot sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never\r\nbe requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal\r\nprotection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage as\r\nyears of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is\r\nactually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now,\r\nshe will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she\r\nfirst sees my aunt!"\r\n\r\n"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side," said\r\nJane: "I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to\r\nmarry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of\r\nthinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself\r\nthey will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in\r\ntime make their past imprudence forgotten."\r\n\r\n"Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, "as neither you, nor\r\nI, nor anybody can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it."\r\n\r\nIt now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood\r\nperfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library,\r\ntherefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to make\r\nit known to her. He was writing and, without raising his head, coolly\r\nreplied:\r\n\r\n"Just as you please."\r\n\r\n"May we take my uncle\'s letter to read to her?"\r\n\r\n"Take whatever you like, and get away."\r\n\r\nElizabeth took the letter from his writing-table, and they went up stairs\r\ntogether. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one communication\r\nwould, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation for good news,\r\nthe letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As\r\nsoon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner\'s hope of Lydia\'s being soon\r\nmarried, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its\r\nexuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from delight, as she\r\nhad ever been fidgety from alarm and vexation. To know that her daughter\r\nwould be married was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her\r\nfelicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.\r\n\r\n"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried. "This is delightful indeed! She will\r\nbe married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen!\r\nMy good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage\r\neverything! How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the\r\nclothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about\r\nthem directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him\r\nhow much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell,\r\nKitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear\r\nLydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!"\r\n\r\nHer eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of\r\nthese transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr.\r\nGardiner\'s behaviour laid them all under.\r\n\r\n"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, "in a great\r\nmeasure to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to\r\nassist Mr. Wickham with money."\r\n\r\n"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do it but\r\nher own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children\r\nmust have had all his money, you know; and it is the first time we have\r\never had anything from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy!\r\nIn a short time I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well\r\nit sounds! And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in\r\nsuch a flutter, that I am sure I can\'t write; so I will dictate, and\r\nyou write for me. We will settle with your father about the money\r\nafterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately."\r\n\r\nShe was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and\r\ncambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had\r\nnot Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till her\r\nfather was at leisure to be consulted. One day\'s delay, she observed,\r\nwould be of small importance; and her mother was too happy to be quite\r\nso obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into her head.\r\n\r\n"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed, and tell the\r\ngood, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call\r\non Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage.\r\nAn airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do\r\nanything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill! My dear Hill, have you\r\nheard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and you shall\r\nall have a bowl of punch to make merry at her wedding."\r\n\r\nMrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her\r\ncongratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took\r\nrefuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.\r\n\r\nPoor Lydia\'s situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was\r\nno worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in\r\nlooking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity could\r\nbe justly expected for her sister, in looking back to what they had\r\nfeared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had\r\ngained.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 50\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet had very often wished before this period of his life that,\r\ninstead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for\r\nthe better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived\r\nhim. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that\r\nrespect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever\r\nof honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of\r\nprevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be\r\nher husband might then have rested in its proper place.\r\n\r\nHe was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to anyone\r\nshould be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and he\r\nwas determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance,\r\nand to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.\r\n\r\nWhen first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly\r\nuseless, for, of course, they were to have a son. The son was to join\r\nin cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow\r\nand younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters\r\nsuccessively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs.\r\nBennet, for many years after Lydia\'s birth, had been certain that he\r\nwould. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then\r\ntoo late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her\r\nhusband\'s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their\r\nincome.\r\n\r\nFive thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and\r\nthe children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the\r\nlatter depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with\r\nregard to Lydia, at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet\r\ncould have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In\r\nterms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother,\r\nthough expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect\r\napprobation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the\r\nengagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed\r\nthat, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would\r\nbe done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present\r\narrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by the\r\nhundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket\r\nallowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her\r\nthrough her mother\'s hands, Lydia\'s expenses had been very little within\r\nthat sum.\r\n\r\nThat it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was\r\nanother very welcome surprise; for his wish at present was to have as\r\nlittle trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports\r\nof rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he\r\nnaturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon\r\ndispatched; for, though dilatory in undertaking business, he was quick\r\nin its execution. He begged to know further particulars of what he\r\nwas indebted to his brother, but was too angry with Lydia to send any\r\nmessage to her.\r\n\r\nThe good news spread quickly through the house, and with proportionate\r\nspeed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent\r\nphilosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage\r\nof conversation had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the\r\nhappiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant\r\nfarmhouse. But there was much to be talked of in marrying her; and the\r\ngood-natured wishes for her well-doing which had proceeded before from\r\nall the spiteful old ladies in Meryton lost but a little of their spirit\r\nin this change of circumstances, because with such an husband her misery\r\nwas considered certain.\r\n\r\nIt was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been downstairs; but on this\r\nhappy day she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in\r\nspirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her\r\ntriumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object\r\nof her wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of\r\naccomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those\r\nattendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and\r\nservants. She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a\r\nproper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering\r\nwhat their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and\r\nimportance.\r\n\r\n"Haye Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings could quit it--or the\r\ngreat house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is\r\ntoo far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for\r\nPulvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful."\r\n\r\nHer husband allowed her to talk on without interruption while the\r\nservants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her: "Mrs.\r\nBennet, before you take any or all of these houses for your son and\r\ndaughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into _one_ house in this\r\nneighbourhood they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the\r\nimpudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn."\r\n\r\nA long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet was firm. It\r\nsoon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror,\r\nthat her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his\r\ndaughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of\r\naffection whatever on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend\r\nit. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable\r\nresentment as to refuse his daughter a privilege without which her\r\nmarriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all she could believe\r\npossible. She was more alive to the disgrace which her want of new\r\nclothes must reflect on her daughter\'s nuptials, than to any sense of\r\nshame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they\r\ntook place.\r\n\r\nElizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of\r\nthe moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for\r\nher sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give the\r\nproper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its\r\nunfavourable beginning from all those who were not immediately on the\r\nspot.\r\n\r\nShe had no fear of its spreading farther through his means. There were\r\nfew people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;\r\nbut, at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister\'s\r\nfrailty would have mortified her so much--not, however, from any fear\r\nof disadvantage from it individually to herself, for, at any rate,\r\nthere seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia\'s marriage been\r\nconcluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that\r\nMr. Darcy would connect himself with a family where, to every other\r\nobjection, would now be added an alliance and relationship of the\r\nnearest kind with a man whom he so justly scorned.\r\n\r\nFrom such a connection she could not wonder that he would shrink. The\r\nwish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his\r\nfeeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a\r\nblow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she\r\nhardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no\r\nlonger hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there\r\nseemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that\r\nshe could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they\r\nshould meet.\r\n\r\nWhat a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the\r\nproposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now\r\nhave been most gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she\r\ndoubted not, as the most generous of his sex; but while he was mortal,\r\nthere must be a triumph.\r\n\r\nShe began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in\r\ndisposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and\r\ntemper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It\r\nwas an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease\r\nand liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved;\r\nand from his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she\r\nmust have received benefit of greater importance.\r\n\r\nBut no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what\r\nconnubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and\r\nprecluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their\r\nfamily.\r\n\r\nHow Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence,\r\nshe could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could\r\nbelong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions\r\nwere stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\nMr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet\'s\r\nacknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurance of his eagerness to\r\npromote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with entreaties\r\nthat the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal\r\npurport of his letter was to inform them that Mr. Wickham had resolved\r\non quitting the militia.\r\n\r\n"It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, "as soon as\r\nhis marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me, in\r\nconsidering the removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on\r\nhis account and my niece\'s. It is Mr. Wickham\'s intention to go into\r\nthe regulars; and among his former friends, there are still some who\r\nare able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the promise of an\r\nensigncy in General ----\'s regiment, now quartered in the North. It\r\nis an advantage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He\r\npromises fairly; and I hope among different people, where they may each\r\nhave a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have\r\nwritten to Colonel Forster, to inform him of our present arrangements,\r\nand to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham\r\nin and near Brighton, with assurances of speedy payment, for which I\r\nhave pledged myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying\r\nsimilar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin\r\na list according to his information? He has given in all his debts; I\r\nhope at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions,\r\nand all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment,\r\nunless they are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs.\r\nGardiner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she\r\nleaves the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to\r\nyou and her mother.--Yours, etc.,\r\n\r\n"E. GARDINER."\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham\'s removal\r\nfrom the ----shire as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet\r\nwas not so well pleased with it. Lydia\'s being settled in the North,\r\njust when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company,\r\nfor she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in\r\nHertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and, besides, it was such a\r\npity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted\r\nwith everybody, and had so many favourites.\r\n\r\n"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it will be quite shocking\r\nto send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she\r\nlikes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ----\'s\r\nregiment."\r\n\r\nHis daughter\'s request, for such it might be considered, of being\r\nadmitted into her family again before she set off for the North,\r\nreceived at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth,\r\nwho agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister\'s feelings and\r\nconsequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents,\r\nurged him so earnestly yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her\r\nand her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was\r\nprevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their\r\nmother had the satisfaction of knowing that she would be able to show\r\nher married daughter in the neighbourhood before she was banished to the\r\nNorth. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent\r\nhis permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon as\r\nthe ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth was\r\nsurprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme, and\r\nhad she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him would\r\nhave been the last object of her wishes.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 51\r\n\r\n\r\nTheir sister\'s wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her\r\nprobably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to\r\nmeet them at ----, and they were to return in it by dinner-time. Their\r\narrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets, and Jane more especially,\r\nwho gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had she\r\nbeen the culprit, and was wretched in the thought of what her sister\r\nmust endure.\r\n\r\nThey came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room to receive\r\nthem. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove up to\r\nthe door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed,\r\nanxious, uneasy.\r\n\r\nLydia\'s voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and\r\nshe ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and\r\nwelcomed her with rapture; gave her hand, with an affectionate smile,\r\nto Wickham, who followed his lady; and wished them both joy with an\r\nalacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.\r\n\r\nTheir reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite\r\nso cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely\r\nopened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was\r\nenough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet\r\nwas shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy,\r\nand fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their\r\ncongratulations; and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly\r\nround the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and\r\nobserved, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been\r\nthere.