IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in
possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man
nay be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so
ell fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is
considered as the rightful property of some one or other of
heir daughters.
"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have
you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here,
and she told me all about it."
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
"Do not you want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife
impatiently.
" You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."
This was invitation enough.
"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that
Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from
the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a
chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted
with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he
is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his
servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."
"What is his name?"
"Bingley."
"Is he married or single?"
"Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large
fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for
our girls!
"How so? how can it affect them?"
"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so
tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying
one of them."
"Is that his design in settling here?"
"Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very
likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore
you must visit him as soon as he comes."
"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or
you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still
better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley
might like you the best of the party."
"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of
beauty, but I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary
now. When a woman has five grown up daughters, she ought
to give over thinking of her own beauty."
"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to
think of."
"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley
when he comes into the neighbourhood."
"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."
"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establish-
ment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas
are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general
you know they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for
it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not."
"You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley
will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by
you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which
ever he chuses of the girls; though I must throw in a good
word for my little Lizzy."
"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better
than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as
Jane, nor half so good humoured as Lydia. But you are always
giving her the preference."
"They have none of them much to recommend them,"
replied he; "they are all silly and ignorant like other girls;
but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."
"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such
way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no com-
passion on my poor nerves."
"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your
nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention
hem with consideration these twenty years at least."
"Ah! you do not know what I suffer."
"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young
men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."
"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since
you will not visit them."
"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty I
will visit them all."
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts sarcastic
humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three
and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife under-
stand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develope.
he was a woman of mean understanding, little information,
and uncertain temper. When she was discontented she fancied
herself nervous. The business ofher life was to get her daugh-
ers married; its solace was visiting and news.
MR. BENNET was among the earliest of those who waited
on Mr. Bingley. He had always intended to visit him, though
to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and
till the evening after the visit was paid, she had no knowledge
of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing
his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly
addressed her with,
"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it Lizzy."
"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes," said
her mother resentfully, "since we are not to visit."
"But you forget, mama," said Elizabeth, 'that we shall meet
him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to
introduce him "
"I do not believc Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She
has two neices ofher own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman,
and I have no opinion of her."
"No more have I," said Mr. Bennet; "and I am glad to find
that you do not depend on her serving you."
Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but unable to
contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.
"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a
little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."
"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," said her father;
"she times them ill."
"I do not cough for my own amusement," replied Kitty
fretfully.
"When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?""
"To-morrow fortnight."
"Aye, so it is," cried her mother, "and Mrs. Long
does not come back till the day before; so, it will be
impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know
him herself."
"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend,
and introduce Mr. Bingley to her."
"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not
acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teazing?"
"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance
is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is
by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture, somebody
else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her neices must stand
their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of kind-
ness, if you declinc the office, I will take it on myself."
The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only,
"Nonsense, nonsense!"
"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?"
cried he. "Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the
stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree
with you there. What say you, Mary? for you are a young lady
of deep reflection I know, and read great books, and make
extracts."
Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew
not how.
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he continued, "let us
return to Mr. Bingley."
"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried his wife.
"I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me so
before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly
would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I
have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquain-
tance now."
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished;
that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though
when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare
that it was what she had expected all the while.
"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I
knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved
our girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well,
how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you
should have gone this morning, and never said a word about
it till now."
"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you chuse," said
Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with
the raptures of his wife.
"What an excellent father you have, girls," said she, when
the door was shut. "I do not know how you will ever make
him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter.
At our time of life, it is not so pleasant I can tell you, to be
making new acquaintance every day; but for your sakes, we
would do any thing. Lydia, my love, though you are the
youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the
next ball."
"Oh!" said Lydia stoutly, "I am not afraid; for though I am
the youngest, I'm the tallest."
The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon
he would return Mr. Bennet's visit, and determining when
they should ask him to dinner.
NOT all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of
her five daughters, could ask on the subject was sufficient to
draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr,
Bingley. They attacked him in various ways; with barefaced
questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but
he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged
to accept the second-hand intelligence oftheir neighbour Lady
Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had
been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully
handsome, extremely agreeable, and to crown the whole, he
meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing
could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain
step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr
Bingley's heart were entertained.
"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at
Netherfield," said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, "and all the
others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for."
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and
sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had enter-
tained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies,
of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the
father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they
had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window, that
he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched;
and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were
to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived
which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town
the following day, and consequently unable to accept the
honour of their invitation, &c. Mrs. Bennet was quite dis-
concerted. She could not imagine what business he could
have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and
she began to fear that he might be always flying about from
one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he
ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting
the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party
for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley was
to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the ball
assembly. The girls grieved over such a large number of ladies;
but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that
instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from
London, his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party
entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five altogether;
Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the oldest, and
another young man.
Mr. Bingley was good looking and gentlmanlike; he had
a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His
brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but
his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by
his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien; and the
report which was in general circulation within five minutes
after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The
gentleman pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the
ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley,
and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the
evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide
of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to be
above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his
large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a
most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being un-
worthy to be compared with his friend.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the
principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved,
danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early,
and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable
qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between
him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs.
Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being intro-
duced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in
walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his
own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest,
most disagreeable man in the world, and every body hoped
that he would never come there again. Amongst the most
violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his
general behaviour, was sharpened into particular resentment,
by his having slighted one of her daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of
gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of
that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her
to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who
came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to
join it.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to
see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You
had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am
particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly
as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged,
and there is not another woman in the room, whom it would
not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for
a kingdom! Upon my honour I never met with so many
pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are
several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
" You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,"
said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But
there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who
is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask
my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for
a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his
own and coldly said, "She is tolerable; but not handsome
enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give
consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.
You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles,
for you are wasting your time with me."
Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off;
and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings towards
him. She told the story however with great spirit among her
friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which
delighted in any thing ridiculous.
The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole
family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much
admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced
with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters.
Jane was as much gratified by this, as her mother could be,
though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary
had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most
accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and
Lydia had been fortunate enough to be never without partners,
which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball.
They returned therefore in good spirits to Longbourn, the
village where they lived, and of which they were the principal
inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he
was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a
good deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had
raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that
all his wife's views on the stranger would be disappointed; but
he soon found that he had a very different story to hear.
"Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet," as she entered the room, "we
have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I
wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could
be like it. Every body said how well she looked; and Mr.
Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her
twice. Only think of that my dear; he actually danced with
her twice; and she was the only creature in the room that he
asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was
so vexed to see him stand up with her; but, however, he did
not admire her at all: indeed, nobody can, you know; and he
seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the
dance. So, he enquired who she was, and got introduced,
and asked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced
with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and
the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy,
and the Boulanger -- -- "
"If he had had any compassion for me," cried her husband
impatiently, "he would not have danced half so much! For
God's sake, say no more of his partners. Oh! that he had
sprained his ancle in the first dance!"
"Oh! my dear," continued Mrs. Bennet, "I am quite
delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! and his
sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw any
thing more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace
upon Mrs. Hurst's gown -- "
Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested
against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged
to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much
bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rude-
ness of Mr. Darcy.
"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not
lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most dis-
agreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high
and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked
here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great!
Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been
there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs.
I quite detest the man."
WHEN Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had
been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed
to her sister how very much she admired him.
"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible,
good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!
-- so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"
"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young
an ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is
thereby complete."
"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a
second time. I did not expect such a compliment."
"Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference
between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and
me never. What could be more natural than his asking you
again? He could not help seeing that you were about five
times as pretty as every other women in the room. No thanks
to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable,
and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a
stupider person."
"Dear Lizzy!"
"Oh! you are a great deal too apt you know, to like people
in general. You never see a fault in any body. All the world are
good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill
of a human being in my life."
"I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I
always speak what I think."
"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder.
With your good sense, to be honestly blind to the follies
and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is common
enough; -- one meets it every where. But to be candid with-
out ostentation or design -- to take the good of every body's
character and make it still better, and say nothing of the
bad -- belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man's sisters
too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his."
"Certainly not; at first. But they are very pleasing women
when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her
brother and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we
shall not find a very charming neighbour in her."
Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced, their
behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please
in general; and with more quickness of observation and less
pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a judgment too
unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little dis-
posed to approve them. They were in fact very fine ladies,
not deficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in
the power of being agreeable where they chose it; but proud
and conceited. They were rather handsome, had been
educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a
fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of
spending more than they ought, and of associating with people
of rank; and were therefore in every respect entitled to think
well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a
respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance
more deeply impressed on their memories than that their
brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by trade,
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly an
hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended
to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. -- Mr. Bingley
intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of his
county; but as he was now provided with a good house and
the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who
best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not
spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the
next generation to purchase.
His sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his
own; but though he was now established only as a tenant
Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his
table, nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more
fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as
her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age
two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recom-
mendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it and
into it for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the
principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its
praise, and took it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very, steady, friendship
in spite of a great opposition of character. -- Bingley was
endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his
temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast
to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dis-
satisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard Bingley had the
firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In
understanding Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no
means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same
time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners,
though well bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend
had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked
wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offence.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly
was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with
pleasanter people or prettier girls in his life; every body had
been most kind and attentive to him, there had been no
formality, no stiffness, he had soon felt acquainted with all
the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an
angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a col-
lection of people in whom there was little beauty and no
fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest,
and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss
Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too
much.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so -- but still
they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to
be a sweet girl, and one whom they should not object to
know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a
sweet girl, and their brother felt authorised by such com-
mendation to think of her as he chose.
WITHIN a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with
whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William
Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had
made a tolerable fortune and risen to the honour of knight-
hood by an address to the King, during his mayoralty. The
distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given
him a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small
market town; and quitting them both, he had removed with
his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated
from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with
pleasure of his own importance, and unshackled by business,
occupy himselfsolely in being civil to all the world. For though
elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the
contrary, he was all attention to every body. By nature in-
offensive, friendly and obliging, his presentation at St
James's had made him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever
to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. -- They had several
children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young
woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth's intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet
to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morn-
ing after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to
hear and to communicate.
" You began the evening well, Charlotte," said Mrs. Bennet
with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. "You were Mr.
Bingley's first choice."
"Yes; -- but he seemed to like his second better."
"Oh! -- you mean Jane, I suppose -- because he danced with
her twicc. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her --
indeed I rather believe he did -- I heard something about it --
but I hardly know what -- something about Mr. Robinson."
"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and
Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson's
asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether
he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the
room, and which he thought the prettiest? and his answering
immediately to the last question -- Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet
beyond a doubt, there cannot be two opinions on that point."
"Upon my word! -- Well, that was very decided indeed --
that does seem as if -- but however, it may all come to
nothing you know."
"My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours,
Eliza," said Charlotte. "Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listen-
ing to as his friend, is he? -- Poor Eliza! -- to be only just
toterable,"
"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed
by his ill-treatment; for he is such a disagreeable man that it
would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long
told me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour with-
out once opening his lips."
"Are you quite sure, Ma'am? -- is not there a little mistake?"
said Jane. -- "I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her."
"Aye -- because she asked him at last how he liked Nether-
field, and he could not help answering her; -- but she said he
seemed very angry at being spoke to."
"Miss Bingley told me," said Jane, "that he never speaks
much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he
is remarkably agreeable."
"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been
so very agreeable he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But
I can guess how it was; every body says that he is ate up
with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs.
Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in
a hack chaise."
"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long," said Miss
Lucas, "but I wish he had danced with Eliza."
"Another time, Lizzy," said her mother, "I would not dance
with him, if I were you."
"I believe, Ma'am, I may safely promise you never to dance
with him."
"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offend me so much
as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One can-
not wonder that so very fine a young man, with family,
fortune, every thing in his favour, should think highly of him-
self. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud."
"That is very true," replied Elizabeth, "and I could easily
forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."
"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the
solidity of her reflections, "is a very common failing I believe.
By all that I have ever read," I am convinced that it is very
common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to
it, and that there are very few ofus who do not cherish a feel-
ing of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other,
real or imaginary. Vanity and pride' are different things,
though the words are often used synonimously. A person may
be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion
ofourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."
"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas who
came with his sisters, "I should not care how proud I was.
I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine
every day."
"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,"
said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were to see you at it I should take
away your bottle directly."
The boy protested that she should not; she continued to
declare that she would, and the argument ended only with
the visit.
THE ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Nether-
field. The visit was returned in due form. Miss Bennet's
pleasing manners grew on the good will of Mrs. Hurst and
Miss Bingley; and though the mother was found to be intoler-
able and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of
being better acquainted with them, was expressed towards the
two eldest. By Jane this attention was received with the
greatest pleasure; but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in
their treatment of every body, hardly excepting even her sister,
and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such
as it was, had a value as arising in all probability from the
influence of their brother's admiration. It was generally
evident whenever they met, that he did admire her; and to
her it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the pre-
ference which she had begun to entertain for him from the
first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she con-
sidered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by
the world in general, since Jane united with great strength of
feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of
manner, which would guard her from the suspicions of the
impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.
"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be
able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is some-
times a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman
conceals her affection with the same skill from the object
of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it
will then be but poor consolation to believe the world
equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity
in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any
to itself. We can all begin freely -- a slight preference is natural
enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough
to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases
out of ten, a woman had better shew more affection than
she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he
may never do more than like her, if she does not help
him on.
"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow.
If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton
indeed not to discover it too."
"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition
as you do."
"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour
to conceal it, he must find it out."