\r\n\r\nWickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners\r\nwere always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been\r\nexactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he\r\nclaimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had\r\nnot before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down,\r\nresolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence\r\nof an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the\r\ntwo who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour.\r\n\r\nThere was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither\r\nof them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near\r\nElizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood,\r\nwith a good humoured ease which she felt very unable to equal in her\r\nreplies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the\r\nworld. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led\r\nvoluntarily to subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for\r\nthe world.\r\n\r\n"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I went away;\r\nit seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things\r\nenough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure\r\nI had no more idea of being married till I came back again! though I\r\nthought it would be very good fun if I was."\r\n\r\nHer father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked\r\nexpressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw anything of\r\nwhich she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, "Oh! mamma, do the\r\npeople hereabouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might not;\r\nand we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he\r\nshould know it, and so I let down the side-glass next to him, and took\r\noff my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame, so that\r\nhe might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room;\r\nand returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to\r\nthe dining parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with\r\nanxious parade, walk up to her mother\'s right hand, and hear her say\r\nto her eldest sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go\r\nlower, because I am a married woman."\r\n\r\nIt was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment\r\nfrom which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good\r\nspirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases, and\r\nall their other neighbours, and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham"\r\nby each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to show her\r\nring, and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.\r\n\r\n"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast\r\nroom, "and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I\r\nam sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half\r\nmy good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get\r\nhusbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go."\r\n\r\n"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don\'t\r\nat all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, lord! yes;--there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all\r\nthings. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We\r\nshall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some\r\nballs, and I will take care to get good partners for them all."\r\n\r\n"I should like it beyond anything!" said her mother.\r\n\r\n"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters\r\nbehind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the\r\nwinter is over."\r\n\r\n"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not\r\nparticularly like your way of getting husbands."\r\n\r\nTheir visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham\r\nhad received his commission before he left London, and he was to join\r\nhis regiment at the end of a fortnight.\r\n\r\nNo one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short; and\r\nshe made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter, and\r\nhaving very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to\r\nall; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did\r\nthink, than such as did not.\r\n\r\nWickham\'s affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected\r\nto find it; not equal to Lydia\'s for him. She had scarcely needed her\r\npresent observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that\r\ntheir elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love, rather\r\nthan by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently caring\r\nfor her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain\r\nthat his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances; and\r\nif that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity\r\nof having a companion.\r\n\r\nLydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every\r\noccasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every\r\nthing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on\r\nthe first of September, than any body else in the country.\r\n\r\nOne morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two\r\nelder sisters, she said to Elizabeth:\r\n\r\n"Lizzy, I never gave _you_ an account of my wedding, I believe. You\r\nwere not by, when I told mamma and the others all about it. Are not you\r\ncurious to hear how it was managed?"\r\n\r\n"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too little said\r\non the subject."\r\n\r\n"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were\r\nmarried, you know, at St. Clement\'s, because Wickham\'s lodgings were in\r\nthat parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven\r\no\'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others\r\nwere to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in\r\nsuch a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to\r\nput it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was\r\nmy aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as\r\nif she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in\r\nten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed\r\nto know whether he would be married in his blue coat."\r\n\r\n"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never\r\nbe over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt\r\nwere horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you\'ll believe\r\nme, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a\r\nfortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or anything. To be sure London was\r\nrather thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so\r\njust as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon\r\nbusiness to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once\r\nthey get together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I\r\ndid not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we\r\nwere beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he\r\ncame back again in ten minutes\' time, and then we all set out. However,\r\nI recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the\r\nwedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes!--he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious\r\nme! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised\r\nthem so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"\r\n\r\n"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on the\r\nsubject. You may depend upon my seeking no further."\r\n\r\n"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; "we will\r\nask you no questions."\r\n\r\n"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you\r\nall, and then Wickham would be angry."\r\n\r\nOn such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her\r\npower, by running away.\r\n\r\nBut to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least\r\nit was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at\r\nher sister\'s wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people,\r\nwhere he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.\r\nConjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her\r\nbrain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as\r\nplacing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She\r\ncould not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,\r\nwrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what\r\nLydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been\r\nintended.\r\n\r\n"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my curiosity must be\r\nto know how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively\r\nspeaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such\r\na time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it--unless it is,\r\nfor very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems\r\nto think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with\r\nignorance."\r\n\r\n"Not that I _shall_, though," she added to herself, as she finished\r\nthe letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable\r\nmanner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it\r\nout."\r\n\r\nJane\'s delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to\r\nElizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad\r\nof it;--till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any\r\nsatisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 52\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as\r\nsoon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it\r\nthan, hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to\r\nbe interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches and prepared to\r\nbe happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not\r\ncontain a denial.\r\n\r\n"Gracechurch street, Sept. 6.\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR NIECE,\r\n\r\n"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole morning\r\nto answering it, as I foresee that a _little_ writing will not comprise\r\nwhat I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised by your\r\napplication; I did not expect it from _you_. Don\'t think me angry,\r\nhowever, for I only mean to let you know that I had not imagined such\r\ninquiries to be necessary on _your_ side. If you do not choose to\r\nunderstand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised\r\nas I am--and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned\r\nwould have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really\r\ninnocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit.\r\n\r\n"On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most\r\nunexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him several\r\nhours. It was all over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so\r\ndreadfully racked as _yours_ seems to have been. He came to tell Mr.\r\nGardiner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were,\r\nand that he had seen and talked with them both; Wickham repeatedly,\r\nLydia once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day\r\nafter ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for\r\nthem. The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to\r\nhimself that Wickham\'s worthlessness had not been so well known as to\r\nmake it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide\r\nin him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and\r\nconfessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private\r\nactions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He\r\ncalled it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy\r\nan evil which had been brought on by himself. If he _had another_\r\nmotive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He had been some days\r\nin town, before he was able to discover them; but he had something to\r\ndirect his search, which was more than _we_ had; and the consciousness\r\nof this was another reason for his resolving to follow us.\r\n\r\n"There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago\r\ngoverness to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on some cause\r\nof disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then took a large\r\nhouse in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by letting\r\nlodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with\r\nWickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him as soon as he got to\r\ntown. But it was two or three days before he could get from her what he\r\nwanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery and\r\ncorruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be found.\r\nWickham indeed had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and had\r\nshe been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up\r\ntheir abode with her. At length, however, our kind friend procured the\r\nwished-for direction. They were in ---- street. He saw Wickham, and\r\nafterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her, he\r\nacknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful\r\nsituation, and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed\r\non to receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But\r\nhe found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared\r\nfor none of her friends; she wanted no help of his; she would not hear\r\nof leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or\r\nother, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her feelings,\r\nit only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which,\r\nin his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had never\r\nbeen _his_ design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment,\r\non account of some debts of honour, which were very pressing; and\r\nscrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia\'s flight on her\r\nown folly alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately; and as\r\nto his future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He\r\nmust go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have\r\nnothing to live on.\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister at once. Though\r\nMr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would have been able\r\nto do something for him, and his situation must have been benefited by\r\nmarriage. But he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham still\r\ncherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage in\r\nsome other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely\r\nto be proof against the temptation of immediate relief.\r\n\r\n"They met several times, for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of\r\ncourse wanted more than he could get; but at length was reduced to be\r\nreasonable.\r\n\r\n"Every thing being settled between _them_, Mr. Darcy\'s next step was to\r\nmake your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch\r\nstreet the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be\r\nseen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further inquiry, that your father was\r\nstill with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did not judge\r\nyour father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your\r\nuncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the\r\ndeparture of the former. He did not leave his name, and till the next\r\nday it was only known that a gentleman had called on business.\r\n\r\n"On Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home,\r\nand, as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together.\r\n\r\n"They met again on Sunday, and then _I_ saw him too. It was not all\r\nsettled before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent off to\r\nLongbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that\r\nobstinacy is the real defect of his character, after all. He has been\r\naccused of many faults at different times, but _this_ is the true one.\r\nNothing was to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and\r\nI do not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it), your\r\nuncle would most readily have settled the whole.\r\n\r\n"They battled it together for a long time, which was more than either\r\nthe gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle\r\nwas forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his\r\nniece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,\r\nwhich went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your letter\r\nthis morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation\r\nthat would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where\r\nit was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, or Jane\r\nat most.\r\n\r\n"You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young\r\npeople. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably\r\nmore than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to her own\r\nsettled upon _her_, and his commission purchased. The reason why all\r\nthis was to be done by him alone, was such as I have given above. It\r\nwas owing to him, to his reserve and want of proper consideration, that\r\nWickham\'s character had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he\r\nhad been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth\r\nin _this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve, or _anybody\'s_ reserve,\r\ncan be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this fine talking,\r\nmy dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would\r\nnever have yielded, if we had not given him credit for _another\r\ninterest_ in the affair.\r\n\r\n"When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends, who\r\nwere still staying at Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in\r\nLondon once more when the wedding took place, and all money matters were\r\nthen to receive the last finish.\r\n\r\n"I believe I have now told you every thing. It is a relation which\r\nyou tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at least it will not\r\nafford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant\r\nadmission to the house. _He_ was exactly what he had been, when I\r\nknew him in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was\r\nsatisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us, if I had not\r\nperceived, by Jane\'s letter last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming\r\nhome was exactly of a piece with it, and therefore what I now tell\r\nyou can give you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most\r\nserious manner, representing to her all the wickedness of what she had\r\ndone, and all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she\r\nheard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was\r\nsometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth and\r\nJane, and for their sakes had patience with her.\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you,\r\nattended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave\r\ntown again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my\r\ndear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold\r\nenough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,\r\nin every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His\r\nunderstanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but a little\r\nmore liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_, his wife may teach\r\nhim. I thought him very sly;--he hardly ever mentioned your name. But\r\nslyness seems the fashion.\r\n\r\n"Pray forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do not\r\npunish me so far as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy\r\ntill I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little\r\npair of ponies, would be the very thing.\r\n\r\n"But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this half\r\nhour.\r\n\r\n"Yours, very sincerely,\r\n\r\n"M. GARDINER."