"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though
Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many
hours together; and as they always see each other in large
mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be
employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make
the most of every half hour in which she can command his
attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for
falling in love as much as she chuses."
"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing
is in question but the desire of being well married; and if I
were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare
say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is
not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the
degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness. She has
known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him
at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and
has since dined in company with him four times. This is not
quite enough to make her understand his character."
"Not as you represent it. Had she merely diued with him,
she might only have discovered whether he had a good
appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have been
also spent together -- and four evenings may do a great deal."
"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain
that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but
with respect to any other leading characteristic I do not
imagine that much has been unfolded."
"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my
heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should
think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to
be studying his character for a twelve-month. Happiness in
marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of
the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so
similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the
least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike after-
wards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know
as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom
you are to pass your life."
"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You
know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way
yourself."
Occupied in obsevering Mr. Bingleys's attentions to her
sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself
becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend.
Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he
had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when
they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner
had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had
hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was
endered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression
of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others
qually mortifying, Though he had detected with a critical
eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he
was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing;
and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those
of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playful-
ess. Of this she was perfectly unaware; -- to her he was only
the man who made himself agreeable no where, and who had
not thought her handsome enough to dance with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards
conversing with her himself, attended to her conversation
with others, His doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir
William Lucas's, where a large party were assembled.
"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she to Charlotte, "by
listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?"
"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer."
but if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know
that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if
I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow
afraid of him."
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without
seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied
her friend to mention such a subject to him, which immedi-
ately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said,
"Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself
uncommonly well just now, when I was teazing Colonel
Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"
"With great energy; -- but it is a subject which always makes
a lady energetic."
"You are severe on us."
"It will be her turn soon to be teazed," said Miss Lucas.
"I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what
follows."
"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! --
always wanting me to play and sing before any body and every
body! -- If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would
have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit
down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the
very best performers." On Miss Lucas's persevering, how-
ever, she added, "Very well; if it must be so, it must." And
"ravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, "There is a fine old saying,
which every body here is of course familiar with -- ""Keep
your breath to cool your porridge,"' -- and I shall keep mine
to swell my song."
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital.
After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties
of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded
at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in conse-
quence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard
for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient
for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had
given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air
and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher
degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy
and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure
though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a
long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by
Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters,
who with some of the Lucases and two or three officers joined
eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a
mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversa-
tion, and was too much engrossed by his own thoughts to
perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir
William thus began.
"What a charming amusement for young people this is,
Mr. Darcy! -- There is nothing like dancing after all. -- I con-
sider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies."
"Certainly, Sir; -- and it has the advantage also of being in
vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. --
Every savage can dance.""
Sir William only smiled. "Your friend performs delight-
fully;' he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the
group; -- "and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science
yourself, Mr. Darcy."
"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, Sir."
"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from
the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?"
"Never, sir."
"Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the
place?"
"It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can
avoid it."
"You have a house in town, I conclude?"
Mr. Darcy bowed.
"I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself -- for
am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain
that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas."
He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was
not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving
towards them, he was struck with the notion of doing a very
gallant thing, and called out to her,
"My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? -- Mr,
Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you
as a very desirable partner. -- You cannot refuse to dance, I
am sure, when so much beauty is before you." And taking her
hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though
extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she
instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir
William,
"Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. --
I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to
beg for a partner."
Mr. Darcy with grave propriety requested to be allowed
the honour of her hand; but in vain. Elizabeth was deter-
nined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his
attempt at persuasion.
"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel
to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this
gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no
objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour."
"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said Elizabeth, smiling.
"He is indeed -- but considering the inducement, my dear
Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance; for who
would object to such a partner?"
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had
not injured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her
with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley,
"I can guess the subject of your reverie."
"I should imagine not."
"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass
many evenings in this manner -- in such society; and indeed
I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The
insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-
importance of all these people! -- What would I give to hear
your strictures on them!"
"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind
was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the
very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a
pretty woman can bestow."
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and
desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring
such reflfiections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity,
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all
astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? -- and
pray when am I to wish you joy?"
"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask.
A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration
to love, from love to matrimony in a moment, I knew you
would be wishing me joy."
"Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the
matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-
in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley
with you."
He listened to her with perfect indifference, while she chose
to entertain herself in this manner, and as his composure con-
vinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.
MR. BENNET's property consisted almost entirely in an
estate of two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his
daughters, was entailed in default of heirs male, on a distant
relation; and their mother's fortune, though ample for her
situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of his. Her
father had been an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four
thousand pounds.
She had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, who had been a
lerk to their father, and succeeded him in the business, and a
brother settled in London in a respectable line of trade.
The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton;
a most convenient distance for the young ladies, who were
usually tempted thither three or four times a week, to pay their
duty to their aunt and to a milliner's shop just over the way.
The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, were
particularly frequent in these attentions; their minds were
more vacant than their sisters', and when nothing better
offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morn-
ing hours and furnish conversation for the evening; and how-
ever bare of news the country in general might be, they always
contrived to learn some from their aunt. At present, indeed,
they were well supplied both with news and happiness by the
recent arrival of a militia regiment in the neighbourhood; it
was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the head
quarters.
Their visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most
interesting intelligence. Every day added something to their
knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their
lodgings were not long a secret, and at length they began to
know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips visited them all,
and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity unknown
before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.
Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave anima-
tion to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed
to the regimentals of an ensign.
After listening one morning to their effusions on this sub-
ject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed,
"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you
must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected
it some time, but I am now convinced."
..
Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her
admiration of Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him
in the course of the day, as he was going the next morning
to London.
"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "that you
should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I
wished to think slightingly of any body's children, it should
not be of my own however."
"If my children are silly I must hope to be always sensible
of it."
"Yes -- but as it happens, they are all of them very clever."
"This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not
agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every
particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our
two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish "
"My' dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to
have the sense of their father and mother. -- When they get to
our age I dare say they will not think about officers any more
than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat
myself very well -- and indeed so I do still at my heart; and if
a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year should
want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought
..
William's in his regimentals."
"Mama," cried Lydia, "my aunt says that Colonel Forster
and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson's as
they did when they first came; she sees them now very often
standing in Clarke's library."
Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the
footman with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Nether-
field, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes
sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while
her daughter read,
"Well, Jane, who is it from? what is it about? what does he
say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love."
"It is from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and then read it
aloud.
"My dear Friend,
"If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with
Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other
for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tete-a-tete between
two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as
soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and
the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
"CAROLINE BINGLEY."
"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder my aunt did
not tell us of that."
"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet, "that is very unlucky."
"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane.
"No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it
seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night."
"That would be a good scheme," said Elizabeth, "if you were
sure that they would not offer to send her home."
"Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to
go to Meryton; and the Hursts have no horses to theirs."
"I had much rather go in the coach."
"But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am
sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not -
they?"
"They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get
them."
"But if you have got them to day," said Elizabeth, "my
mother's purpose will be answered."
She did at last extort from her father an acknowledg-
ment that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore
obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her
to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad day.
Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long
before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but
her mother was delighted. The rain continued the whole
evening without intermission; Jane certainly could not
come back.
"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" said Mrs. Bennet,
more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all
her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware
of all the felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely
over when a servant from Netherfield brought the following
note for Elizabeth:
"My dearest Lizzy,
"I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose,
is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My
kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am
better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones -- therefore
do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to
me -- and excepting a sore-throat and head-ache there is not
much the matter with me.
"Yours, &c."
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read
the note aloud, "if your daughter should have a dangerous fit
of illness, if she should die, it would be a comfort to know
that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your
orders."
"Oh! I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die
of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long
is she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her,
if I could have the carriage."
Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to
her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no
horse-woman, walking was her only alternative. She declared
her resolution.
"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of
such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen
when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane -- which is all I want."
"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said her father, "to send for
the horses?"
"No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance
is nothing, when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall
be back by dinner."
"I admire the activity of your benevolence," observed Mary,
"but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason;
and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion
to what is required."
"We will go as far as Meryton with you," said Catherine and
Lydia. -- Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three
young ladies set off together.
"If we make haste," said Lydia, as they walked along,
"perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before
he goes."
In Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the
lodgings of one of the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued
her walk alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jump-
ing over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient
activity, and finding herself at last within view of the house,
with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with
the warmth of exercise.
She was shewn into the breakfast-parlour, where all but
Jane were assembled, and where her appearance created a
great deal of surprise. -- That she should have walked three
miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by her-
self, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley;
and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt
for it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and
in their brother's manners there was something better than
politeness; there was good humour and kindness. -- Mr. Darcy
said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was
divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise
had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's
justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking
only of his breakfast.
Her enquiries after her sister were not very favourably
answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very
feverish and not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was
glad to be taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had only
been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience,
from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a
visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal, how-
ever, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them
together, could attempt little beside expressions of gratitude
for the extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth
silently attended her.
When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters-
and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how
much affection and solicitude they shewed for Jane. The
apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as
might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and
that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her
to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice
was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased,
and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room
for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the
gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do else-
where.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must
go; and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the
carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it
when Jane testified such concern in parting with her, that
Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise
into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present.
Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dis-
patched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay,
and bring back a supply of clothes.
AT five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past
six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil enquiries
which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure
of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's,
she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no
means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or
four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to
have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill
themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their
indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them,
restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.
Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom
she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane
was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing, and
they prevented her feeling herself so much an intruder as she
believed she was considered by the others. She had very little
notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr,
Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr. Hurst, by
whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only
to eat, drink, and play at cards, who when he found her prefer
a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.
When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and
Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the
room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed,
a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversa-
tion, no stile, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the
same, and added,
"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an
excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this
morning. She really looked almost wild."
"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my couin-
tenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be
scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold?
" Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!"
"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six
inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown
which had been let down to hide it, not doing its office."
"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley;
"but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth
Bennet looked remarkably well, when she came into the
room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my
notice."
" You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley,
"and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see
your sister make such an exhibition."
"Certainly not."
"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or what-
ever it is, above her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone!
what could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abomin-
able sort of conceited independence a most country town
indifference to decorum."
"It shews an affection for her sister that is very pleasing "
said Bingley.
"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingley in a half
whisper, "that this adventure has rather affected your admira-
tion of her fine eyes "
"Not at all," he replied; "they were brightened by the
exercise." -- A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs.
Hurst began again.
"I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is reaIly
at very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well
settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low con-
nections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."
"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney
in Meryton."
"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near
..
"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed
heartily.
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried
Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."
"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marry-
ing men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy.
To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisiers
gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some
time at the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations.
With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to
her room on leaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till
su moned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth
would not quit her at all, till late in the evening, when she
had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and when it appeared
to her rather right than pleasant that she should go down
stairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the
whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them-
but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and
making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for
the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr. Hurst
looked at her with astonishment.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather
singular."
"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards
She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."
"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried
Elizabeth; "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in
many things."
"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said
Bingley; "and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her
quite well."
Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked
towards a table where a few books were lying. He imme-
diately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.
"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and
my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not
many, I have more than I ever look into."
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly
with those in the room.
"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should
have left so small a collection of books. -- What a delightful
"library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"
"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of
many generations."
"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are
always buying books."
"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in
such days as these,"
"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the
beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your
house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."
I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in
that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model.
There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy
will sell it."
"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible
to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation "
Elizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave
her very little attention for her book- and soon laying it
wholly aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed her-
self between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister to observe
the game.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss
Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"
"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's
height or rather taller "
"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody
who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such man-
ners. and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her per-
formance on the piano-forte is exquisite."
"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can
have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are."
"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do
you mean?"
"Yes all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover
skreens and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot
do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken
of for the first time, without being informed that she was very
accomplished."
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said
Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a
woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse,
or covering a skreen. But I am very far from agreeing with
you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of
knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my
acquaintance, that are really accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.
"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great
deal in your idea of an accomplished women."
"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it."
"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be
really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass
what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough
knowledgc of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the
modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this,
she must possess a certain something in her air and manner
of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions,
or the word will be but half deserved."
"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this
she must yet add something more substantial, in the improve-
ment of her mind by extensive reading."
"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six
accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your know-
ing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the
possibility of all this?"
"I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and
taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united."
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the
injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that
they knew many women who answered this description, when
Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their
inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was
thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.
"Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was
closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recom-
mend themselves to the other sex, by undervaluing their own,
and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my
opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."
"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was
chiefly addressed, "there is meanness in all the arts which
ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. What-
ever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."
Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as
to continue the subject.
Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was
worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr.
Jones's being sent for immediately; while his sisters con-
vinced that no country advice could be ofany service, recom-
mended an express to town for one of the most eminent
physicians. This, she would not hear of; but she was not so
unwilling to comply with thiers brothers proposal; and it was
settled that Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning
if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite
They solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after
supper, while he could find no better reliefto his feelings than
by giving his housekeeper directions that every possible atten-
tion might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.
ELIZABETH passed the chief of the night in her sister's
room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to
send a tolerable answer to the enquiries which she very early
received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid and some time
afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his
sisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested
to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit
Jane, and form her own judgment of her situation. The note
was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly com-
lied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest
girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet
would have been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing
her that her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her
recovering immediately, as her restoration to health would
probably remove her from Netherfield. She would not listen
therefore to her daughter's proposal of being carried home;
either did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time,
think it at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane,
on Miss Bingley's appearance and invitation, the mother and
three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour,
Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found
Miss Bennet worse than she expected.