\r\n\r\nThe contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,\r\nin which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the\r\ngreatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had\r\nproduced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister\'s\r\nmatch, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too\r\ngreat to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the\r\npain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true!\r\nHe had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all\r\nthe trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which\r\nsupplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and\r\ndespise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason\r\nwith, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to\r\navoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had\r\ndone all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her\r\nheart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly\r\nchecked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity\r\nwas insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her--for\r\na woman who had already refused him--as able to overcome a sentiment so\r\nnatural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law\r\nof Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had,\r\nto be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had\r\ngiven a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary\r\nstretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been\r\nwrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and\r\nthough she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she\r\ncould, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality for her might assist\r\nhis endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially\r\nconcerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were\r\nunder obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They\r\nowed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him. Oh!\r\nhow heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever\r\nencouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For\r\nherself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause\r\nof compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself.\r\nShe read over her aunt\'s commendation of him again and again. It\r\nwas hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some\r\npleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she\r\nand her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted\r\nbetween Mr. Darcy and herself.\r\n\r\nShe was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one\'s\r\napproach; and before she could strike into another path, she was\r\novertaken by Wickham.\r\n\r\n"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?" said he,\r\nas he joined her.\r\n\r\n"You certainly do," she replied with a smile; "but it does not follow\r\nthat the interruption must be unwelcome."\r\n\r\n"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We were always good friends; and\r\nnow we are better."\r\n\r\n"True. Are the others coming out?"\r\n\r\n"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to\r\nMeryton. And so, my dear sister, I find, from our uncle and aunt, that\r\nyou have actually seen Pemberley."\r\n\r\nShe replied in the affirmative.\r\n\r\n"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much\r\nfor me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the\r\nold housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of\r\nme. But of course she did not mention my name to you."\r\n\r\n"Yes, she did."\r\n\r\n"And what did she say?"\r\n\r\n"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had--not turned\r\nout well. At such a distance as _that_, you know, things are strangely\r\nmisrepresented."\r\n\r\n"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had\r\nsilenced him; but he soon afterwards said:\r\n\r\n"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other\r\nseveral times. I wonder what he can be doing there."\r\n\r\n"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said\r\nElizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there at this\r\ntime of year."\r\n\r\n"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I\r\nunderstood from the Gardiners that you had."\r\n\r\n"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."\r\n\r\n"And do you like her?"\r\n\r\n"Very much."\r\n\r\n"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year\r\nor two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad\r\nyou liked her. I hope she will turn out well."\r\n\r\n"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."\r\n\r\n"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"\r\n\r\n"I do not recollect that we did."\r\n\r\n"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A\r\nmost delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited\r\nme in every respect."\r\n\r\n"How should you have liked making sermons?"\r\n\r\n"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty,\r\nand the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to\r\nrepine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The\r\nquiet, the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas\r\nof happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the\r\ncircumstance, when you were in Kent?"\r\n\r\n"I have heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was\r\nleft you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."\r\n\r\n"You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the\r\nfirst, you may remember."\r\n\r\n"I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not\r\nso palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually\r\ndeclared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business\r\nhad been compromised accordingly."\r\n\r\n"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember\r\nwhat I told you on that point, when first we talked of it."\r\n\r\nThey were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast\r\nto get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister\'s sake, to provoke him,\r\nshe only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile:\r\n\r\n"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let\r\nus quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one\r\nmind."\r\n\r\nShe held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though\r\nhe hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 53\r\n\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation that he\r\nnever again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,\r\nby introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she\r\nhad said enough to keep him quiet.\r\n\r\nThe day of his and Lydia\'s departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was\r\nforced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means\r\nentered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to\r\ncontinue at least a twelvemonth.\r\n\r\n"Oh! my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall we meet again?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, lord! I don\'t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps."\r\n\r\n"Write to me very often, my dear."\r\n\r\n"As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for\r\nwriting. My sisters may write to _me_. They will have nothing else to\r\ndo."\r\n\r\nMr. Wickham\'s adieus were much more affectionate than his wife\'s. He\r\nsmiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.\r\n\r\n"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of\r\nthe house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to\r\nus all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas\r\nhimself to produce a more valuable son-in-law."\r\n\r\nThe loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.\r\n\r\n"I often think," said she, "that there is nothing so bad as parting with\r\none\'s friends. One seems so forlorn without them."\r\n\r\n"This is the consequence, you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter," said\r\nElizabeth. "It must make you better satisfied that your other four are\r\nsingle."\r\n\r\n"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married,\r\nbut only because her husband\'s regiment happens to be so far off. If\r\nthat had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon."\r\n\r\nBut the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly\r\nrelieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an\r\narticle of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper\r\nat Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her\r\nmaster, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several\r\nweeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and\r\nsmiled and shook her head by turns.\r\n\r\n"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister," (for Mrs.\r\nPhillips first brought her the news). "Well, so much the better. Not\r\nthat I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am\r\nsure _I_ never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome\r\nto come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what _may_ happen?\r\nBut that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to\r\nmention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?"\r\n\r\n"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs. Nicholls was in\r\nMeryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose\r\nto know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. He\r\ncomes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was\r\ngoing to the butcher\'s, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on\r\nWednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing\r\ncolour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to\r\nElizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said:\r\n\r\n"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present\r\nreport; and I know I appeared distressed. But don\'t imagine it was from\r\nany silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that\r\nI _should_ be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect\r\nme either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes\r\nalone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of\r\n_myself_, but I dread other people\'s remarks."\r\n\r\nElizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in\r\nDerbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with no\r\nother view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial\r\nto Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming\r\nthere _with_ his friend\'s permission, or being bold enough to come\r\nwithout it.\r\n\r\n"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man cannot\r\ncome to a house which he has legally hired, without raising all this\r\nspeculation! I _will_ leave him to himself."\r\n\r\nIn spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her\r\nfeelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily\r\nperceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed,\r\nmore unequal, than she had often seen them.\r\n\r\nThe subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents,\r\nabout a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.\r\n\r\n"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "you\r\nwill wait on him of course."\r\n\r\n"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I\r\nwent to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in\r\nnothing, and I will not be sent on a fool\'s errand again."\r\n\r\nHis wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention\r\nwould be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to\r\nNetherfield.\r\n\r\n"\'Tis an etiquette I despise," said he. "If he wants our society,\r\nlet him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours\r\nin running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back\r\nagain."\r\n\r\n"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait\r\non him. But, however, that shan\'t prevent my asking him to dine here, I\r\nam determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will\r\nmake thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for\r\nhim."\r\n\r\nConsoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her\r\nhusband\'s incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her\r\nneighbours might all see Mr. Bingley, in consequence of it, before\r\n_they_ did. As the day of his arrival drew near,--\r\n\r\n"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," said Jane to her sister. "It\r\nwould be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can\r\nhardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well;\r\nbut she does not know, no one can know, how much I suffer from what she\r\nsays. Happy shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield is over!"\r\n\r\n"I wish I could say anything to comfort you," replied Elizabeth; "but it\r\nis wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual satisfaction\r\nof preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because you have\r\nalways so much."\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants,\r\ncontrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety\r\nand fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could. She counted\r\nthe days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent;\r\nhopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his\r\narrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him, from her dressing-room window,\r\nenter the paddock and ride towards the house.\r\n\r\nHer daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely\r\nkept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went\r\nto the window--she looked,--she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down\r\nagain by her sister.\r\n\r\n"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," said Kitty; "who can it be?"\r\n\r\n"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not\r\nknow."\r\n\r\n"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to be with\r\nhim before. Mr. what\'s-his-name. That tall, proud man."\r\n\r\n"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!--and so it does, I vow. Well, any friend of\r\nMr. Bingley\'s will always be welcome here, to be sure; but else I must\r\nsay that I hate the very sight of him."\r\n\r\nJane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little\r\nof their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness\r\nwhich must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time\r\nafter receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable\r\nenough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and their\r\nmother talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be\r\ncivil to him only as Mr. Bingley\'s friend, without being heard by either\r\nof them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be\r\nsuspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs.\r\nGardiner\'s letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him.\r\nTo Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused,\r\nand whose merit she had undervalued; but to her own more extensive\r\ninformation, he was the person to whom the whole family were indebted\r\nfor the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an\r\ninterest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just as\r\nwhat Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming--at his\r\ncoming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again,\r\nwas almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered\r\nbehaviour in Derbyshire.\r\n\r\nThe colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half a\r\nminute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to\r\nher eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection and\r\nwishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure.\r\n\r\n"Let me first see how he behaves," said she; "it will then be early\r\nenough for expectation."\r\n\r\nShe sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to\r\nlift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of\r\nher sister as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little\r\npaler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the\r\ngentlemen\'s appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with\r\ntolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any\r\nsymptom of resentment or any unnecessary complaisance.\r\n\r\nElizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down\r\nagain to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She\r\nhad ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious, as usual; and,\r\nshe thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as\r\nshe had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her mother\'s\r\npresence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but\r\nnot an improbable, conjecture.\r\n\r\nBingley, she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period\r\nsaw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs.\r\nBennet with a degree of civility which made her two daughters ashamed,\r\nespecially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of\r\nher curtsey and address to his friend.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter\r\nthe preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy,\r\nwas hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill\r\napplied.\r\n\r\nDarcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question\r\nwhich she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. He\r\nwas not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of his silence; but\r\nit had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends,\r\nwhen he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed without\r\nbringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist\r\nthe impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she as often\r\nfound him looking at Jane as at herself, and frequently on no object but\r\nthe ground. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please, than when\r\nthey last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry\r\nwith herself for being so.\r\n\r\n"Could I expect it to be otherwise!" said she. "Yet why did he come?"\r\n\r\nShe was in no humour for conversation with anyone but himself; and to\r\nhim she had hardly courage to speak.\r\n\r\nShe inquired after his sister, but could do no more.\r\n\r\n"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.\r\n\r\nHe readily agreed to it.\r\n\r\n"I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People _did_ say\r\nyou meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope\r\nit is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood,\r\nsince you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my\r\nown daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have\r\nseen it in the papers. It was in The Times and The Courier, I know;\r\nthough it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, \'Lately,\r\nGeorge Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,\' without there being a\r\nsyllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything.\r\nIt was my brother Gardiner\'s drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to\r\nmake such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?"\r\n\r\nBingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth\r\ndared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could\r\nnot tell.\r\n\r\n"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,"\r\ncontinued her mother, "but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very\r\nhard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to\r\nNewcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay\r\nI do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you have\r\nheard of his leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the\r\nregulars. Thank Heaven! he has _some_ friends, though perhaps not so\r\nmany as he deserves."\r\n\r\nElizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such\r\nmisery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her,\r\nhowever, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually\r\ndone before; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in\r\nthe country at present. A few weeks, he believed.\r\n\r\n"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley," said her mother,\r\n"I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please on Mr.\r\nBennet\'s manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and\r\nwill save all the best of the covies for you."\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious\r\nattention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as had\r\nflattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be\r\nhastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant, she felt\r\nthat years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for\r\nmoments of such painful confusion.\r\n\r\n"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself, "is never more to\r\nbe in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure\r\nthat will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either\r\none or the other again!"\r\n\r\nYet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no\r\ncompensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from observing\r\nhow much the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of her\r\nformer lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little;\r\nbut every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He\r\nfound her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and\r\nas unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no\r\ndifference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded\r\nthat she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged,\r\nthat she did not always know when she was silent.\r\n\r\nWhen the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her\r\nintended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at\r\nLongbourn in a few days time.\r\n\r\n"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley," she added, "for when\r\nyou went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with\r\nus, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure\r\nyou, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep\r\nyour engagement."\r\n\r\nBingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of\r\nhis concern at having been prevented by business. They then went away.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine\r\nthere that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did\r\nnot think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man\r\non whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride\r\nof one who had ten thousand a year.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 54\r\n\r\n\r\nAs soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;\r\nor in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that\r\nmust deaden them more. Mr. Darcy\'s behaviour astonished and vexed her.\r\n\r\n"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent," said she,\r\n"did he come at all?"\r\n\r\nShe could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.\r\n\r\n"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when\r\nhe was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If\r\nhe no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing, man! I will\r\nthink no more about him."\r\n\r\nHer resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach\r\nof her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which showed her\r\nbetter satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly\r\neasy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by\r\nhis coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly\r\nseen that, on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent\r\nacquaintance."\r\n\r\n"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said Elizabeth, laughingly. "Oh, Jane,\r\ntake care."\r\n\r\n"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now?"\r\n\r\n"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with\r\nyou as ever."\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\nThey did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in\r\nthe meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good\r\nhumour and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour\'s visit, had\r\nrevived.\r\n\r\nOn Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two\r\nwho were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality\r\nas sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the\r\ndining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take\r\nthe place, which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by\r\nher sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore\r\nto invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to\r\nhesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was\r\ndecided. He placed himself by her.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend.\r\nHe bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that\r\nBingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes\r\nlikewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing\r\nalarm.\r\n\r\nHis behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as showed an\r\nadmiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded\r\nElizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane\'s happiness, and his\r\nown, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the\r\nconsequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It\r\ngave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in\r\nno cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her as the table\r\ncould divide them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little\r\nsuch a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to\r\nadvantage. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but\r\nshe could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and\r\ncold was their manner whenever they did. Her mother\'s ungraciousness,\r\nmade the sense of what they owed him more painful to Elizabeth\'s mind;\r\nand she would, at times, have given anything to be privileged to tell\r\nhim that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the\r\nfamily.\r\n\r\nShe was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of\r\nbringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away\r\nwithout enabling them to enter into something more of conversation than\r\nthe mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious\r\nand uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the\r\ngentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made her\r\nuncivil. She looked forward to their entrance as the point on which all\r\nher chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.\r\n\r\n"If he does not come to me, _then_," said she, "I shall give him up for\r\never."\r\n\r\nThe gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have\r\nanswered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table,\r\nwhere Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee,\r\nin so close a confederacy that there was not a single vacancy near her\r\nwhich would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen\'s approaching, one of\r\nthe girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a whisper:\r\n\r\n"The men shan\'t come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them;\r\ndo we?"\r\n\r\nDarcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with\r\nher eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough\r\nto help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against herself for\r\nbeing so silly!\r\n\r\n"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to\r\nexpect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not\r\nprotest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman?\r\nThere is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!"\r\n\r\nShe was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup\r\nhimself; and she seized the opportunity of saying:\r\n\r\n"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."\r\n\r\n"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"\r\n\r\n"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough,\r\nthese three weeks."\r\n\r\nShe could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse\r\nwith her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for\r\nsome minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady\'s whispering\r\nto Elizabeth again, he walked away.\r\n\r\nWhen the tea-things were removed, and the card-tables placed, the ladies\r\nall rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him,\r\nwhen all her views were overthrown by seeing him fall a victim to her\r\nmother\'s rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after seated\r\nwith the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure.\r\nThey were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had\r\nnothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side\r\nof the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to\r\nsupper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the\r\nothers, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.\r\n\r\n"Well girls," said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, "What\r\nsay you to the day? I think every thing has passed off uncommonly well,\r\nI assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The\r\nvenison was roasted to a turn--and everybody said they never saw so\r\nfat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the\r\nLucases\' last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges\r\nwere remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three French\r\ncooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater\r\nbeauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And\r\nwhat do you think she said besides? \'Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her\r\nat Netherfield at last.\' She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good\r\na creature as ever lived--and her nieces are very pretty behaved girls,\r\nand not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough of\r\nBingley\'s behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get him at\r\nlast; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy\r\nhumour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at\r\nnot seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.\r\n\r\n"It has been a very agreeable day," said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. "The\r\nparty seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we\r\nmay often meet again."\r\n\r\nElizabeth smiled.\r\n\r\n"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me.\r\nI assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an\r\nagreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish beyond it. I am\r\nperfectly satisfied, from what his manners now are, that he never had\r\nany design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed\r\nwith greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally\r\npleasing, than any other man."\r\n\r\n"You are very cruel," said her sister, "you will not let me smile, and\r\nare provoking me to it every moment."\r\n\r\n"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!"\r\n\r\n"And how impossible in others!"\r\n\r\n"But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I\r\nacknowledge?"\r\n\r\n"That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to\r\ninstruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive\r\nme; and if you persist in indifference, do not make me your confidante."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 55\r\n\r\n\r\nA few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His\r\nfriend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in\r\nten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably\r\ngood spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many\r\nexpressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.\r\n\r\n"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shall be more lucky."\r\n\r\nHe should be particularly happy at any time, etc. etc.; and if she would\r\ngive him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them.\r\n\r\n"Can you come to-morrow?"\r\n\r\nYes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was\r\naccepted with alacrity.\r\n\r\nHe came, and in such very good time that the ladies were none of them\r\ndressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter\'s room, in her dressing\r\ngown, and with her hair half finished, crying out:\r\n\r\n"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come--Mr. Bingley is\r\ncome. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss\r\nBennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss\r\nLizzy\'s hair."\r\n\r\n"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane; "but I dare say Kitty is\r\nforwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs half an hour ago."\r\n\r\n"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come be quick, be quick!\r\nWhere is your sash, my dear?"\r\n\r\nBut when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down\r\nwithout one of her sisters.\r\n\r\nThe same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the\r\nevening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his\r\ncustom, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of\r\nthe five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at\r\nElizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any\r\nimpression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last\r\nKitty did, she very innocently said, "What is the matter mamma? What do\r\nyou keep winking at me for? What am I to do?"\r\n\r\n"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you." She then sat still\r\nfive minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she\r\nsuddenly got up, and saying to Kitty, "Come here, my love, I want to\r\nspeak to you," took her out of the room. Jane instantly gave a look\r\nat Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her\r\nentreaty that _she_ would not give in to it. In a few minutes, Mrs.\r\nBennet half-opened the door and called out:\r\n\r\n"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was forced to go.\r\n\r\n"We may as well leave them by themselves you know;" said her mother, as\r\nsoon as she was in the hall. "Kitty and I are going up stairs to sit in\r\nmy dressing-room."\r\n\r\nElizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained\r\nquietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned\r\ninto the drawing-room.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet\'s schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was every\r\nthing that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His\r\nease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their\r\nevening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the\r\nmother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command\r\nof countenance particularly grateful to the daughter.\r\n\r\nHe scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went\r\naway, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs.\r\nBennet\'s means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.\r\n\r\nAfter this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed\r\nbetween the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in\r\nthe happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy\r\nreturned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably\r\npersuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman\'s\r\nconcurrence.\r\n\r\nBingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent\r\nthe morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more\r\nagreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption\r\nor folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into\r\nsilence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the\r\nother had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner;\r\nand in the evening Mrs. Bennet\'s invention was again at work to get\r\nevery body away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter\r\nto write, went into the breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea;\r\nfor as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be\r\nwanted to counteract her mother\'s schemes.\r\n\r\nBut on returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished, she\r\nsaw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother\r\nhad been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her\r\nsister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in\r\nearnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of\r\nboth, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would\r\nhave told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but _hers_ she\r\nthought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and\r\nElizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as\r\nwell as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering a few\r\nwords to her sister, ran out of the room.\r\n\r\nJane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give\r\npleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest\r\nemotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.\r\n\r\n"\'Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh!\r\nwhy is not everybody as happy?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth,\r\na delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of\r\nkindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not\r\nallow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be\r\nsaid for the present.\r\n\r\n"I must go instantly to my mother;" she cried. "I would not on any\r\naccount trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it\r\nfrom anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh! Lizzy, to\r\nknow that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear\r\nfamily! how shall I bear so much happiness!"\r\n\r\nShe then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the\r\ncard party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.\r\n\r\nElizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease\r\nwith which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many\r\nprevious months of suspense and vexation.\r\n\r\n"And this," said she, "is the end of all his friend\'s anxious\r\ncircumspection! of all his sister\'s falsehood and contrivance! the\r\nhappiest, wisest, most reasonable end!"\r\n\r\nIn a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her\r\nfather had been short and to the purpose.\r\n\r\n"Where is your sister?" said he hastily, as he opened the door.\r\n\r\n"With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say."\r\n\r\nHe then shut the door, and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes\r\nand affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed\r\nher delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with\r\ngreat cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen\r\nto all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane\'s perfections;\r\nand in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his\r\nexpectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for\r\nbasis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposition of\r\nJane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and\r\nhimself.\r\n\r\nIt was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of\r\nMiss Bennet\'s mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as\r\nmade her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped\r\nher turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent or\r\nspeak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,\r\nthough she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour; and when\r\nMr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed\r\nhow really happy he was.