"Indeed I have, Sir," was her answer. "She is a great deal
too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of
moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."
"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My
sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal."
"You may depend upon it, Madam," said Miss Bingley,
with cold civility', "that Miss Bennet shall receive every pos-
sible attention while she remains with us."
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.
"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends
I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill
indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest
patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for
she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met
with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You
have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect
over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country
that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it
in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease."
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he; "and there-
fore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably
be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself
as quite fixed here."
"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said
Elizabeth.
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning
towards her.
"Oh! yes -- I understand you perfectly.".
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so
easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful."
"That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that
a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such
a one as yours."
"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are and
do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do
at home."
"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately,
"that you were a studier of character It must be an amusing
study."
"Yes; but intricate characters are the most amusing. They
have at least that advantage."
"the country," said Darcy, "can in general supply but few
subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you
move in a very confined and unvarying society."
"But people themselves alter so much, that there is some-
thing new to be observed in them for ever."
"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner
of mentioning a country neighbourhood. "I assure you there
is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town."
Every body was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her
for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied
she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her
triumph.
"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the
country for my part, except the shops and public places. The
country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?"
"When I am in the country," he replied, "I never wish to
leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same.
They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy
in either."
"Aye -- that is because you have the right disposition. But
that gentleman," looking at Darcy, "seemed to think the
country was nothing at all."
"Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken," said Elizabeth, blush-
ing for her mother. "You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only
meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met
with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge
to be true."
"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to
not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I
believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine
with four and twenty families."
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley
to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and
directed her eye towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive
smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might
turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas
had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agree-
able man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley -- is not he? so much the
man of fashion! so genteel and so easy! -- He has always some-
thing to say to every body. -- That is my idea of good breed-
ing; and those persons who fancy themselves very important
and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter."
"Did Charlotte dine with you?"
"No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the
mince pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants
that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up
differently. But every body is to judge for themselves, and the
Lucases are very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity
they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very
plain -- but then she is our particular friend."
"She seems a very pleasant young woman," said Bingley.
"Oh! dear, yes; -- but you must own she is very plain. Lady
Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty.
I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane --
one does not often see any body better looking. It is what every
body says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only
fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in
town, so much in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure
he would make her an offer before we came away. But however
he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he
wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."
"And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently.
"There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same
way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in
driving away love!"
"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love"
said Darcy.
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes
what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of
inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve
it entirely away."
Darcy only smiled- and the general pause which ensued
made Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing
herself again. She longed to speak, but could think of nothing
to say; and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating
her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane with an
apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was
unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister
to be civil also, and say what the occasion required. She per-
formed her part indeed without much graciousness, but Mrs.
Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her car-
riage. Upon this signal, the youngest of her daughters put
herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to each
other during the whole visit, and the result ofit was, that the
youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on
his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.
Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine
omplexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite
with hcr mother, whose affection had brought her into public
at an early age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of
natural self-consequence, which the attentions of the officers,
to whom her uncle's good dinners and her own easy manners
recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very
equal therefore to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the
all, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that
it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not
keep it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their
mother's ear.
"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engage-
ment, and when your sister is recovered, you shall if you please
name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be
dancing while she is ill."
Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes -- it would be
much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most
likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when
you have given your ball," she added, "I shall insist on their
giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a
shame if he does not."
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Eliza-
beth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her rela-
tions' behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr.
Darcy; the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed
on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley's
witticisms on fine eyes.
THE day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs.
Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morn-
ing with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend;
and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-
room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy
was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching
the progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his atten-
tion by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley
were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was obsevering their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently
amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his
companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady either
on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the
length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her
praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was
exactly in unison with her opinion of each.
"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"
He made no answer.
"You write uncommonly fast."
"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."
"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the
course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I
should think them!"
"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of
to yours."
"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."
"I have already told her so once, by your desire."
"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for
you. I mend pens remarkably well."
"Thank you -- but I always mend my own."
"How can you contrive to write so even?"
He was silent.
"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement
on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures
with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it
infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."
"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write
again? -- At present I have not room to do them justice."
"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January.
But do you always write such charming long letters to her,
Mr. Darcy?"
"They are generally long; but whether always charming,
it is not for me to determine."
"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long
letter, with ease, cannot write ill."
"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried
her brother -- "because he does not write with ease. He studies
too much for words of four syllables. -- Do not you, Darcy?"
"My stile of writing is very different from yours."
"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most care-
ess way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots
the rest."
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express
them -- by which means my letters sometimes convey no
ideas at all to my correspondents."
"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "must disarm
reproof."
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appear-
ance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and
sometimes an indirect boast.""
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of
modesty?"
"The indirect boast; -- for you are really proud of your
defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding
from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which
if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The
power of doing any thing with quickness is always much
prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the
imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet
this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield
you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort
of panegyric, of compliment to yourself -- and yet what is
there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very
necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage
to yourself or any one else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at
night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And
yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be
true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did
not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to
shew off before the ladies."
"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means con-
vinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your con --
duct would be quite as dependant on chance as that of any
man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend
were to say, ""Bingley, you had better stay till next week,""
you would probably do it, you would probably not go -- and,
at another word, might stay a month."
"You have only proved by this," cried Elizabeth, "that Mr-
Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have
shewn him off now much more than he did himself."
"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your convert-
ing what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness
of my temper, But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which
that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly
think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to
give a flat denial, and ride offas fast as I could "
"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your
original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering
to it?"
"Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter, Darcy
must speak for himself."
"You expect me to account for opinions which you chuse
to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged Allowing
the case, however, to stand according to your representation,
you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is su -
posed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his
plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argu-
ment in favour of its propriety."
"To yield readily -- easily -- to the persuasion of a friend is no
merit with you."
"To yield without conviction is no comliment to the under-
standing of either."
"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the
influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester
would often make one readily yield to a request without wait-
ing for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly
speaking of such a case as you have su osed about Mr
Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance
occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour there-
upon, But in general and ordinary cases between friend and
friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a
resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of
that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to
be argued into it?"
"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject,
to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance
which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of
intimacy subsisting between the parties?"
"By all means," cried Bingley; "Let us hear all the particulars,
not forgetting thier comparitive height and size; fo that will
have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you
may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a
great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay
him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more
aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in
particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday
evening when he has nothing to do."
Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could per-
ceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked he
laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had
received, in an expostulation with her broth r for talking suc
nonsense.
"I see your design, Bingley," said his friend. -- "You dislike
an argument, and want to silence this."
"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. I
you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the
room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whateve
you like of me."
"What you ask," said Elizabeth, "is no sacrifice on my side
and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter,"
Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley
and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingle
moved with alacrity to the piano-forte, and after a polite
request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other a
politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself,
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus
employed Elizabeth could not help observing as she turned over
some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently
Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to
suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great
man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her,
was still more strange. She could only imagine however at last
that she drew his notice because there was a something about
her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of
right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not
aain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the
charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy,
drawing near Elizabeth, said to her --
"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize
such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"
She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question,
with some surprise at her silence
"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before; but I could not immedi-
ately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know,
to say ""Yes,"' that you might have the pleasure of despising
my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of
schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated con-
tempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that
I do not want to dance a reel at all -- and now despise me if
you dare."
"Indeed I do not dare."
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was
amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness
and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to
affront anybody; and Darcy had never been so bewitched by
any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were it
not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in
some danger.
Miss Bingley saw or suspected enough to bejealous. and her
great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane, recel-ved
some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.
She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest,
by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his
happiness in such an alliance.
"I hope," said she, as they were walking together in the
shrubbery the next day, "you will give your mother-in-law a
few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the
advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it,
do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. -- And,
if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that
little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence,
which your lady possesses."
"Have you any thing else to propose for my domestic
felicity?"
"Oh! yes. -- Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt
..
to your great uncle the judge. They are in the same pro-
fession, you know; only in different lines. As for your Eliza-
beth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for
what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"
"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but
their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably
fine, might be copied."
At that moment they were met from another walk, by Mrs.
Hurst and Elizabeth herself.
"I did not know that you intended to walk," said Miss
Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst, "in
running away without telling us that you were coming out."
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left
Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three.
Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness and immediately said, --
"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better
go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain
with them, laughingly answered,
"No, no; stay where you are. -- You are charmingly group'd,
and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would
be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good bye."
She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the
hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already
so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple
of hours that evening.
WHEN the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to
her sister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her
into the drawing-room; where she was welcomed by her two
friends with many professions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had
never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour
which passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers
of conversation were considerable. They could describe an
entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour,
and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the
first object. Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards
Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had
advanced many steps. He addressed himself directly to Miss
Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made
her a slight bow, and said he was "very glad;' but diffuseness
and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full
of joy and attention. The first half hour was spent in piling
up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room;
and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fire-
place, that she might be farther from the door. He then sat
down by her, and talked scarcely to any one else. Elizabeth,
at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law
of the card-table -- but in vain. She had obtained private intel-
ligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst
soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him
that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole
party on the subject, seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had
therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the
sophas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley
did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in play-
ing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her
brother's conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in
watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book, as in read-
ing her own; and she was perpetually either making some
inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, how-
ever, to any conversation; he merely answered her question,
and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be
amused with her own book, which she had only chosen
because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn
and said, "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way!
I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How
much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! -- When I
have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an
excellent library."
No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw
aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest of
some amusement; when hearing her brother mentioning a
ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and
said,
"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a
dance at Netherfield? -- I would advise you, before you deter-
mine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am
much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball
would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."
"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he may go to bed,
if he chuses, before it begins -- but as for the ball, it is quite a
settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup
enough I shall send round my cards."
"I should like balls infinitely better," she replied, "if they
were carried on in a different manner- but there is something
insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting.
It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead
of dancing made the order of the day."
"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say but it
would not be near so much like a ball."
Miss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got
up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant,
and she walked well; -- but Darcy, at whom it was all
aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of
her feelings she resolved on one effort more- and turning to
Elizabeth, said,
"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my
example, and take a turn about the room. -- I assure you it is
very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude."
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss
Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility;
Mr. Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty
of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and
unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to joln
their party, but he declined it, observing, that he could
imagine but two motives for their chusing to walk up and
down the room together, with either of which motives his
joining them would interfere. "What could he mean? she was
dying to know what could be his meaning' -- and asked Eliza-
beth whether she could at all understand him?
"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend upon it, he means
to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him,
will be to ask nothing about it."
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing
Mr. Darcy in any thing, and persevered therefore in requiring
an explanation of his two motives.
"I have not the smallest objection to explaining them," said
he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. "You either chuse this
method of passing the evening because you are in each other's
confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you
are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage
in walking; -- if the first, I should be completely in your way;
-- and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by
the fire."
"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard any
thing so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a
speech? "
"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said
Elizabeth. "We can all plague and punish one another. Teaze
him -- laugh at him. -- Intimate as you are, you must know how
it is to be done."
"But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my
intimacy has not yet taught me that. Teaze calmness of temper
and presence of mind! No, no -- I feel he may defy us there.
And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please,
by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug
himself."
"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Elizabeth. "That
is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will
continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such
acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh."
"Miss Bingley," said he, "has given me credit for more than
can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and
best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person
whose first object in life is a joke."
"Certainly," replied Elizabeth -- "there are such people, but
I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is
wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies
do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. --
But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."
"Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been
the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often
expose a strong understanding to ridicule."
"Such as vanity and pride."
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride -- where there
is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good
regulation."
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said
Miss Bingley; -- "and pray what is the result?"
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect.
He owns it himself without disguise."
"No' -- said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have
faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.
My temper I dare not vouch for. -- It is I believe too little
yielding -- certainly too little for the convenience of the world.
I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I
ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not
puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper
would perhaps be called resentful. -- My good opinion once
lost is lost for ever."
"That is a failing indeed!" -- cried Elizabeth. "Implacable
resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your
fault well. -- I really cannot laugh at it you are safe from
me."
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some
particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best
education can overcome."
"And your defect is a propensity to hate every body."
"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is wilfully to mis-
understand them."
"Do let us have a little music," -- cried Miss Bingley, tired
of a conversation in which she had no share. -- "Louisa, you
will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst."
Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the piano
forte was opened, and Darcy, after a few moments recol-
lection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of
paying Elizabeth too much attention.
IN consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Eliza-
beth wrote the next morning to her mother, to beg that the
carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But
Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining
at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would
exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive
hem with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not
propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was
impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they
could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in
her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley and his sister
pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. --
Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively
resolved -- nor did she much expect it would be asked; and
fearful, on the contrary, as being considered as intruding
themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr.
Bingley's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled
that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning
should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern;
and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the
following day to work on Jane; and till the morrow, their
going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had
proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike of one sister
much exceeded her affection for the other.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they
were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss
Bennet that it would not be safe for her -- that she was not
enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself
to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence -- Elizabeth had
been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than
he liked -- and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more
teazing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be parti-
cularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape
him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influenc-
ing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been sug-
gested, his behaviour during the last day must have material
weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he
scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday,
and though they were at one time left by themselves for half
an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and
would not even look at her.
On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agree-
able to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Eliza-
beth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for
Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the
pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Long-
bourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she
even shook hands with the former. -- Elizabeth took leave of
the whole party in the liveliest spirits.
They were not welcomed home very cordially by their
mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought
them very wrong to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane
would have caught cold again. -- But their father, though very
laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see
them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The
evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost
much of its animation, and almost all its sense, by the absence
of Jane and Elizabeth.
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough
bass and human nature; and had some new extracts to admire,
and some new observations of thread-bare morality to listen
to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a dif-
ferent sort. Much had been done, and much had been said in
the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the
officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been
flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster
was going to be married.
"I HOPE my dear ' said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were
at breakfast the next morning, "that you have ordered a good
dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to
our family party."
"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is
coming I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to
call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do
not believe she often sees such at home."
"The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. -- "A gentleman and a stranger!
It is Mr. Bingley I am sure. Why Jane -- you never dropt a
word of this; you sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely
glad to see Mr. Bingley. -- But -- good lord! how unlucky!
there is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring
the bell. I must speak to Hill, this moment."
"It is not Mr. Bingley," said her husband; "it is a person
whom I never saw in the whole course of my life."
This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure
of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters
at once.
After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he
thus explained. "About a month ago I received this letter, and
about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of
some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my
cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all
out of this house as soon as he pleases."
"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear to hear that
mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it
is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be
entailed away from your own children; and I am sure if I had
been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or
other about it."
Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature
of an entail. They had often attempted it before, but it was a
subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason;
and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling
an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a
man whom nobody cared anything about.
"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," said Mr. Bennet,
"and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt ofinherit-
ing Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you
may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing
himself."
"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it was very
impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical.
I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling
with you, as his father did before him?"
"Why, indeed, he does seem to have had some filial scruples
on that head, as you will hear."
Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent,
I5th October.
DEAR SIR,
THE disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late
honoured father, always gave me much uneasiness, and since
I have had the misfortune to lose him I have frequently
wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back
his memory for me to be on good terms with any one, with
whom it had always pleased him to be at variance. -- "There,
Mrs. Bennet." -- My mind however is now made up on the
subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been
so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the
Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir
Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has pre-
ferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall
be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful
respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform
those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church
of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to
promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families
within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter
myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly
commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next
in the entail of Longbourn estate, will be kindly overlooked
on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive
branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the
means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to
pologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to
make them every possible amends, -- but of this hereafter.
if you should have no objection to receive me into your
house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you
and your family, Monday, November i{8th, by four o'clock,
and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the
Saturday se'night following, which I can do without any
inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to
my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some
other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day. I
remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady
and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,
WILLIAM COLLINS.
"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-
making gentleman," said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the
letter. "He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young
man, upon my word; and I doubt not will prove a valuable
acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so
indulgent as to let him come to us again."
"There is some sense in what he says about the girls how-
ever; and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall
not be the person to discourage him."
"Though it is difficult," said Jane, "to guess in what way
he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the
wish is certainly to his credit."
Elizabeth was chiefly struck with his extraordinary defer-
ence for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christen-
ing, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it were
required.
"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "I cannot make
him out. -- There is something very pompous in his stile. --
And what can he mean by apologizing for being next in the
entail? -- We cannot suppose he would help it, if he could. --
..
"No, my dear; I think not. I have great hopes of finding
him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-
importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient
to see him."
"In point of composition," said Mary, "his letter does not
seem defective. The idea of the olive branch perhaps is not
wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed."
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer
were in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that
their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some
weeks since they had received pleasure from the society of a
man in any other colour. As for their mother, Mr. Collins's
letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was re-
paring to see him with a degree ofcomposure, which astonished
her husband a daughters.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with
great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said
little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk and Mr.
..
inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy looking young
man of five and twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his
manners were very formal. He had not been long seated
before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a
family of daughters, said he had heard much of their beauty,
but that, in this instance, fame had fallen short of the truth;
and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due
time well disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not
much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs. Bennet
who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily,
"You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my
heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough.
things are settled so oddly."
"You allude perhaps to the entail of this estate."
"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls
you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for
much things I know are all chance in this world. There is no
knowing how estates will go when once they come to be
entailed."
"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair
cousins, -- and could say much on the subject, but that I am
cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can
assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them.
At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are
better acquainted -- "
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls
smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr.
collins's admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its
furniture were examined and praised; and his commendation
of every thing would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but
for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own
future property. The dinner too in its tum was highly
admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins,
the excellence ofits cookery was owing. But here he was set
right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity
that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that
her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged
pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she
declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to
apologise for about a quarter of an hour.
DURING dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when
the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some
conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in
which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed
very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's
attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort,
appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen
better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject
elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and
with a most important aspect he protested that he had never
in his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -- such
affability and condescension, as he had himself experienced
from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to
approve of both the discourses, which he had already had the
honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice
to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday
before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady
..
he had never seen any thing but affability in her. She had
always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman;
she made not the smallest objection to his joining in the
society of the neighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish
occasionally for a week or two, to visit his relations. She had
even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could,
provided he chose with discretion; and had once payed him a
visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly
vouchsafed to suggest some herself, -- some shelves in the
closets up stairs."
"That is all very proper and civil I am sure ' said Mrs
Bennet, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is
a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does
she live near you, sir?"
"The garden in which stands my humble abode, is separated
only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence."
"I think you said she was a widow, sir? has she any family?"
"She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of
very extensive property."
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is
better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she?
is she handsome?"
"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine
herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is
far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is
that in her features which marks the young woman of dis-
tinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution,
which has prevented her making that progress in many
accomplishments, which she could not otherwise have failed
of; as I am informed by the lady who superintended her
education, and who still resides with them. But she is per-
ectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble
abode in her little phaeton and ponies."
"Has she been presented? I do not remember her name
among the ladies at court."
"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her
being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine
myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest
ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and
you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer
those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable
to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine,
that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and
that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence,
would be adorned by her. -- These are the kind of little things
which please her ladyship, and it is a sort ofattention which I
conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay."
"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet, "and it is happy
for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy.
May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the
impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"
"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and
though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and
arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted
to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied
an air as possible."
Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin
was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the
keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most
resolute composure of countenance, and except in an occa-
sional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure.
By tea-time however the dose had been enough, and Mr.
Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room
again, and when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud
to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was
produced; but on beholding it, (for every thing announced it
to be from a circulating library,) he started back, and begging
pardon, protested that he never read novels. -- Kitty stared
at him, and Lydia exclaimed. -- Other books were produced,
and after some deliberation he chose Fordyce's Sermons.
Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with
very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she interrupted
him with,
"Do you know, mama, that my uncle Philips talks of turn-
ing away Richard, and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire
him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk
to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it, and to ask when
Mr. Denny comes back from town."
Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue;
but Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said,
"I have often observed how little young ladies are interested
by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their
benefit. It amazes me, I confess; -- for certainly, there can be
nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no
longer importune my young cousin."
Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his
antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the chal-
lenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls
to their own trifling amusements. Mrs. Bennet and her daugh-
ters apologised most civilly for Lydia's interruption, and
promised that it should not occur again, if he would resume
his book; but Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore
his young cousin no ill will, and should never resent her
behaviour as any affront, seated himself at another table with
Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.
MR. COLLINs was not a sensible man, and the deficiency
of nature had been but little assisted by education or society;
he greatest part of his life having been spent under the
guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he
belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the
necessary terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance.
he subjection in which his father had brought him up, had
given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now
good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head,
living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early
and unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recom-
mended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of
Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her
high rank and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling
with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergy-
man, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture
of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.
Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he
intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the
Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to chuse
one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and
amiable as they were represented by common report. This
was his plan of amends -- of atonement -- for inheriting their
father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of
eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and dis-
interested on his own part.
His plan did not vary on seeing them. -- Miss Bennet's
lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest
notions of what was due to seniority; and for the first evening
she was his settled choice. The next morning, however, made
an alteration; for in a quarter of an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs.
Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his
parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his
hopes, that a mistress for it might be found at Longbourn,
produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general
encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed
on. -- "As to her younger daughters she could not take upon her
to say -- she could not positively answer -- but she did not know
of any prepossession; -- her eldest daughter, she must just
mention -- she felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to
be very soon engaged."
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth --
and it was soon done -- done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring
the fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty,
succeeded her of course.
Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she
might soon have two daughters married; and the man whom
she could not bear to speak of the day before, was now high in
her good graces.
Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten;
every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr.
..
was most anxious to get rid of him, and have his library to him-
self; for thither Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast
and there he would continue, nominally engaged with one of
the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr.
Bennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at
Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceed-
ingly. In his library he had been always sure of leisure and
tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to
meet with folly and conceit in every other room in the house,
he was used to be free from them there; his civility, therefore
was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters
in their walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted
for a walker than a reader, was extremely well pleased to close
his large book, and go.
In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that
of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton.
The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be
gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in
the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very
smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window,
could recal them.
But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young
man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike
appearance, walking with an officer on the other side of the
way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny, concerning whose
return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as
they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, all
wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined
if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under
pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and
fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentle-
men turning back had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny
addressed them directly, and entreated permission to intro-
uce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him
the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted
a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it should be;
for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him com-
pletely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour;
he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good
figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was
followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation --
a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming;
and the whole party were still standing and talking together
very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice,
and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On
distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen
came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities.
Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the
principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Long-
bourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corro-
borated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not
to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested
by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see
the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all
astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed
colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after
a few moments, touched his hat -- a salutation which Mr.
Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of
it? -- It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to
long to know.
In another minute Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to
have noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his
friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies
to the door of Mr. Philips's house, and then made their bows,
in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they would
come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Philips' throwing up the
parlour window, and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two
eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome,
and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden
retum home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched
them, she should have known nothing about, if she had not
happened to see Mr. Jones's shop boy in the street, who had
told her that they were not to send any more draughts to
Netherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when
her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's intro-
duction of him. She received him with her very best polite-
ness, which he returned with as much more, apologising for
his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with her,
which he could not help flattering himself however might be
justified by his relationship to the young ladies who intro-
duced him to her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such
an excess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one
stranger was soon put an end to by exclamations and inquiries
about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her
nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought
him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's com-
mission in the -- shire. She had been watching him the last
hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had
Mr. Wickham appeared Kitty and Lydia would certainly have
continued the occupation, but unluckily no one passed the
windows now except a few of the officers, who in comparison
with the stranger, were become "stupid, disagreeable fellows."
Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the next day,
and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr.
Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from
Longbourn would come in the evening. This was agreed to,
and Mrs. Philips protested that they would have a nice com-
fortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot
supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very
cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins
repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured
with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.
As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she
had seen pass between the two gentlemen; but though Jane
would have defended either or both, had they appeared to
be wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than
her sister.
Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by
admiring Mrs. Philips's manners and politeness. He protested
that except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never
seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him
with the utmost civility, but had even pointedly included him
in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly un-
known to her before. Something he supposed might be
attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never
met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.
As no objection was made to the young people's engagement
with their aunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr.
and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most
steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins
at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure
of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr.
Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then
in the house.
When this information was given, and they had all taken
their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around him and
admire, and he was so much struck with the size and furniture
of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have sup-
posed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour at
Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much
gratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from him
what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor, when she had
listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's
drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had
cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the com-
pliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with
the housekeeper's room.
In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine
and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his
own humble abode, and the improvements it was receivin
he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them;
and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive listener, whose
opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard,
and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as
soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their
cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instru-
ment, and examine their own indifferent imitations of china
on the mantlepiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long.
It was over at last however. The gentlemen did approach;
and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt
that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of
him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admira-
tion. The officers of the -shire were in general a very
creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the
present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all
in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior
to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips, breathing port wine,
who followed them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost
every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy
woman by whom he finally seated himself; and the agreeable
manner in which he immediately fell into conversation,
though it was only on its being a wet night, and on the prob-
ability of a rainy season, made her feel that the commonest,
dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting
by the skill of the speaker.
With such rivals for the notice of the fair, as Mr. Wickham
and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insigni-
ficance; to the young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he
had still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was,
by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee
and muffin.
When the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity
of obliging her in return, by sitting down to whist.
"I know little of the game, at present," said he, "but I shall
be glad to improve myself, for in my sltuation of life -- -"
Mrs. Philips was very thankful for his compliance, but could
not wait for his reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight
was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and
Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him
entirely for she was a most determined talker; but being like-
wise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much
interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaim-
ing after prizes, to have attention for any one in particular.
Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wick-
ham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was
very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to
hear she could not hope to be told, the history of his acquaint-
ance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not even mention that
gentleman. Her curiosity however was unexpectedly relieved.
Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how
far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her
answer, asked in an hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy
had been staying there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let
the subject drop, added, "He is a man of very large property
in Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Wickham; -- "his estate there is a noble one.
A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with
a person more capable of giving you certain information on
that head than myself -- for I have been connected with his
family in a particular manner from my infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised.
"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an asser-
tion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner
of our meeting yesterday. -- Are you much acquainted with
Mr. Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth warmly, --
"I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I
think him very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to
his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form
one. I have known him too long and to well to be a fair judge.
It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your
opinion of him would in general astonish -- and perhaps you
would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. -- Here
you are in your own family."
"Upon my word I say no more here than I might say in any
house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not
at all liked in Hertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his
pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by
any one."
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short
interruption, "that he or that any man should not be estimated
beyond their deserts; but with him I believe it does not often
happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence,
or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him
only as he chuses to be seen."
"I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be
an ill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.
"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking,
"whether he is likely to be in this country much longer."
"I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away
when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the
-- shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbour-
hood."