\r\n\r\nNot a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their\r\nvisitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he\r\nturned to his daughter, and said:\r\n\r\n"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."\r\n\r\nJane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his\r\ngoodness.\r\n\r\n"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I have great pleasure in\r\nthinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your\r\ndoing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are\r\neach of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so\r\neasy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will\r\nalways exceed your income."\r\n\r\n"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be\r\nunpardonable in me."\r\n\r\n"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you\r\ntalking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely\r\nmore." Then addressing her daughter, "Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so\r\nhappy! I am sure I shan\'t get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it\r\nwould be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not\r\nbe so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when\r\nhe first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was\r\nthat you should come together. Oh! he is the handsomest young man that\r\never was seen!"\r\n\r\nWickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her\r\nfavourite child. At that moment, she cared for no other. Her younger\r\nsisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness\r\nwhich she might in future be able to dispense.\r\n\r\nMary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty\r\nbegged very hard for a few balls there every winter.\r\n\r\nBingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;\r\ncoming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after\r\nsupper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough\r\ndetested, had given him an invitation to dinner which he thought himself\r\nobliged to accept.\r\n\r\nElizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for\r\nwhile he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else;\r\nbut she found herself considerably useful to both of them in those hours\r\nof separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he\r\nalways attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of\r\nher; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of\r\nrelief.\r\n\r\n"He has made me so happy," said she, one evening, "by telling me that he\r\nwas totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed\r\nit possible."\r\n\r\n"I suspected as much," replied Elizabeth. "But how did he account for\r\nit?"\r\n\r\n"It must have been his sister\'s doing. They were certainly no friends to\r\nhis acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have\r\nchosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,\r\nas I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will\r\nlearn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again; though we\r\ncan never be what we once were to each other."\r\n\r\n"That is the most unforgiving speech," said Elizabeth, "that I ever\r\nheard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again\r\nthe dupe of Miss Bingley\'s pretended regard."\r\n\r\n"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November,\r\nhe really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of _my_ being\r\nindifferent would have prevented his coming down again!"\r\n\r\n"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit of his\r\nmodesty."\r\n\r\nThis naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and\r\nthe little value he put on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was pleased\r\nto find that he had not betrayed the interference of his friend; for,\r\nthough Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, she\r\nknew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.\r\n\r\n"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" cried\r\nJane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed\r\nabove them all! If I could but see _you_ as happy! If there _were_ but\r\nsuch another man for you!"\r\n\r\n"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as\r\nyou. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your\r\nhappiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very\r\ngood luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time."\r\n\r\nThe situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a\r\nsecret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Phillips,\r\nand she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her\r\nneighbours in Meryton.\r\n\r\nThe Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the\r\nworld, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,\r\nthey had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 56\r\n\r\n\r\nOne morning, about a week after Bingley\'s engagement with Jane had been\r\nformed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the\r\ndining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the\r\nsound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up\r\nthe lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the\r\nequipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses\r\nwere post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who\r\npreceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that\r\nsomebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid\r\nthe confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the\r\nshrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three\r\ncontinued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown\r\nopen and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.\r\n\r\nThey were of course all intending to be surprised; but their\r\nastonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.\r\nBennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even\r\ninferior to what Elizabeth felt.\r\n\r\nShe entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no\r\nother reply to Elizabeth\'s salutation than a slight inclination of the\r\nhead, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her\r\nname to her mother on her ladyship\'s entrance, though no request of\r\nintroduction had been made.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such\r\nhigh importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting\r\nfor a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to Elizabeth,\r\n\r\n"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your\r\nmother."\r\n\r\nElizabeth replied very concisely that she was.\r\n\r\n"And _that_ I suppose is one of your sisters."\r\n\r\n"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to Lady Catherine.\r\n"She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married,\r\nand my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man\r\nwho, I believe, will soon become a part of the family."\r\n\r\n"You have a very small park here," returned Lady Catherine after a short\r\nsilence.\r\n\r\n"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say; but I\r\nassure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas\'s."\r\n\r\n"This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in\r\nsummer; the windows are full west."\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then\r\nadded:\r\n\r\n"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. and\r\nMrs. Collins well."\r\n\r\n"Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last."\r\n\r\nElizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from\r\nCharlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no\r\nletter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.\r\n\r\nMrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some\r\nrefreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely,\r\ndeclined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to Elizabeth,\r\n\r\n"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness\r\non one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you\r\nwill favour me with your company."\r\n\r\n"Go, my dear," cried her mother, "and show her ladyship about the\r\ndifferent walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage."\r\n\r\nElizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol,\r\nattended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the\r\nhall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and\r\ndrawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent\r\nlooking rooms, walked on.\r\n\r\nHer carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her\r\nwaiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk\r\nthat led to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for\r\nconversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and\r\ndisagreeable.\r\n\r\n"How could I ever think her like her nephew?" said she, as she looked in\r\nher face.\r\n\r\nAs soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following\r\nmanner:--\r\n\r\n"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my\r\njourney hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I\r\ncome."\r\n\r\nElizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.\r\n\r\n"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able to account\r\nfor the honour of seeing you here."\r\n\r\n"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, "you ought to\r\nknow, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere _you_ may\r\nchoose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been\r\ncelebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such\r\nmoment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most\r\nalarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your\r\nsister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that\r\nyou, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon\r\nafterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I\r\n_know_ it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him\r\nso much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved\r\non setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to\r\nyou."\r\n\r\n"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, colouring\r\nwith astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming\r\nso far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"\r\n\r\n"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted."\r\n\r\n"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family," said Elizabeth\r\ncoolly, "will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report\r\nis in existence."\r\n\r\n"If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been\r\nindustriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a\r\nreport is spread abroad?"\r\n\r\n"I never heard that it was."\r\n\r\n"And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?"\r\n\r\n"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may\r\nask questions which I shall not choose to answer."\r\n\r\n"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has\r\nhe, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?"\r\n\r\n"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."\r\n\r\n"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his\r\nreason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation,\r\nhave made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You\r\nmay have drawn him in."\r\n\r\n"If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it."\r\n\r\n"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such\r\nlanguage as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world,\r\nand am entitled to know all his dearest concerns."\r\n\r\n"But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as this,\r\never induce me to be explicit."\r\n\r\n"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the\r\npresumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is\r\nengaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?"\r\n\r\n"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will\r\nmake an offer to me."\r\n\r\nLady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied:\r\n\r\n"The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy,\r\nthey have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of\r\n_his_ mother, as well as of hers. While in their cradles, we planned\r\nthe union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would\r\nbe accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of\r\ninferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to\r\nthe family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his\r\ntacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of\r\npropriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest\r\nhours he was destined for his cousin?"\r\n\r\n"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is\r\nno other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not\r\nbe kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to\r\nmarry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the\r\nmarriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither\r\nby honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make\r\nanother choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?"\r\n\r\n"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes,\r\nMiss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or\r\nfriends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will\r\nbe censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him.\r\nYour alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned\r\nby any of us."\r\n\r\n"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the wife of Mr.\r\nDarcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily\r\nattached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause\r\nto repine."\r\n\r\n"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude\r\nfor my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that\r\nscore? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came\r\nhere with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will\r\nI be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person\'s\r\nwhims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment."\r\n\r\n"_That_ will make your ladyship\'s situation at present more pitiable;\r\nbut it will have no effect on me."\r\n\r\n"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my\r\nnephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal\r\nside, from the same noble line; and, on the father\'s, from respectable,\r\nhonourable, and ancient--though untitled--families. Their fortune on\r\nboth sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of\r\nevery member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them?\r\nThe upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections,\r\nor fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you\r\nwere sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in\r\nwhich you have been brought up."\r\n\r\n"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that\r\nsphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman\'s daughter; so far we are\r\nequal."\r\n\r\n"True. You _are_ a gentleman\'s daughter. But who was your mother?\r\nWho are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their\r\ncondition."\r\n\r\n"Whatever my connections may be," said Elizabeth, "if your nephew does\r\nnot object to them, they can be nothing to _you_."\r\n\r\n"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?"\r\n\r\nThough Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady\r\nCatherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a\r\nmoment\'s deliberation:\r\n\r\n"I am not."\r\n\r\nLady Catherine seemed pleased.\r\n\r\n"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?"\r\n\r\n"I will make no promise of the kind."\r\n\r\n"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more\r\nreasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that\r\nI will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the\r\nassurance I require."\r\n\r\n"And I certainly _never_ shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into\r\nanything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry\r\nyour daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their\r\nmarriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would\r\nmy refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin?\r\nAllow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have\r\nsupported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the\r\napplication was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if\r\nyou think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your\r\nnephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell;\r\nbut you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg,\r\ntherefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject."\r\n\r\n"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the\r\nobjections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am\r\nno stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister\'s infamous\r\nelopement. I know it all; that the young man\'s marrying her was a\r\npatched-up business, at the expence of your father and uncles. And is\r\nsuch a girl to be my nephew\'s sister? Is her husband, is the son of his\r\nlate father\'s steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!--of what are\r\nyou thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"\r\n\r\n"You can now have nothing further to say," she resentfully answered.\r\n"You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to\r\nthe house."\r\n\r\nAnd she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned\r\nback. Her ladyship was highly incensed.\r\n\r\n"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew!\r\nUnfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you\r\nmust disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?"\r\n\r\n"Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments."\r\n\r\n"You are then resolved to have him?"\r\n\r\n"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner,\r\nwhich will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without\r\nreference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."\r\n\r\n"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the\r\nclaims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in\r\nthe opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world."\r\n\r\n"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude," replied Elizabeth, "have any\r\npossible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either\r\nwould be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the\r\nresentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former\r\n_were_ excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment\'s\r\nconcern--and the world in general would have too much sense to join in\r\nthe scorn."\r\n\r\n"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well.\r\nI shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your\r\nambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you\r\nreasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point."\r\n\r\nIn this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of\r\nthe carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added, "I take no leave\r\nof you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve\r\nno such attention. I am most seriously displeased."\r\n\r\nElizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her\r\nladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She\r\nheard the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Her mother\r\nimpatiently met her at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady\r\nCatherine would not come in again and rest herself.