"Oh! no -- it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy.
If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on
friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but
I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim
to all the world; a sense of very great ill usage, and most pain-
ful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the
late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed,
and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in com-
pany with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul
by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself
has been scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him
any thing and every thing, rather than his disappointing the
hopes and disgracing the memory of his father."
Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and
listened with all her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented
farther inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics,
Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly
pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter
especially, with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.
"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,"
he added, "which was my chief inducement to enter the
-- shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps,
and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of
their present quarters, and the very great attentions and
excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society,
I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and
my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and
society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but
circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought
to have been my profession -- I was brought up for the church,
and I should at this time have been in possession of a most
valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speak-
ing ofjust now."
"Indeed!"
"Yes -- the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presenta-
tion of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and
excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness.
He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done
it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could that be?
-- How could his will be disregarded? -- Why did not you seek
legal redress?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the
bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour
could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose
to doubt it -- or to treat it as a merely conditional recommenda-
tion, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extra-
vagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing. Certal-n
it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I
was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man;
and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having
really done any thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm,
unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes
spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recal
nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort
of men, and that he hates me."
"This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly dis-
graced."
"Some time or other he will be -- but it shall not be by me.
Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him
handsomer than ever as he expressed them.
"But what," said she after a pause "can have been his
motive? -- what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me -- a dislike which I
cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late
Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me
better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me, irritated
him I believe very early in life. He had not a temper to bear
the sort of competition in which we stood -- the sort of pre-
ference which was often given me."
"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this -- though I
have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him --
I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in
general, but did not suspect him of descending to such
malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!"
After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued,
"I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the
implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving
temper. His disposition must be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham,
"I can hardly be just to him."
Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time
exclaimed, "To treat in such a manner, the godson, the friend,
the favourite of his father!" -- She could have added, "A young
man too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for
your being amiable' -- but she contented herself with "And
one, too, who had probably been his own companion from
childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the
closest manner!"
"We were born in the same parish, within the same park,
the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates
of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of
the same parental care. My father began life in the profession
which your uncle, Mr. Philips, appears to do so much credit
to -- but he gave up every thing to be of use to the late Mr.
Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley
property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most
intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged.
himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's
active superintendance, and when immediately before my
father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of
providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much
a debt of gratitude to him, as of affection to myself."
"How strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abominable! -- I
wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him
just to you! -- If from no better motive, that he should not have
been too proud to be dishonest, -- for dishonesty I must
call it."
"It is wonderful," -- replied Wickham, -- "for almost all his
actions may be traced to pride; -- and pride has often been
his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than
any other feeling. But we are none ofus consistent; and in his
behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than
pride."
"Can such abominable pride as his, have ever done him
good?"
"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, -- to
give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his
tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride,
for he is very proud of what his father was, have done this.
Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the
popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley
House, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride,
which with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind
and careful guardian of his sister; and you will hear him
generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers."
"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy,?"
He shook his head. -- "I wish I could call her amiable. It
gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like
her brother, -- very, very proud. -- As a child, she was affec-
tionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have
devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is
nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or
sixteen, and I understand highly accomplished. Since her
father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives
with her, and superintends her education."
After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Eliza-
beth could not help reverting once more to the first, and
saying,
"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How
can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I
really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a
man? How can they suit each other? -- Do you know Mr.
Bingley?"
"Not at all."
"He is a sweet tempered, amiable, charming man. He can-
not know what Mr. Darcy is."
"Probably not; -- but Mr. Darcy can please where he chuses.
he does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion
if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his
equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what
he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but
with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational,
honourable, and perhaps agreeable, -- allowing something for
fortune and figure."
The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players
athered round the other table, and Mr. Collins took his
station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. -- The
usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. It
had not been very great; he had lost every point; but when
Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he
assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the
least importance, that he considered the money as a mere
trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.
"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit
down to a card table, they must take their chance of these
things, -- and happily I am not in such circumstances as to
make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many
who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de
Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding
little matters."
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing
Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low
voice whether her relation were very intimately acquainted
with the family of de Bourgh.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately
given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first
introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known
her long."
"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and
Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt
to the present Mr. Darcy."
"No, indeed, I did not. -- I knew nothing at all of Lady
..
the day before yesterday."
"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large
fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite
the two estates."
This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought
of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her
attentions, vain and useless her affection for his sister and
her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined to
another.
"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both of Lady
..
he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads
him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an
arrogant conceited woman."
"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham;
"I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember
that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial
and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably
sensible and clever: but I rather believe she derives part of
her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her autho-
ritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew,
who chuses that every one connected with him should have
an understanding of the first class."
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account
of it, and they continued talking together with mutual satis --
faction till supper put an end to cards; and gave the rest of
the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There
could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's supper
party, but his manners recommended him to every body.
Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done
gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him.
She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what
he had told her, all the way home; but there was not time for
her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia
nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of
lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had
won, and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and
Mrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his
losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and
repeatedly fearing that he crouded his cousins, had more to
say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at
Longbourn House.
ELIZABETH related to Jane the next day, what had passed
between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonish-
ment and concern; -- she knew not how to believe that Mr.
Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet,
it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young
man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. -- The possi-
bility of his having really endured such unkindness, was
enough to interest all her tender feelings; and nothing there-
fore remained to be done, but to think well of them both,
to defend the conduct of each, and throw into the account
of accident or mistake, whatever could not be otherwise
explained.
"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say, in
some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested
people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other, It is,
in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circum-
stances which may have alienated them, without actual blame
on either side."
"Very true, indeed; -- and now, my dear Jane, what have
you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have
probably been concerned in the business? -- Do clear them
too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."
"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me
out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what
a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his
father's favourite in such a manner, -- one, whom his father
had promised to provide for. -- It is impossible. No man of
common humanity, no man who had any value for his charac-
ter, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so
excessively deceived in him? oh! no."
"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being
imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a
history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts,
every thing mentioned without ceremony. -- If it be not so,
let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his
looks."
"It is difficult indeed -- it is distressing. -- One does not know
what to think."
"I beg your pardon; -- one knows exactly what to think."
But Jane could think with certainty on only one point, --
that Mr. Bingley, if he had been imposed on, would have
much to suffer when the affair became public.
The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery
where this conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the
very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley
and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the
long expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the
following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their
dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and
repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since
their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little
attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying
not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They
were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity
which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if
eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect ofthe Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable
to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it
as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was parti-
cularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley
himself, instead of a ceremonious card, Jane pictured to herself
a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the atten-
tion of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of
dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a con-
fimation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's looks and behaviour.
The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia, depended
less on any single event, or any particular person, for though
they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with
Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could
satisfy them, and a ball was at any rate, a ball. And even Mary
could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.
"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is
enough. -- I think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening
engagements. Society has claims on us all; and I profess my-
self one of those who consider intervals of recreation and
amusement as desirable for every body."
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion, that though
she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could
not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr,
Bingley's invitation, and if he did, whether he would think
it proper to join in the evening's amusement; and she was
rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple what-
ever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke
either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh,
by venturing to dance.
"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that
a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to
respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so
far from objecting to dancing myself that I shall hope to be
honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course
of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours,
Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially, -- a pre-
ference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right
cause, and not to any disrespect for her."
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully
proposed being engaged by Wickham for those very dances:
-- and to have Mr. Collins instead! her liveliness had been
never worse timed. There was no help for it however. Mr.
Wickham's happiness and her own was per force delayed a
little longer, and Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as good
a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his
gallantry, from the idea it suggested of something more. -- It
now first struck her, that she was selected from among her
sisters as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage,
and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the
absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to
conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities toward
herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on
her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than
gratified herself, by this effect of her charms, it was not long
before her mother gave her to understand that the probability
of their marriage was exceedingly agreeable to her. Elizabeth
however did not chuse to take the hint, being well aware that
a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr.
..
less to quarrel about him.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and
talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a
pitiable state at this time, for from the day of the invitation,
to the day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain as
prevented their walking to Meryton once. No aunt, no
officers, no news could be sought after; -- the very shoe-roses
for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have
found some trial of her patience in weather, which totally
suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr,
Wickham; and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, could
have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday,
endurable to Kitty and Lydia.
TILL Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield
and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of
red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had
never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not
been checked by any of those recollections that might not un-
reasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than
usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest
of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it
was not more than might be won in the course of the evening.
But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being
purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys"
invitation to the officers; and though this was not exactly the
case the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his
friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who
told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on
business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding,
with a significant smile,
"I do not imagine his business would have called him away
just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentle-
man here."
This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was
caught by Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not
less answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first sur-
mise had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the
former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that
she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite
inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.
-- Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to
Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation
with him, and turned away with a degree of ill humour, which
she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr.
Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.
But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though
every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it
could not dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her
griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week,
she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities
of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice
The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress;
they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and
solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving
wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and
misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances
can give. The moment of her release from him was exstacy.
She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment
of talking of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally
liked. When those dances were over she returned to Charlotte
Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found her-
self suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much
by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without
knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away
again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want
of presence of mind; Charlotte tried to console her.
"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."
"Heaven forbid! -- That would be the greatest misfortune
of all! -- To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to
hate! -- Do not wish me such an evil."
When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy
approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help
cautioning her in a whisper not to be a simpleton and allow
her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the
eyes of a man of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made
no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity
to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite
to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours' looks their
equal amazement in beholding it. They stood for some time
without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their
silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was
resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would
be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to
talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He
replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes
second time with
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. -- I talked
about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark
on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him
to say should be said.
"Very well. -- That reply will do for the present. --
..
much pleasanter than public ones. -- But now we may be
silent."
"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would
look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and
yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so
arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as
as posslble.
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case,
or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a
great similarity in the tum of our minds. -- We are each of an
unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we
expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and
be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own charac-
ter, I am sure," said he. "How near it may be to mine, I cannot
pretend to say. -- You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
"I must not decide on my own performance."
He made no answer, and they were again silent till they
had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her
sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered in
the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added,
"When you met us there the other day, we had just been form-
ing a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur over-
spread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth,
though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on.
At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said,
"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may
ensure his making friends -- whether he may be equally capable
of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied
Elizabeth with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely
to suffer from all his life."
Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing
the subject. At that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close
to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of
the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopt with a bow of
superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his
partner.
"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such
very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you
belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your
fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to
have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain
desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, (glancing at her sister
and Bingley,) shall take place. What congratulations will then
flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy: -- but let me not interrupt you,
Sir. -- You will not thank me for detaining you from the
bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes
are also upbraiding me."
The latter part of this address was scarcely, heard by Darcy;
but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him
forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expres-
sion towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together.
Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner,
and said,
"Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we
were talking of."
"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could
not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less
to say for themselves. -- We have tried two or three subjects
already without success, and what we are to talk of next I can-
not imagine."
"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.
"Books -- Oh! no. -- I am sure we never read the same, or
not with the same feelings."
"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can
at least be no want of subject. -- We may compare our different
opinions."
"No -- I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is
always full of something else."
"The present always occupies you in such scenes -- does it?"
said he, with a look of doubt.
"Yes, always," she replied, without knowing what she
said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject,
as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming,
"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you
hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was
unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its
being created."
"I am ' said he, with a firm voice.
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"
"I hope not."
"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change
their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first."
"May I ask to what these questions tend?"
"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she,
endeavouring to shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make
it out."
"And what is your success?"
She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such dif-
ferent accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."
"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that report
may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss
Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present
moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would
reflect no credit on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have
another opportunity."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he
coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the
other dance and parted in silence; on each side dissatisfied,
though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was
a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured
her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.
They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came
towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain thus
accosted her,
"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George
Wickham! -- Your sister has been talking to me about him,
and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young
man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that
he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward.
Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give
implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's
using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has
been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham
has treated Mr. Darcy, in a most infamous manner. I do not
know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy
is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George
Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother thought he
could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the
officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken him-
self out of the way. His coming into the country at all, is a
most insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could pre-
sume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your
not expect much better."
"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the
same," said Elizabeth angrily; "for I have heard you accuse
him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's
steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself."
"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away
with a sneer. "Excuse my interference. -- It was kindly meant."
"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. -- "You are much
mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack
as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and
the malice of Mr. Darcy." She then sought her eldest sister,
who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of
Blngley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency,
a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how
well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evenin --
Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment
solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies and
every thing else gave way before the hope of Jane's being in
the fairest way for happiness.
"I want to know," said she, with a countenance no less
smiling than her sister's, "what you have learnt about Mr.
Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged
my pardon.
"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him; but I have
notjing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know
the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circum-
stances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he
will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour of
his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has
deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has
received; and I am sorry to say that by his account as well as
his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young
man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved
to lose Mr. Darcy's regard."
"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?"
"No; he never saw him fill the other morning at Meryton."
"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy.
I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?"
"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though
he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he
believes that it was left to him conditionally only."
"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity," said Eliza-
beth warmly; "but you must excuse my not being convinced
by assurances only. Mr. Bingley's defence of his friend-was a
very able one I dare say, but since he is unacquainted with
several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that
friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen
as I did before."
She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to
each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment.
Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest
hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard, and said all
in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being
joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss
Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last
partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up
to them and told her with great exultation that he had just
been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.
"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that
there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I
happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to
the young lady who does the honours of this house the names
of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady
..
would have thought of my meeting with -- perhaps -- a nephew
of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! -- I am most
thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my
respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will
excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the
connection must plead my apology."