\r\n\r\n"She did not choose it," said her daughter, "she would go."\r\n\r\n"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously\r\ncivil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were\r\nwell. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so, passing through\r\nMeryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had\r\nnothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?"\r\n\r\nElizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to\r\nacknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 57\r\n\r\n\r\nThe discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw\r\nElizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she, for many\r\nhours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it\r\nappeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings,\r\nfor the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.\r\nDarcy. It was a rational scheme, to be sure! but from what the report\r\nof their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;\r\ntill she recollected that _his_ being the intimate friend of Bingley,\r\nand _her_ being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the\r\nexpectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another, to supply\r\nthe idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her\r\nsister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours\r\nat Lucas Lodge, therefore (for through their communication with the\r\nCollinses, the report, she concluded, had reached Lady Catherine), had\r\nonly set that down as almost certain and immediate, which she had looked\r\nforward to as possible at some future time.\r\n\r\nIn revolving Lady Catherine\'s expressions, however, she could not help\r\nfeeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting\r\nin this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to\r\nprevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate\r\nan application to her nephew; and how _he_ might take a similar\r\nrepresentation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared\r\nnot pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his\r\naunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose\r\nthat he thought much higher of her ladyship than _she_ could do; and it\r\nwas certain that, in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with _one_,\r\nwhose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would\r\naddress him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would\r\nprobably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak\r\nand ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.\r\n\r\nIf he had been wavering before as to what he should do, which had often\r\nseemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might\r\nsettle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity\r\nunblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady\r\nCatherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to\r\nBingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.\r\n\r\n"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his\r\nfriend within a few days," she added, "I shall know how to understand\r\nit. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his\r\nconstancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might\r\nhave obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him\r\nat all."\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\nThe surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had\r\nbeen, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same\r\nkind of supposition which had appeased Mrs. Bennet\'s curiosity; and\r\nElizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.\r\n\r\nThe next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her\r\nfather, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.\r\n\r\n"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you; come into my room."\r\n\r\nShe followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to\r\ntell her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner\r\nconnected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it\r\nmight be from Lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the\r\nconsequent explanations.\r\n\r\nShe followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down. He\r\nthen said,\r\n\r\n"I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me\r\nexceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its\r\ncontents. I did not know before, that I had two daughters on the brink\r\nof matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest."\r\n\r\nThe colour now rushed into Elizabeth\'s cheeks in the instantaneous\r\nconviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt;\r\nand she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained\r\nhimself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to\r\nherself; when her father continued:\r\n\r\n"You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters\r\nas these; but I think I may defy even _your_ sagacity, to discover the\r\nname of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins."\r\n\r\n"From Mr. Collins! and what can _he_ have to say?"\r\n\r\n"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with\r\ncongratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of\r\nwhich, it seems, he has been told by some of the good-natured, gossiping\r\nLucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what he says\r\non that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows: \'Having thus\r\noffered you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on\r\nthis happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another;\r\nof which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter\r\nElizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after\r\nher elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her fate may\r\nbe reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in\r\nthis land.\'\r\n\r\n"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this? \'This young\r\ngentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of\r\nmortal can most desire,--splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive\r\npatronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin\r\nElizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur by a precipitate\r\nclosure with this gentleman\'s proposals, which, of course, you will be\r\ninclined to take immediate advantage of.\'\r\n\r\n"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out:\r\n\r\n"\'My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to imagine\r\nthat his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with\r\na friendly eye.\'\r\n\r\n"_Mr. Darcy_, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I _have_\r\nsurprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man within\r\nthe circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie\r\nmore effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any\r\nwoman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his\r\nlife! It is admirable!"\r\n\r\nElizabeth tried to join in her father\'s pleasantry, but could only force\r\none most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so\r\nlittle agreeable to her.\r\n\r\n"Are you not diverted?"\r\n\r\n"Oh! yes. Pray read on."\r\n\r\n"\'After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship last\r\nnight, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she\r\nfelt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some\r\nfamily objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give her\r\nconsent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty\r\nto give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that she and\r\nher noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run\r\nhastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.\' Mr.\r\nCollins moreover adds, \'I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia\'s sad\r\nbusiness has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their\r\nliving together before the marriage took place should be so generally\r\nknown. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain\r\nfrom declaring my amazement at hearing that you received the young\r\ncouple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an\r\nencouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should\r\nvery strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them,\r\nas a Christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their\r\nnames to be mentioned in your hearing.\' That is his notion of Christian\r\nforgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte\'s\r\nsituation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you\r\nlook as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be _missish_,\r\nI hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we\r\nlive, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our\r\nturn?"\r\n\r\n"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is so\r\nstrange!"\r\n\r\n"Yes--_that_ is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man\r\nit would have been nothing; but _his_ perfect indifference, and _your_\r\npointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate\r\nwriting, I would not give up Mr. Collins\'s correspondence for any\r\nconsideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving\r\nhim the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and\r\nhypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine\r\nabout this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?"\r\n\r\nTo this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had\r\nbeen asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by\r\nhis repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her\r\nfeelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she\r\nwould rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by\r\nwhat he said of Mr. Darcy\'s indifference, and she could do nothing but\r\nwonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of\r\nhis seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 58\r\n\r\n\r\nInstead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as\r\nElizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy\r\nwith him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine\'s\r\nvisit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time\r\nto tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat\r\nin momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed\r\ntheir all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the\r\nhabit of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the remaining five\r\nset off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others\r\nto outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy\r\nwere to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty\r\nwas too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a\r\ndesperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.\r\n\r\nThey walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon\r\nMaria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern,\r\nwhen Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the\r\nmoment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was\r\nhigh, she immediately said:\r\n\r\n"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving\r\nrelief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I\r\ncan no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my\r\npoor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to\r\nacknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest\r\nof my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."\r\n\r\n"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise\r\nand emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a\r\nmistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner\r\nwas so little to be trusted."\r\n\r\n"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia\'s thoughtlessness first betrayed to\r\nme that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could\r\nnot rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again,\r\nin the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced\r\nyou to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the\r\nsake of discovering them."\r\n\r\n"If you _will_ thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone.\r\nThat the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other\r\ninducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your\r\n_family_ owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought\r\nonly of _you_."\r\n\r\nElizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,\r\nher companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your\r\nfeelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. _My_\r\naffections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence\r\nme on this subject for ever."\r\n\r\nElizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of\r\nhis situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not\r\nvery fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone\r\nso material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make\r\nher receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The\r\nhappiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never\r\nfelt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as\r\nwarmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth\r\nbeen able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the\r\nexpression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him;\r\nbut, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of\r\nfeelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his\r\naffection every moment more valuable.\r\n\r\nThey walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to\r\nbe thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She\r\nsoon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding\r\nto the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through\r\nLondon, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the\r\nsubstance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on\r\nevery expression of the latter which, in her ladyship\'s apprehension,\r\npeculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that\r\nsuch a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise\r\nfrom her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her\r\nladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.\r\n\r\n"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself\r\nto hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that,\r\nhad you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have\r\nacknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."\r\n\r\nElizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough\r\nof my frankness to believe me capable of _that_. After abusing you so\r\nabominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all\r\nyour relations."\r\n\r\n"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your\r\naccusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my\r\nbehaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was\r\nunpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."\r\n\r\n"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that\r\nevening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined,\r\nwill be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved\r\nin civility."\r\n\r\n"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I\r\nthen said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of\r\nit, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your\r\nreproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: \'had you behaved in a\r\nmore gentlemanlike manner.\' Those were your words. You know not, you can\r\nscarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;--though it was some time,\r\nI confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice."\r\n\r\n"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an\r\nimpression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such\r\na way."\r\n\r\n"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper\r\nfeeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never\r\nforget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible\r\nway that would induce you to accept me."\r\n\r\n"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at\r\nall. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it."\r\n\r\nDarcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon make you\r\nthink better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its\r\ncontents?"\r\n\r\nShe explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her\r\nformer prejudices had been removed.\r\n\r\n"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was\r\nnecessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part\r\nespecially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the\r\npower of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might\r\njustly make you hate me."\r\n\r\n"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the\r\npreservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my\r\nopinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily\r\nchanged as that implies."\r\n\r\n"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly\r\ncalm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a\r\ndreadful bitterness of spirit."\r\n\r\n"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The\r\nadieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings\r\nof the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now\r\nso widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant\r\ncircumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some\r\nof my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you\r\npleasure."\r\n\r\n"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your\r\nretrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment\r\narising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of\r\ninnocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude\r\nwhich cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish\r\nbeing all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I\r\nwas taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I\r\nwas given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit.\r\nUnfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt\r\nby my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all\r\nthat was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught\r\nme to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family\r\ncircle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least\r\nto think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I\r\nwas, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been\r\nbut for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You\r\ntaught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you,\r\nI was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception.\r\nYou showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman\r\nworthy of being pleased."\r\n\r\n"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"\r\n\r\n"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be\r\nwishing, expecting my addresses."\r\n\r\n"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure\r\nyou. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me\r\nwrong. How you must have hated me after _that_ evening?"\r\n\r\n"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take\r\na proper direction."\r\n\r\n"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at\r\nPemberley. You blamed me for coming?"\r\n\r\n"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."\r\n\r\n"Your surprise could not be greater than _mine_ in being noticed by you.\r\nMy conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I\r\nconfess that I did not expect to receive _more_ than my due."