"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?"
"Indeed I am. I shall intreat his pardon for not having done
it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew. It will
be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well
yesterday se'nnight."
Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme;
assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing
him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather
than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least
necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if
it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in conse-
quence, to begin the acquaintance. -- Mr. Collins listened to
her with the determined air of following his own inclination
and when she ceased speaking, replied thus,
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the
world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the
scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there
must be a wide difference between the established forms of
ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the
clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical
office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the
kingdom -- provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at
the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to
follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which
leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon
me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other
subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before
us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual
study to decide on what is right than a young lady like your-
self." And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy,
whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and
whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident.
Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though
she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and
saw in the motion of his lips the words 'apology," 'Hunsford,"
and 'Lady Catherine de Bourgh." -- It vexed her to see him
expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with
unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed
him time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr.
..
and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly increasing with
the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only
made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins
then returned to Elizabeth.
"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be dissatisfied
with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the
attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even
paid me the compliment of saying, that he was so well con-
vinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she
could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very
handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased
with him."
As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to
pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister
and Mr. Bingley, and the train of agreeable reflections which
her observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as
happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in that very house
in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could
bestow; and she felt capable under such circumstances, of
endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's
thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she
determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too
much. When they sat down to supper, therefore, she con -- "
sidered it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them
within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find
that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas)
freely, openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that
Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley. -- It was an
animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of
fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His
being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living
but three miles from them, were the first points of self-
gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond
the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must
desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, more-
over, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as
Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of
other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life
to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their
sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more
than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance a
matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette -
but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in
staying at home at any period of her life. She concluded with
many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally
fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there
was no chance of it.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her
mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a
less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation she
could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr.
Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her
for being nonsensical.
"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of
him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to
be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."
"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. -- What advantage
can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? -- You will never recom-
mend yourself to his friend by so doing."
Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence.
Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible
tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and
vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye at
Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she
dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother,
she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by
her. The expression of his face changed gradually from
indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.
At length however Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and
Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of
delights which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to
the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began
to revive. But not long was the interval of tranquillity; for
when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the
mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, pre-
paring to oblige the company. By many significant looks and
silent entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof
of complaisance, -- but in vain; Mary would not understand
them; such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her,
and she began her song. Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her
with most painful sensations; and she watched her progress
through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very
ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving amongst the
thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be pre-
vailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a
minute began another. Mary's powers were by no means
fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner
affected. -- Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to
see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to
Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making
signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued
however impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to
entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night.
He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second
song, said aloud,
"That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted
us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to
exhibit."
Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat
disconcerted; and Elizabeth sorry for her, and sorry for her
father's speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good. --
Others of the party were now applied to.
"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to
sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the
company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent
diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a
clergyman. -- I do not mean however to assert that we can
be justified in devoting too much of our time to
there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector
of a parish has much to do. -- In the first place, he must make
such a agreement for tythes as may be beneficial to himself
and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own ser-
mons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his
parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling,
which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as
possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he
should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every
body, especially towards those to whom he owes his prefer-
ment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well
of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his
respect towards any body connected with the family." And
with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had
been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. -- Many
stared. -- Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than
Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended
Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a
half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever,
good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an
agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during
the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play
their parts with more spirit, or finer success; and happy did
she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibi-
tion had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of
a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have
witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however,
should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations
was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the
silent contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of
the ladies, were more intolerable.
The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She
was teazed by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly
by her side, and though he could not prevail with her to dance
with him again, put it out of her power to dance with others,
In vain did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else,
and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He
assured her that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to
it; that his chief object was by delicate attentions to recom-
mend himselfto her, and that he should therefore make a point
of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was no
arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to
her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-
naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation to herself.
She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther
notice; though often standing within a very short distance of
her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak,
She felt it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to
Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to
depart; and by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet had to wait for
their carriages a quarter of an hour after every body else was
gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were
wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister
scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue,
and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves.
They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation,
and by so doing, threw a languor over the whole party, which
was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins,
who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the
elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and polite-
ness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy
said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying
the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a
little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other.
Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst
or Miss Bingley; and even lydia was to much fatigued to
utter more than the occasional exclaimation of "Lord how tired
I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was
most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family
soon at Longbourn; and addressed herself particularly to
Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them,
by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the
ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful
pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest
opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from London,
whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house
under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the neces-
sary preparations of settlements, new carriages and wedding
clothes, she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at
Netherfield, in the course of three or four months. Of having
another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought with
equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal,
pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children;
and though the man and the match were quite good enough for
her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and
Netherfield.
THE next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Colllns
made his declaration in form. Having resolved to do it without
loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the
following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to
make it distressing to himself even at the moment, he set
about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances
which he supposed a regular part of the business. On finding
Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together
soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words,
"May I hope, Madam, for your interest with your fair
daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private
audience with her in the course of this morning?"
Before Elizabeth had time for any thing but a blush of sur-
prise, Mrs. Bennet instantly answered,
"Oh dear! -- Yes -- certainly. -- I am sure Lizzy will be very
happy -- I am sure she can have no objection. -- Come, Kitty,
I want you up stairs." And gathering her work together, she
was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out,
"Dear Ma'am, do not go. -- I beg you will not go. -- Mr.
..
that any body need not hear. I am going away myself."
"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. -- I desire you will stay where
you are." -- And upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed
and embarrassed looks, about to escape, she added, "Lizzy,
I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins."
Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction -- and a
moment's consideration making her also sensible that it would
be wisest to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she
sat down again, and tried to conceal by incessant employment
the feelings which were divided between distress and diver-
sion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they
were gone Mr. Collins began.
"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty,
so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other
perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had
there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure
you that I have your respected mother's permission for this
address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse,
however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble;
my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost
as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the com-
panion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my
feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to
state my reasons for marrying -- and moreover for coming
into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I
certainly did."
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure,
being run away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near
laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed in
any attempt to stop him farther, and he continued:
"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right
thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself)
to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that
I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and
thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier,
that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very
noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.
Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked
too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night
before I left Hunsford -- between our pools at quadrille, while
Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's foot-stool,
that she said, ""Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman
like you must marry. -- Chuse properly, chuse a gentlewoman
for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort
of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small
income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman
as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.""
Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do
not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de
Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to
offer. You will find her manners beyond any thing I can
describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable
to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect
which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my
general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be
told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my
own neighbourhood, where I assure you there are many
amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to
inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father,
(who, however, may live many years longer,) I could not
satisfy myself without resolving to chuse a wife from among
his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as pos-
sible, when the melancholy event takes place -- which, how-
ever, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This
has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will
not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains-for me
but to assure you in the most animated language of the
violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent,
and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since
I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that
one thousand pounds in the 4 per cents. which will not be
yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever
be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly
silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous
reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
"You are too hasty, Sir," she cried. "You forget that I have
made no answer. Let me do it without farther loss of time.
Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me,
I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is
impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them."
"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal
wave of the hand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject
the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept,
when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the
refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am there-
fore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and
shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."
"Upon my word, Sir," cried Elizabeth, "your hope is rather
an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that
I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there
are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance
of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my
refusal. -- You could not make me happy, and I am convinced
that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so,
-- Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am
persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for
the situation."
"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so ' said
Mr. Collins very gravely -- "but I cannot imagine that her lady-
ship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain
that when I have the honour of seeing her again I shall speak
in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other
amiable qualifications."
"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary.
You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the
compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy
and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power
to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you
must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard
to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate
whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may
be considered, therefore, as finally settled." And rising as she
thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr.
..
"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on
this subject I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer
than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing
you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the estab-
lished custom of your sex to reject a man on the first applica-
tion, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage
my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the
female character."
"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth,
"you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can
appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how
to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its
being one."
"You must give me leave to flatter myself my dear cousin
that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course.
My reasons for believing it are briefly these: -- It does not
appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or
that the establishment I can offer would be any other than
highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with
the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own,
it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold
attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of
marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily
so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your
loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore
conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me,
I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish ofi ncreasing my
love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant
females."
"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever
to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respect-
able man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being
believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour
you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is
absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it,
..
female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature
speaking the truth from her heart."
"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of
awkward gallantry; "and I am persuaded that when sanctioned
by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my
proposals will not fail of being acceptable."
To such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth
would make no reply, and immediately and in silence with-
drew; determined, that if he persisted in considering her
repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, to apply to her
father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as
must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could not be
mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.
MR. COLLINS was not left long to the silent contemplation
of his successful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about
in the vestibule to watch for the end of the conference, no
sooner saw Elizabeth open the door and with quick step pass
her towards the staircase, than she entered the breakfast-
room, and congratulated both him and herself in warm terms
on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins
received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure,
and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview,
with the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be
satisfied, since the refusal which his cousin had stedfastly
given him would naturally flow from her bashful modest"
and the genuine delicacy of her character.
This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet; -- she
would have been glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter
had meant to encourage him by protesting against his ro-
posals, but she dared not to believe it, and could not help
saying so.
"But depend upon it, Mr. Collins," she added, "that Lizzy
shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it
myself directly. She is a very headstrong foolish girl, and
does not know her own interest; but I will make her
know it."
"Pardon me for interrupting you, Madam," cried Mr.
..
not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to
a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the
marriage state. If therefore she actually persists in rejecting
my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accept-
ing me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could
not contribute much to my felicity."
"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," said Mrs. Bennet,
alarmed. "Lizzy is only headstrong in such matters as these.
In every thing else she is as good natured a girl as ever lived.
I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle
it with her, I am sure."
She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying
instantly to her husband, called out as she entered the library,
"Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all
in an uproar. You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr.
..
make haste he will change his mind and not have her."
Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered,
and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was
not in the least altered by her communication.
"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," said he,
when she had finished her speech. "Of what are you talking?"
"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have
Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not
have Lizzy."
"And what am I to do on the occasion? -- It seems an hope-
less business."
"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist
upon her marrying him."
"Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion."
Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was sum-
moned to the library.
"Come here, child," cried her father as she appeared. "I have
sent for you on an affair ofimportance. I understand that Mr.
..
beth replied that it was. "Very well -- and this offer of marriage
you have refused?"
"I have, Sir."
"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists
upon your accepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?"
"Yes, or I will never see her again."
"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From
this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. -- Your
mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr,
..
Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such
a beginning; but Mrs. Bennet who had persuaded herself
that her husband regarded the affair as she wished, was
excessively disappointed.
"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way?
You promised me to insist upon her marrying him."
"My dear," replied her husband, "I have two small favours
to request. First, that you will allow me the free use of my
understanding on the present occasion; and secondly, of my
room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as
may be."
Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her
husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to
Elizabeth again and again; coaxed and threatened her by
turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in her interest but
Jane with all possible mildness declined interfering; -- and
Elizabeth sometimes with real earnestness and sometimes
with playful gaiety replied to her attacks. Though her manner
varied however, her determination never did.
Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on
what had passed. He thought too well of himself to com-
prehend on what motive his cousin could refuse him; and
though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other way. His
regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her
deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling
any regret.
While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas
came to spend the day with them. She was met in the vestibule
by Lydia, who, flying to her, cried in a half whisper, "I am
glad you are come, for there is such fun here! -- What do you
think has happened this morning? -- Mr. Collins has made
an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him."
..
joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news, and no sooner
had they entered the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was
alone, than she likewise began on the subject, calling on Miss
Lucas for her compassion, and entreating her to persuade her
friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her family. "Pray
do, my dear Miss Lucas," she added in a melancholy tone, "for
nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly
used, nobody feels for my poor nerves."
..
Elizabeth.
"Aye, there she comes," continued Mrs. Bennet, "looking
as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us than if
we were at York, provided she can have her own way. -- But
I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to go
on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never
get a husband at all -- and I am sure I do not know who is to
maintain you when your father is dead. -- I shall not be able
to keep you -- and so I warn you. -- I have done with you from
this very day. -- I told you in the library, you know, that I
should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good
as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children,
-- Not that I have much pleasure indeed in talking to any
body. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can
have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I
suffer! -- But it is always so. Those who do not complain are
never pitied."
Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible
that any attempt to reason with or sooth her would only
increase the irritation. She talked on, therefore, without inter-
ruption from any of them till they were joined by Mr, Collins,
who entered with an air more stately than usual, and on per-
ceiving whom, she said to the girls,
"Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your
tongues, and let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation
together."
Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and
Kitty followed, but Lydia stood her ground, determined
to hear all she could; and Charlotte, detained first by
the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after her-
self and all her family were very minute, and then by a
little curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window
and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs.
Bennet thus began the projected conversation. -- "Oh! Mr.
..
"My dear Madam," replied he, "let us be for ever silent on
this point. Far be it from me," he presently continued in a
voice that marked his displeasure, "to resent the behaviour of
your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is the duty of
us all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has been so
fortunate as I have been in early preferment; and I trust I am
resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my
positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her
hand; for I have often observed that resignation is never so
perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of
its value in our estimation. You will not, I hope, consider me
as shewing any disrespect to your family, my dear Madam,
by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter's
favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the
compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in
my behalf. My conduct may I fear be objectionable in having
accepted my dismission from your daughter's lips instead of
your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant
well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an
amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the
advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all
reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise."