\r\n\r\n"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in\r\nmy power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to\r\nobtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you\r\nsee that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes\r\nintroduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an\r\nhour after I had seen you."\r\n\r\nHe then told her of Georgiana\'s delight in her acquaintance, and of her\r\ndisappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to\r\nthe cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of\r\nfollowing her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed\r\nbefore he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness\r\nthere had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must\r\ncomprehend.\r\n\r\nShe expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to\r\neach, to be dwelt on farther.\r\n\r\nAfter walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know\r\nanything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that\r\nit was time to be at home.\r\n\r\n"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which\r\nintroduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with\r\ntheir engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of\r\nit.\r\n\r\n"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.\r\n\r\n"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."\r\n\r\n"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And\r\nthough he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much\r\nthe case.\r\n\r\n"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I made a\r\nconfession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I\r\ntold him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his\r\naffairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had\r\nthe slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself\r\nmistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent\r\nto him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was\r\nunabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his\r\nfriend.\r\n\r\n"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him\r\nthat my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"\r\n\r\n"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits\r\nwhich I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection."\r\n\r\n"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to\r\nhim."\r\n\r\n"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had\r\nprevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but\r\nhis reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess\r\none thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not\r\nallow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months\r\nlast winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was\r\nangry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained\r\nin any doubt of your sister\'s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me\r\nnow."\r\n\r\nElizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful\r\nfriend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked\r\nherself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at,\r\nand it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness\r\nof Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he\r\ncontinued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they\r\nparted.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 59\r\n\r\n\r\n"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question\r\nwhich Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered their room,\r\nand from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to\r\nsay in reply, that they had wandered about, till she was beyond her own\r\nknowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor anything\r\nelse, awakened a suspicion of the truth.\r\n\r\nThe evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The\r\nacknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent.\r\nDarcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;\r\nand Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather _knew_ that she was happy\r\nthan _felt_ herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment,\r\nthere were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt\r\nin the family when her situation became known; she was aware that no\r\none liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a\r\ndislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.\r\n\r\nAt night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far\r\nfrom Miss Bennet\'s general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.\r\n\r\n"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!--engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no,\r\nyou shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible."\r\n\r\n"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and\r\nI am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am\r\nin earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are\r\nengaged."\r\n\r\nJane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much\r\nyou dislike him."\r\n\r\n"You know nothing of the matter. _That_ is all to be forgot. Perhaps I\r\ndid not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as\r\nthese, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever\r\nremember it myself."\r\n\r\nMiss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more\r\nseriously assured her of its truth.\r\n\r\n"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you," cried\r\nJane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would--I do congratulate you--but are you\r\ncertain? forgive the question--are you quite certain that you can be\r\nhappy with him?"\r\n\r\n"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that\r\nwe are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased,\r\nJane? Shall you like to have such a brother?"\r\n\r\n"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more\r\ndelight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you\r\nreally love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than\r\nmarry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought\r\nto do?"\r\n\r\n"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel _more_ than I ought to do, when I\r\ntell you all."\r\n\r\n"What do you mean?"\r\n\r\n"Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am\r\nafraid you will be angry."\r\n\r\n"My dearest sister, now _be_ serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let\r\nme know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me\r\nhow long you have loved him?"\r\n\r\n"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.\r\nBut I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds\r\nat Pemberley."\r\n\r\nAnother entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the\r\ndesired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances\r\nof attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing\r\nfurther to wish.\r\n\r\n"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as happy as myself.\r\nI always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you,\r\nI must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley\'s friend and your\r\nhusband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But\r\nLizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you\r\ntell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know\r\nof it to another, not to you."\r\n\r\nElizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling\r\nto mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made\r\nher equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no longer\r\nconceal from her his share in Lydia\'s marriage. All was acknowledged,\r\nand half the night spent in conversation.\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\n"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next\r\nmorning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with\r\nour dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always\r\ncoming here? I had no notion but he would go a-shooting, or something or\r\nother, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him?\r\nLizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley\'s\r\nway."\r\n\r\nElizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet\r\nwas really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an\r\nepithet.\r\n\r\nAs soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and\r\nshook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information;\r\nand he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes\r\nhereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"\r\n\r\n"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk\r\nto Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has\r\nnever seen the view."\r\n\r\n"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am\r\nsure it will be too much for Kitty. Won\'t it, Kitty?" Kitty owned that\r\nshe had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see\r\nthe view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented. As she went\r\nup stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying:\r\n\r\n"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that\r\ndisagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is\r\nall for Jane\'s sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking\r\nto him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to\r\ninconvenience."\r\n\r\nDuring their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet\'s consent should be\r\nasked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the\r\napplication for her mother\'s. She could not determine how her mother\r\nwould take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur\r\nwould be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she\r\nwere violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it\r\nwas certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit\r\nto her sense; and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear\r\nthe first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her\r\ndisapprobation.\r\n\r\n                          * * * * *\r\n\r\nIn the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw\r\nMr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was\r\nextreme. She did not fear her father\'s opposition, but he was going to\r\nbe made unhappy; and that it should be through her means--that _she_,\r\nhis favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be\r\nfilling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her--was a wretched\r\nreflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when,\r\nlooking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes\r\nhe approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while\r\npretending to admire her work said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he\r\nwants you in the library." She was gone directly.\r\n\r\nHer father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious.\r\n"Lizzy," said he, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be\r\naccepting this man? Have not you always hated him?"\r\n\r\nHow earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more\r\nreasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from\r\nexplanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give;\r\nbut they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion,\r\nof her attachment to Mr. Darcy.\r\n\r\n"Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be\r\nsure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane.\r\nBut will they make you happy?"\r\n\r\n"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your belief of my\r\nindifference?"\r\n\r\n"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but\r\nthis would be nothing if you really liked him."\r\n\r\n"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "I love him.\r\nIndeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not\r\nknow what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in\r\nsuch terms."\r\n\r\n"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind\r\nof man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything, which he\r\ncondescended to ask. I now give it to _you_, if you are resolved on\r\nhaving him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know\r\nyour disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor\r\nrespectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked\r\nup to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the\r\ngreatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape\r\ndiscredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing\r\n_you_ unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are\r\nabout."\r\n\r\nElizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply; and\r\nat length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object\r\nof her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her estimation of\r\nhim had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his affection\r\nwas not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months\'\r\nsuspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she did\r\nconquer her father\'s incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.\r\n\r\n"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to\r\nsay. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with\r\nyou, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."\r\n\r\nTo complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy\r\nhad voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.\r\n\r\n"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did every thing;\r\nmade up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow\'s debts, and got him\r\nhis commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble\r\nand economy. Had it been your uncle\'s doing, I must and _would_ have\r\npaid him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own\r\nway. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about\r\nhis love for you, and there will be an end of the matter."\r\n\r\nHe then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading\r\nMr. Collins\'s letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her\r\nat last to go--saying, as she quitted the room, "If any young men come\r\nfor Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure."\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after\r\nhalf an hour\'s quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join\r\nthe others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for\r\ngaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer\r\nanything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity\r\nwould come in time.\r\n\r\nWhen her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her,\r\nand made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary;\r\nfor on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to\r\nutter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she could\r\ncomprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit\r\nwhat was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a\r\nlover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in\r\nher chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.\r\n\r\n"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would\r\nhave thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich\r\nand how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages\r\nyou will have! Jane\'s is nothing to it--nothing at all. I am so\r\npleased--so happy. Such a charming man!--so handsome! so tall!--Oh, my\r\ndear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I\r\nhope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing\r\nthat is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh,\r\nLord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."\r\n\r\nThis was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and\r\nElizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,\r\nsoon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,\r\nher mother followed her.\r\n\r\n"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten\r\nthousand a year, and very likely more! \'Tis as good as a Lord! And a\r\nspecial licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But\r\nmy dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of,\r\nthat I may have it to-morrow."\r\n\r\nThis was a sad omen of what her mother\'s behaviour to the gentleman\r\nhimself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain\r\npossession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations\'\r\nconsent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow\r\npassed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood\r\nin such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to\r\nhim, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her\r\ndeference for his opinion.\r\n\r\nElizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get\r\nacquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising\r\nevery hour in his esteem.\r\n\r\n"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wickham, perhaps,\r\nis my favourite; but I think I shall like _your_ husband quite as well\r\nas Jane\'s."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 60\r\n\r\n\r\nElizabeth\'s spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.\r\nDarcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could\r\nyou begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when\r\nyou had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first\r\nplace?"\r\n\r\n"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which\r\nlaid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I\r\nknew that I _had_ begun."\r\n\r\n"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour\r\nto _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke\r\nto you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;\r\ndid you admire me for my impertinence?"\r\n\r\n"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."\r\n\r\n"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.\r\nThe fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious\r\nattention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking,\r\nand looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and\r\ninterested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really\r\namiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you\r\ntook to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and\r\nin your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously\r\ncourted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for\r\nit; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly\r\nreasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks\r\nof _that_ when they fall in love."\r\n\r\n"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane while she was\r\nill at Netherfield?"\r\n\r\n"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it\r\nby all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are\r\nto exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me\r\nto find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may\r\nbe; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling\r\nto come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first\r\ncalled, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did\r\nyou look as if you did not care about me?"\r\n\r\n"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."\r\n\r\n"But I was embarrassed."\r\n\r\n"And so was I."\r\n\r\n"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."\r\n\r\n"A man who had felt less, might."\r\n\r\n"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that\r\nI should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you\r\n_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when\r\nyou _would_ have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of\r\nthanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect.\r\n_Too much_, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort\r\nsprings from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned the\r\nsubject. This will never do."