THE discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an
end, and Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable
feelings necessarily attending it, and occasionally from some
peevish allusion of her mother. As for the gentleman himself,
his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by embarrassment or
dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of manner
and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the
assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of himself,
were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose
civility in listening to him, was a seasonable relief to them all,
and especially to her friend.
The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet's ill
humour or ill health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state
of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might
shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in the least
affected by it. He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to
Saturday he still meant to stay.
After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if
Mr. Wickham were returned, and to lament over his absence
from the Netherfield ball. He joined them on their entering
the town and attended them to their aunt's, where his regret
and vexation, and the concern of every body was well talked
over. -- To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged
that the necessity of his absence had been self imposed.
"I found," said he, "as the time drew near, that I had better
not meet Mr. Darcy; -- that to be in the same room, the same
party with him for so many hours together, might be more than
I could bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more
than myself."
She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure
for a full discussion of it, and for all the commendation which
they civilly bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another
officer walked back with them to Longbourn, and during the
walk, he particularly attended to her. His accompanying them
was a double advantage; she felt all the compliment it offered
to herself, and it was most acceptable as an occasion of intro-
ducing him to her father and mother.
Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss
Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and was opened imme-
diately. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot
pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand;
and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read
it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages.
Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried
to join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation;
but Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject which drew off
her attention even from Wickham; and no sooner had he and
his companion taken leave, than a glance from Jane invited
her to follow her up stairs. When they had gained their own
room, Jane taking out the letter, said,
"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains, has sur-
prised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield
by this time, and are on their way to town; and without any
intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says."
She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the
information of their having just resolved to follow their
brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine that
day in Grosvenor street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. The
next was in these words. "I do not pretend to regret any thing
I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest
friend; but we will hope at some future period, to enjoy many
returns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in
the mean while may lessen the pain of separation by a very
frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on
you for that." To these high flown expressions, Elizabeth
listened with all the insensibility of distrust; and though the
suddenness of their removal surprised her, she saw nothing
in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed that their
absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being
there; and as to the loss of their society, she was persuaded
that Jane must soon cease to regard it, in the enjoyment
of his.
"It is unlucky," said she, after a short pause, "that you should
not be able to see your friends before they leave the country.
But may we not hope that the period of future hapiness to
which Miss Bingley looks forward, may arrive earlier than she
is aware, and that the delightful intercourse you have known
as friends, will be renewed with yet greater satisfaction as
sisters? -- Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by
them."
"Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return
into Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you --
"When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the
business which took Him to London, might be concluded in
three or four days, but as we are certain it cannot be so, and
at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town,
he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on
following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his
vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many ofmy acquaintance
are already there for the winter; I wish I could hear that you,
my dearest friend, had any intention of making one in the
croud, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas
in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season
generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as
to prevent your feeling the loss of the three, of whom we shall
deprive you."
"It is evident by this," added Jane, "that he comes back no
more this winter."
"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean he
should."
"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. -- He is
his own master. But you do not know all. I will read you the
passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves
from you." "Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to
confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again.
I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty,
elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires
in Louisa and myself, is heightened into something still more
interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being
hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before
mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not
leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you
will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her
greatly already, he will have frequent opportunity now of see-
ing her on the most intimate footing, her relations all wish the
connection as much as his own, and a sister's partiality is
not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable
of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances
to favour an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I
wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event
which will secure the happiness of so many?"
"What think you of this sentence, my dear Lizzy?" -- said
Jane as she finished it. "Is it not clear enough? -- Does it not
expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me
to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced ofher brother's
indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings
for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard?
..
"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. -- Will you
hear it?"
"Most willingly."
"You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her
brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss
Darcy. She follows him to town in the hope of keeping him
there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about
you."
Jane shook her head.
"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. -- No one who has
ever seen you together, can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley
I am sure cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have
seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would
have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this. We
are not rich enough, or grand enough for them; and she is the
more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the
notion that when there has been one intermarriage, she may
have less trouble in achieving a second; in which there is
certainly some ingenuity, and I dare say it would succeed, if
Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane,
you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley tells
you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the
smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took
leave of you on Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to per-
suade him that instead of being in love with you, he is very
much in love with her friend."
"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley," replied Jane, "your
representation of all this, might make me quite easy. But I
know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully
deceiving any one; and all that I can hope in this case is, that
she is deceived herself."
"That is right. -- You could not have started a more happy
idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to
be deceived by all means. You have now done your duty by
her, and must fret no longer."
"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the
best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wish-
ing him to marry elsewhere?"
"You must decide for yourself," said Elizabeth, "and if upon
mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging
his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of
being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him."
"How can you talk so?" -- said Jane faintly smiling, -- "You
must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at
their disapprobation, I could not hesitate."
"I did not think you would; -- and that being the case, I can-
not consider your situation with much compassion."
"But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never
be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!"
The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with
the utmost contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion
of Caroline's interested wishes, and she could not for a
moment suppose that those wishes, however openly or art-
fully spoken, could influence a young man so totally indepen-
dent of every one.
She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what
she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its
happy effect. Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was
gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection some-
times overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Nether-
field and answer every wish of her heart.
They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the
departure of the family, without being alarmed on the score
of the gentleman's conduct; but even this partial communica-
tion gave her a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as
exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go
away, just as they were all getting so intimate together. After
lamenting it however at some length, she had the consolation
of thinking that Mr. Bingley would be soon down again and
soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the
comfortable declaration that, though he had been invited only
to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.
THE Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and
again during the chief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as
to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of
thanking her. "It keeps him in good humour," said she, "and
I am more obliged to you than I can express." Charlotte
assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that
it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was
very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended farther than
Elizabeth had any conception of; -- its object was nothing less,
than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses,
by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's
scheme; and appearances were so favourable that when they
parted at night, she would have felt almost sure of success if
he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here,
she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character,
for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next
morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge
to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice
of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart,
they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not
willing to have the attempt known till its success could be
known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with
reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was
comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday.
His reception however was of the most flattering kind. Miss
Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked
towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him acci-
dentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so
much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would
allow, every thing was settled between them to the satis-
faction of both; and as they entered the house, he earnestly
entreated her to name the day that was to make him the
happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waved
for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his
happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by
nature, must guard his courtship from any charm that could
make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas,
who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested
desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establish-
ment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for
their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity.
Mr. Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible
match for their daughter, to whom they could give little
fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly
fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more
interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many
years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William
gave it as his decided opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins
should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be
highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their
appearance at St. James's. The whole family in short were
properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed
hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might
otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from their
apprehension of Charlotte's dying an old maid. Charlotte her-
self was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and
had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general
satisfactory. Mr. Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor
agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her
must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband. --
Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony,
marriage had always been her object; it was the only honour-
able provision for well-educated young women of small
fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be
their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative
she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, with-
out having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it.
The least agreeable circumstance in the business, was the
surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friend-
ship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth
would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though
her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt
by such disapprobation. She resolved to give her the informa-
tion herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins when he
returned to Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had
passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was of
course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without
difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence, burst
forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required
some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exer-
cising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his
prosperous love.
As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to
see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was per-
formed when the ladies moved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet
with great politeness and cordiality said how happy they
should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his other
engagements might allow him to visit them.
"My dear Madam," he replied, "this invitation is parti-
cularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to
receive; and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself
of it as soon as possible."
They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by
no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said,
"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapproba-
tion here, my good sir? -- You had better neglect your rela-
tions, than run the risk of offending your patroness."
"My dear sir, " replied Mr. Collins, "I am particularly obliged
to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon
my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's con-
currence."
"You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk any thing
rather than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be
raised by your coming to us again, which I should think
exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied
that we shall take no offence."
"'Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude-is warmly excited
by such affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will
speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, as well as
for every other mark of your regard during my stay in Hertford-
shire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be
long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty
of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my
cousin Elizabeth."
With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them
equally surprised to find that he meditated a quick return.
Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by it that he thought of
paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and Mary
might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his
abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a
solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though
by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged
to read and improve himself by such an example as her's, he
might become a very agreeable companion. But on the follow-
ing morning, every hope of this kind was done away. Miss
Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a private conference
with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.
The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love
with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the
last day or two; but that Charlotte could encourage him,
seemed almost as far from possibility as that she could encour-
age him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so
great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she
could not help crying out,
"Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte, --
impossible!"
The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had com-
manded in telling her story, gave way to a momentary con-
fusion here on receiving so direct a reproach; though, as it
was no more than she expected, she soon regained her com-
posure, and calmly replied,
"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? -- Do you
think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure
any woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as
to succeed with you?"
But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a
strong effort for it, was able to assure her with tolerable firm-
ness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful
to her, and that she wished her all imaginable happiness.
"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte, -- "you
must be surprised, very much surprised, -- so lately as Mr.
..
had time to think it all over, I hope you will be satisfied
with what I have done. I am not romantic you know. I
never was, I ask only a comfortable home; and consider-
ing Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in
life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him
is as fair, as most people can boast on entering the marriage
state."
Elizabeth quietly answered "Undoubtedly;' -- and after
an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family.
..
left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time
before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuit-
able a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two
offers of marriage within three days, was nothing in com-
parison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that
..
own, but she could not have supposed it possible that when
called into action, she would have sacrificed every better
feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins,
was amost humiliating picture! -- And to the pang of a
friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added
the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that
friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.
ELIZABETH was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflect-
ing on what she had heard, and doubting whether she were
authorised to mention it, when Sir William Lucas himself
appeared, sent by his daughter to announce her engagement
to the family. With many compliments to them, and much
self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the
houses, he unfolded the matter, -- to an audience not merely
wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more
perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely
mistaken, and Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil,
boisterously exclaimed,
"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story?
-- Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?"
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have
borne without anger such treatment; but Sir William's good
breeding carried him through it all; and though he begged
leave to be positive as to the truth of his information, he
listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing
courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so
unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his
account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte
herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of
her mother and sisters, by the earnestness of her congratula-
tions to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Jane,
and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might
be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr.
..
Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a
great deal while Sir William remained; but no sooner had he
left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first
place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter;
secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been taken
in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy
together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off.
Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the
whole; one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of all the mis-
chief; and the other, that she herself had been barbarously
used by them all; and on these two points she principally
dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could console and
nothing appease her. -- Nor did that day wear out her resent-
ment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without
scolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to
Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude and many
months were gone before she could at all forgive their
daughter.
Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the
occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced to be
of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said, to dis-
cover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think
tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish
than his daughter!
Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but
she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire
for their happiness; nor could Elizabeth persuade her to con-
sider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were ar rom envying
Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman; and it
of news to spread
at Meryton.
Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being
able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daugh-
ter well married; and she called at Longbourn rather oftener
than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Bennet's
sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough
to drive happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint
which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Eliza-
beth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist
between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made
her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose rectitude
and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken,
and for whose happiness she grew daily morte anxious, as
Bingley had now been gone a week, and nothing was heard of
his return.
Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and
was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear
again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived
on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all
the solemnity of gratitude which a twelvemonth's abode in
the family might have prompted. After discharging his con-
science on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many
rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained
the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then
explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her
society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish
of seeing him again at Longbourn, whither he hoped to be
able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine, he
added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it
to take pla e as soon as possible, which he trusted would be
an unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to
name an early day for making him the happiest of men.
Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a
matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary she was
as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. -- It was
very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to
Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient and exceedingly
troublesome. -- She hated having visitors in the house while
her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the
most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs.
Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of
Mr. Bingley's continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject.
Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings
of him than the report which shortly prevailed in Meryton of
his coming no more to Netherfield the whole winter; a report
which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, and which she never
failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood.
Even Elizabeth began to fear -- not that Bingley was in-
different -- but that his sisters would be successful in keeping
him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destruc-
tive of Jane's happiness, and so dishonourable to the stability
of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently recurring.
The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his over-
powering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and
the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared,
for the strength of his attachment.
As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspence was, of course,
more painful than Elizabeth's; but whatever she felt she was
desirous of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth,
therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But as no such
delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in
which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for
his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he did not
come back, she should think herself very ill used. It needed all
Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable
tranquillity.
Mr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday fort-
night, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so
gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too
happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily for the
others, the business of love-making relieved them from a
great deal of his company, The chief of every day was spent
by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Long-
bourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before
the family went to bed.
Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very
mention of any thing concerning the match threw her into
an agony of ill humour, and wherever she went she was sure
of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to
her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with
jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them
she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession;
and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was
convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and
resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house,
as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of
all this to her husband.
"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, "it is very hard to think that
..
should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take
my place in it!"
"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us
hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be
the survivor."
This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and, therefore,
instead of making any answer, she went on as before,
"I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate,
If it was not for the entail I should not mind it."
"What should not you mind?"
"I should not mind any thing at all."
"Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of
such insensibility."
"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any thing about
the entail. How any one could have the conscience to entail
away an estate from one's own daughters I cannot under-
stand; and all for the sake of Mr. Collins too! -- Why should
he have it more than anybody else?"
"I leave it to yourself to determine," said Mr. Bennet.
MISS BINGLEY'S letter arrived, and put an end to doubt.