\r\n\r\n"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady\r\nCatherine\'s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of\r\nremoving all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to\r\nyour eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour\r\nto wait for any opening of yours. My aunt\'s intelligence had given me\r\nhope, and I was determined at once to know every thing."\r\n\r\n"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,\r\nfor she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to\r\nNetherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?\r\nor had you intended any more serious consequence?"\r\n\r\n"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could, whether I\r\nmight ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to\r\nmyself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley,\r\nand if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."\r\n\r\n"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to\r\nbefall her?"\r\n\r\n"I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth. But it\r\nought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be\r\ndone directly."\r\n\r\n"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and\r\nadmire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But\r\nI have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected."\r\n\r\nFrom an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy\r\nhad been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner\'s\r\nlong letter; but now, having _that_ to communicate which she knew would\r\nbe most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her uncle and\r\naunt had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as\r\nfollows:\r\n\r\n"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done,\r\nfor your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but to say the\r\ntruth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed.\r\nBut _now_ suppose as much as you choose; give a loose rein to your\r\nfancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the\r\nsubject will afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you\r\ncannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a\r\ngreat deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again,\r\nfor not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your\r\nidea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the Park every day. I\r\nam the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so\r\nbefore, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she\r\nonly smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that\r\nhe can spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.\r\nYours, etc."\r\n\r\nMr. Darcy\'s letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style; and still\r\ndifferent from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply\r\nto his last.\r\n\r\n"DEAR SIR,\r\n\r\n"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon\r\nbe the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can.\r\nBut, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.\r\n\r\n"Yours sincerely, etc."\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley\'s congratulations to her brother, on his approaching\r\nmarriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even\r\nto Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her\r\nformer professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was\r\naffected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing\r\nher a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.\r\n\r\nThe joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information,\r\nwas as sincere as her brother\'s in sending it. Four sides of paper were\r\ninsufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of\r\nbeing loved by her sister.\r\n\r\nBefore any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations\r\nto Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the\r\nCollinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this\r\nsudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered\r\nso exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew\'s letter, that\r\nCharlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till\r\nthe storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend\r\nwas a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their\r\nmeetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she\r\nsaw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of\r\nher husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even\r\nlisten to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away\r\nthe brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all\r\nmeeting frequently at St. James\'s, with very decent composure. If he did\r\nshrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.\r\n\r\nMrs. Phillips\'s vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax on his\r\nforbearance; and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as her sister, stood in\r\ntoo much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley\'s good\r\nhumour encouraged, yet, whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar.\r\nNor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all\r\nlikely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to shield\r\nhim from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep\r\nhim to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse\r\nwithout mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising\r\nfrom all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it\r\nadded to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to\r\nthe time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing\r\nto either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at\r\nPemberley.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nChapter 61\r\n\r\n\r\nHappy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got\r\nrid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride\r\nshe afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may\r\nbe guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the\r\naccomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many\r\nof her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible,\r\namiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it\r\nwas lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity\r\nin so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and\r\ninvariably silly.\r\n\r\nMr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her\r\ndrew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in\r\ngoing to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.\r\n\r\nMr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near\r\na vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to\r\n_his_ easy temper, or _her_ affectionate heart. The darling wish of his\r\nsisters was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county\r\nto Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source\r\nof happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.\r\n\r\nKitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with\r\nher two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally\r\nknown, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a\r\ntemper as Lydia; and, removed from the influence of Lydia\'s example,\r\nshe became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less\r\nignorant, and less insipid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia\'s\r\nsociety she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham\r\nfrequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of\r\nballs and young men, her father would never consent to her going.\r\n\r\nMary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily\r\ndrawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet\'s being quite\r\nunable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but\r\nshe could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she was no\r\nlonger mortified by comparisons between her sisters\' beauty and her own,\r\nit was suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without\r\nmuch reluctance.\r\n\r\nAs for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from\r\nthe marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that\r\nElizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude\r\nand falsehood had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every\r\nthing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on\r\nto make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which Elizabeth received\r\nfrom Lydia on her marriage, explained to her that, by his wife at least,\r\nif not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to this\r\neffect:\r\n\r\n"MY DEAR LIZZY,\r\n\r\n"I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as I do my dear\r\nWickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so\r\nrich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us.\r\nI am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not\r\nthink we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help.\r\nAny place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however,\r\ndo not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you had rather not.\r\n\r\n"Yours, etc."\r\n\r\nAs it happened that Elizabeth had _much_ rather not, she endeavoured in\r\nher answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind.\r\nSuch relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice\r\nof what might be called economy in her own private expences, she\r\nfrequently sent them. It had always been evident to her that such an\r\nincome as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in\r\ntheir wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to\r\ntheir support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or\r\nherself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance\r\ntowards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the\r\nrestoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the\r\nextreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap\r\nsituation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for\r\nher soon sunk into indifference; hers lasted a little longer; and\r\nin spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to\r\nreputation which her marriage had given her.\r\n\r\nThough Darcy could never receive _him_ at Pemberley, yet, for\r\nElizabeth\'s sake, he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was\r\noccasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself\r\nin London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently\r\nstaid so long, that even Bingley\'s good humour was overcome, and he\r\nproceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.\r\n\r\nMiss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy\'s marriage; but as she\r\nthought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, she\r\ndropt all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as\r\nattentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility\r\nto Elizabeth.\r\n\r\nPemberley was now Georgiana\'s home; and the attachment of the sisters\r\nwas exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each\r\nother even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion\r\nin the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with\r\nan astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive, manner of\r\ntalking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect\r\nwhich almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open\r\npleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen\r\nin her way. By Elizabeth\'s instructions, she began to comprehend that\r\na woman may take liberties with her husband which a brother will not\r\nalways allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.\r\n\r\nLady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew;\r\nand as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character in\r\nher reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him\r\nlanguage so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time\r\nall intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth\'s persuasion,\r\nhe was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation;\r\nand, after a little further resistance on the part of his aunt, her\r\nresentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity\r\nto see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended to wait\r\non them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had\r\nreceived, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the\r\nvisits of her uncle and aunt from the city.\r\n\r\nWith the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms.\r\nDarcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever\r\nsensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing\r\nher into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen\r\n\r\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ***\r\n\r\n***** This file should be named 1342.txt or 1342.zip *****\r\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\r\n        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/1342/\r\n\r\nProduced by Anonymous Volunteers\r\n\r\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\r\nwill be renamed.\r\n\r\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\r\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\r\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\r\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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+p0
+.
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diff --git a/text_mining.py b/text_mining.py
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6b30e23
--- /dev/null
+++ b/text_mining.py
@@ -0,0 +1,182 @@
+# Markov Text Synthesis
+# David Papp
+import pickle
+import praw
+import random
+import string
+import re
+
+def import_data():
+	"""
+	Reads data from given URL into a .pickle file. This only has to be done once.
+	The contents of the .pickle file are then loaded into a string, which is returned.
+
+	"""
+
+
+	"""from pattern.web import *
+	pride_and_prejudice_text = URL('http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1342/pg1342.txt').download()
+	f = open('pride_and_prejudice.pickle','w')
+	pickle.dump(pride_and_prejudice_text,f)
+	f.close()"""
+
+	# Load data from a file (will be part of your data processing script)
+	input_file = open('pride_and_prejudice.pickle','r')
+	return pickle.load(input_file)
+
+def markov_text_synthesis_by_degree(degree, text):
+	"""
+	This function chooses the degree (number of letters) by which text is analyzed.
+	For example, a degree of 3 would mean that the program looks at the last 3 characters
+	to generate the next character.
+	It will then create a nested dictionary of the character sequences, the letters that
+	follow those sequences, and the number of times the letters occur after the sequences.
+	Many of the words produced will be gidderish, but still interesting.
+	"""
+
+	storage = dict()
+	next_letters = text[degree:degree*2].lower()
+	for i in range(0, len(text) - degree):
+		letters = text[i:i + degree].lower()
+		if letters not in storage:
+			storage[letters] = dict()
+		next_letters = text[i + degree:i + degree + 1].lower()
+		if next_letters not in storage[letters]:
+			storage[letters][next_letters] = 1
+		storage[letters][next_letters] += 1
+	return storage
+
+def markov_text_synthesis_by_word(text):
+	"""
+	Creates a nested dictionary of words, the words that follow those words,
+	and the number of times the these words follow the previous words.
+	"""
+
+	storage = dict()
+	index = 0
+	while index < len(text):
+		end_index = text.find(' ', index, len(text))
+		if end_index < 0:
+			break
+		word = text[index:end_index]
+		if word not in storage:
+			storage[word] = dict()
+		next_word_end_index = text.find(' ', end_index + 1, len(text))
+		if next_word_end_index < 0:
+			break
+		next_word = text[end_index + 1:next_word_end_index]
+		if next_word not in storage[word]:
+			storage[word][next_word] = 1
+		storage[word][next_word] += 1
+		index = end_index + 1
+	return storage
+
+def display_dictionary(storage, probability_storage):
+	"""
+	Displays the dictionary in a logical way.
+	"""
+
+	print "Letters: "
+	total = 0
+	for i in storage:
+		print "\n After the word", i
+		print "------------------------------------------"
+		for j in storage[i]:
+			print i, "->" , j, storage[i][j], "times, with frequency", probability_storage[i][j]
+			total += storage[i][j]
+
+def convert_to_probability(storage):
+	"""
+	Returns a new dictionary based on another dictionary but with the relative probability
+	of each word following another word. The probabilities are cumulative so that
+	choosing one based on a random number is convenient.
+	"""
+	probability_storage = dict()
+	for i in storage:
+		if i not in probability_storage:
+			probability_storage[i] = dict()
+
+		total = 0.0
+		for j in storage[i]:
+			total += storage[i][j]
+		previous = 0.0
+		for j in storage[i]:
+			if j not in probability_storage[i]:
+				probability_storage[i][j] = previous + storage[i][j] / total
+				previous = probability_storage[i][j]
+	return probability_storage
+
+
+def generate_text_by_degree(degrees, storage, length):
+	"""
+	Creates a Markov sequence string of a specified length in which each consecutive letter
+	is determined based on the probability of the previous letters (the number of letters
+	from which decision is made is determined by the degree).
+	"""
+	sequence = random.choice(storage.keys())
+	previous_sequence = sequence
+	for j in range(length):
+		rand = random.random()
+		for i in storage[previous_sequence]:
+			if rand <= storage[previous_sequence][i]:
+				sequence += str(i)
+				previous_sequence = sequence[-degrees::]
+				break
+	return sequence
+
+def generate_text_by_word(storage, length):
+	"""
+	Creates a Markov sequence string of a specified length in which each consecutive word
+	 is determined based on the probability of the previous word.
+	"""
+
+	sequence = random.choice(storage.keys())
+	previous_sequence = sequence
+
+	for j in range(length):
+		rand = random.random()
+		for i in storage[previous_sequence]:
+			if rand <= storage[previous_sequence][i]:
+				sequence += " " + str(i)
+				previous_sequence = str(i)
+				break
+	return sequence
+
+def strip_text(text):
+	"""
+	Strips the text of all punction, including line breaks.
+	"""
+
+	stripped_text = re.sub(r'[^\w\s]','', text).lower()
+	stripped_text = stripped_text.replace('_', '')
+	stripped_text = stripped_text.replace('\n', ' ').replace('\r', '')
+	return stripped_text
+
+def generate_by_degree():
+	""" 
+	Main code for doing Markov-text synthesis by degree.
+	"""
+	reloaded_copy_of_texts = import_data()
+	stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts = strip_text(reloaded_copy_of_texts)
+	degrees = 50
+	length = 100
+	storage = markov_text_synthesis_by_degree(degrees, stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts)
+	probability_storage = convert_to_probability(storage)
+	#print stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts
+	#print display_dictionary(storage, probability_storage)
+	print generate_text_by_degree(degrees, probability_storage, length)
+
+def generate_by_word():
+	"""
+	Main code for doing Markov-text synthesis by word. Preferred function.
+	""" 
+
+	reloaded_copy_of_texts = import_data()
+	stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts = strip_text(reloaded_copy_of_texts)
+	storage = markov_text_synthesis_by_word(stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts)
+	probability_storage = convert_to_probability(storage)
+	#print stripped_reloaded_copy_of_texts
+	#print display_dictionary(storage, probability_storage)
+	print generate_text_by_word(probability_storage, 50)
+
+generate_by_word()