The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being
all settled in London for the winter, and concluded with her
brother's regret at not having had time to pay his respects to
his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend
to the rest of the letter, she found little, except the professed
affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort. Miss
Darcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions
were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their
increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplish-
ment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former
letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's
being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with
raptures, some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief
of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided
between concern for her sister, and resentment against all
the others. To Caroline's assertion of her brother's being
partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit. That he was really
fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done;
and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she
could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on
that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution which
now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him
to sacrifice his own happiness to the caprice of their inclina-
tions. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice,
he might have been allowed to sport with it in what ever
manner he thought best; but her sister's was involved in it,
as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject,
in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and
must be unavailing. She could think of nothing else, and yet
whether Bingley's regard had really died away, or were sup-
pressed by his friends' interference; whether he had been
aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his
observation; whichever were the case, though her opinion of
him must be materially affected by the difference, her sister's
situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of
her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet's leaving
them together, after a longer irritation than usual about
Netherfield and its master, she could not help saying,
"Oh! that my dear mother had more command over herself;
she can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual
reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long.
He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before."
Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude,
but said nothing.
"You doubt me," cried Jane, slightly colouring; "indeed you
have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most
amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing
either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with.
Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time therefore. -- I
shall certainly try to get the better."
With a stronger voice she soon added, "I have this comfort
immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy
on my side, and that it has done no harm to any one but
myself."
"My dear Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "you are too good.
Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do
not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you
justice, or loved you as you deserve."
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and
threw back the praise on her sister's warm affection.
"Nay," said Elizabeth, "this is not fair. You wish to think all
the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of any body.
I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it.
Do not be afraid ofmy running into any excess, of my encroach-
ing on your privilege of universal good will. You need not.
There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of
whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am
I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the
inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little depen-
dence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or
sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not
mention; the other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccount-
able! in every view it is unaccountable!"
"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these.
They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance
enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider
Mr. Collins's respectability, and Charlotte's prudent, steady
character. Remember that she is one of a large family; that as
to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be ready to believe,
for every body's sake, that she may feel something like regard
and esteem for our cousin."
"To oblige you, I would try to believe almost any thing, but
no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for were
I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should
only think worse of her understanding, than I now do of her
heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous,
narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do;
and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who marries
him, cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not
defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for
the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle
and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that
selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger, security
for happiness."
"I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,"
replied Jane, "and I hope you will be convinced ofit, by seeing
them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to
something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot mis-
understand you, but I intreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me
by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of
him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves inten-
tionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man to be
always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing
but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration
means more than it does."
"And men take care that they should."
"If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have
no idea of there being so much design in the world as some
persons imagine."
"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct
to design," said Elizabeth; "but without scheming to do wrong,
or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there
may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other
people's feelings, and want of resolution, will do the business,"
"And do you impute it to either of those?"
"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by
saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst
you can."
"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him."
"Yes, in conjunction with his friend."
"I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him?
They can only wish his happiness, and if he is attached to me,
no other woman can secure it."
"Your first position is false. They may wish many things
besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth
and consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has
all the importance of money, great connections, and pride."
"Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to chuse Miss Darcy,"
replied Jane; "but this may be from better feelings than you
are supposing. They have known her much longer than they
have known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, what-
ever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should
have opposed their brother's. What sister would think her-
self at liberty to do it, unless there were something very
objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they
would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed.
By supposing such an affection, you make every body acting
unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress
me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken --
or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in comparison of what I
should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it
in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood."
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time
Mr. Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between
them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his
returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which
Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, there seemed little
chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. Her
daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she did not
believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the
effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when
he saw her no more; but though the probability of the state-
ment was admitted at the time, she had the same story to
repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort was, that Mr.
Bingley must be down again in the summer.
Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. "So, Lizzy," said
he one day, "your sister is crossed in love I find. I congratulate
her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a
little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her
a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your
turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by
Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough at Meryton
to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham
be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you
creditably."
"Thank you, Sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me.
e must not all expect Jane's good fortune."
"True," said Mr. Bennet, "but it is a comfort to think that,
whatever of that kind may befal you, you have an affectionate
mother who will always make the most of it."
Mr. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling
the gloom, which the late perverse occurrences had thrown
on many of the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and
to his other recommendations was now added that of general
unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard,
his claims on Mr, Darcy, and all that he had suffered from
him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed;
and every body was pleased to think how much they had
always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known any thing
of the matter.
Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there
might be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown
to the society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour
always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of
mistakes -- but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned
as the worst of men.
AFTER a week spent in professions of love and schemes of
felicity, Mr. Collins was called from his amiable Charlotte by
the arrival of Saturday. The pain of separation, however,
might be alleviated on his side, by preparations for the recep-
tion of his bride, as he had reason to hope, that shortly after
his next return into Hertfordshire, the day would be fixed that
was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave of his
relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before;
wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and pro-
mised their father another letter of thanks.
On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure
of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to
spend the Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a
sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister as
well by nature as education. The Netherfield ladies would
have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by trade,
and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so
well bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several
years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an
amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite
with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the two eldest and
herself especially, there subsisted a very particular regard.
They had frequently been staying with her in town.
The first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on her arrival, was
to distribute her presents and describe the newest fashions.
When this was done, she had a less active part to play. It
became her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many grievances
to relate, and much to complain of. They had all been very
ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had been
on the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing in it.
"I do not blame Jane," she continued, "for Jane would have
got Mr. Bingley, if she could. But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! it is very
hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by
this time, had not it been for her own perverseness. He made
her an offer in this very room, and she refused him. The
consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have a daughter
married before I have, and that Longbourn estate is just as
much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people
indeed, sister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry
to say it of them, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and
poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neigh-
bours who think of themselves before anybody else. However,
your coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and
I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of long sleeves."
Mrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been
given before, in the course of Jane and Elizabeth's corre-
spondence with her, made her sister a slight answer, and in
compassion to her nieces turned the conversation.
When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on
the subject. "It seems likely to have been a desirable match
for Jane," said she. "I am sorry it went off. But these things
happen so often! A young man, such as you describe Mr.
Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks,
and when accident separates them, so easily forgets her, that
these sort of inconstancies are very frequent."
"An excellent consolation in its way," said Elizabeth, "but
it will not do for us. We do not suffer by accident. It does not
often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a
young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl,
whom he was violently in love with only a few days before."
"But that expression of ""violently in love'' is so hackneyed,
so doubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It
is as often applied to feelings which arise from an half-hour's
acquaintance, as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how
violent was Mr. Bingley's love?"
"I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing
quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by
her. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable.
At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies, by not
asking them to dance, and I spoke to him twice myself, with-
out receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms?
Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"
"Oh, yes! -- of that kind of love which I suppose him to have
felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because, with her dis-
position, she may not get over it immediately. It had better
have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed your-
selfout of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed
on to go back with us? Change of scene might be of service --
and perhaps a little relief from home, may be as useful as
anything."
Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and
felt persuaded of her sister's ready acquiescence.
"I hope," added Mrs. Gardiner, "that no consideration with
regard to this young man will influence her. We live in so dif-
ferent a part of town, all our connections are so different, and,
as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable
they should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her."
"And that is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody
of his friend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call
on Jane in such a part of London! My dear aunt, how could
you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have heard of such
a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think
a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities,
were he once to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley
never stirs without him."
"So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But
does not Jane correspond with the sister? She will not be able
to help calling."
"She will drop the acquaintance entirely."
But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to
place this point, as well as the still more interesting one of
Bingley's being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude
on the subject which convinced her, on examination that she
did not consider it entirely hopeless. It was possible, and some-
times she thought it probable, that his affection might be
re-animated, and the influence of his friends successfully
combated by the more natural influence of Jane's attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure;
and the Bingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the
time, than as she hoped that, by Caroline's not living in the
same house with her brother, she might occasionally spend a
morning with her, without any danger of seeing him.
The Gardiners staid a week at Longbourn; and what with
the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a
day without its engagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully
provided for the entertainment of her brother and sister, that
they did not once sit down to a family dinner. When the
engagement was for home, some of the officers always made
part of it, of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one;
and on these occasions, Mrs, Gardiner, rendered suspicious
by Elizabeth's warm commendation of him, narrowly observed
them both. Without supposing them, from what she saw,
to be very seriously in love, their preference of each other
was plain enough to make her a little uneasy; and she resolved
to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left Hertford-
shire and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging
such an attachment.
To Mrs. Gardiner Wickham had one means of affording
pleasure, unconnected with his general powers. About ten
or a dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a
considerable time in that very part of Derbyshire, to which he
belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintance in com-
mon; and, though Wickham had been little there since the
death of Darcy's father, five years before, it was yet in his
power to give her fresher intelligence of her former friends,
than she had been in the way of procuring.
Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late
Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well. Here consequently
was an inexhaustible subject of discourse. In comparing her
recollection of Pemberley, with the minute description which
Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of praise
on the character ofits late possessor, she was delighting both
him and herself. On being made acquainted with the present
Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to remember some-
thing of that gentleman's reputed disposition when quite a
lad, which might agree with it, and was confident at last, that
she recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly
spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy.
MRS. GARDINER's caution to Elizabeth was punctually
and kindly given on the first favourable opportunity of speak-
ing to her alone; after honestly telling her what she thought,
she thus went on:
"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely
because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not
afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on
your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve
him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so
very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him; he is a
most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he
ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as
it is -- you must not let your fancy run away with you. You
have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would
depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You
must not disappoint your father."
"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."
"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise."
"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take
care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in
love with me, if I can prevent it."
"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."
"I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in
love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is,
beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw --
and if he becomes really attached to me -- I believe it will be
better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. -- Oh!
that abominable Mr. Darcy! -- My father's opinion of me does
me the greatest honor; and I should be miserable to forfeit it.
My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my
dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making
any of you unhappy; but since we see every day that where
there is affection, young people are seldom withheld by
immediate want of fortune, from entering into engagements
with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many
of my fellow creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to
know that it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise
you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry
to believe myself his first object. When I am in company with
him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best."
"Perhaps it will be as well, if you discourage his coming
here so very often. At least, you should not remind your
Mother of inviting him."
"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth, with a conscious
smile; "very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that.
But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on
your account that he has been so frequently invited this week.
You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant
company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour,
I will try to do what I think to be wisest; and now, I hope you
are satisfied."
Her aunt assured her that she was; and Elizabeth having
thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted; a
wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point,
without being resented.
Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had
been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up
his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great incon-
venience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approach-
ing, and she was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable,
and even repeatedly to say in an ill-natured tone that she
"wished they might be happy." Thursday was to be the wedding
day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit;
and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her
mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely
affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they
went down stairs together, Charlotte said,
"I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza."
"That you certainly shall."
"And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and
see me?"
"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire."
"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me,
therefore, to come to Hunsford."
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little plea-
sure in the visit.
"My father and Maria are to come to me in March," added
..
Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them."
The wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off
for Kent from the church door, and every body had as much
to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard
from her friend; and their correspondence was as regular and
frequent as it had ever been; that it should be equally un-
reserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her
without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over, and,
though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was
for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte's
first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there
could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of
her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how
happy she would dare pronounce herself to be; though, when
the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed
herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen.
She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and
mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house,
furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste,
and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and
obliging. It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and
Rosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived that
she must wait for her own visit there, to know the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce
their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Eliza-
beth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the
Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded
as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town, with-
out either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for
it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend
from Longbourn, had by some accident been lost.
"My aunt," she continued, "is going to-morrow into that
part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling
in Grosvenor-street."
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had
seen Miss Bingley. "I did not think Caroline in spirits,"
were her words, "but she was very glad to see me, and
reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to
London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never
reached her. I enquired after their brother, of course. He
was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy, that they
scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected
to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as
..
soon see them here."
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her,
that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's
being in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him.
She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret
it; but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's in-
attention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight,
and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor
did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more,
the alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive her-
self no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to
her sister, will prove what she felt.
"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumph-
ing in her better judgment, at my expence, when I confess
myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's
regard for me. But, my dear sister, though the event has
proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert,
that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was
as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her
reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but if the same
circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should be
deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday;
and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the mean time. When
she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in
it; she made a slight, formal, apology, for not calling before,
said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every
respect so altered a creature, that when she went away, I was
perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I
pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong
in singling me out as she did; I can safely say, that every
advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity her, because
she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because
I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it,
I need not explain myself farther; and though we know this
anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily
account for her behaviour to me; and so deservedly dear as he
is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his behalf, is
natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her
having any such fears now, because, if he had at all cared
about me, we must have met long, long ago. He knows of my
being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself;
and yet it should seem by her manner of talking, as if she
wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss
Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging
harshly, I should be almost tempted to say, that there is a
strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour
to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will
make me happy, your affection, and the invariable kindness
of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon.
Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Nether-
field again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty.
We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you
have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford.
..
you will be very comfortable there.
"Your's, &c."
This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits
returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be
duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother
was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for any
renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review
of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible
advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon
marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as, by Wickham's account, she
would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her
promise concerning that gentleman, and required informa-
tion; and Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give
contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent parti-
ality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer
of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all,
but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her
heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satis-
fied with believing that she would have been his only choice,
had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten
thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the
young lady, to whom he was now rendering himself agree-
able; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in his case than
in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of
independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more
natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few
struggles to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise
and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish
him happy.
All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after
relating the circumstances, she thus went on: -- "I am now
convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love;
for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion,
I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all
manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards
him; they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find
out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to
think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all
this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I should
certainly be a more interesting object to all my acquaintance,
were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret
my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes
be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection
much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of
the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that
handsome young men must have something to live on, as well
as the plain."
WITH no greater events than these in the Longbourn family,
and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton
sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and
February pass away. March was to take Elizabeth to Huns-
ford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going
thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the
plan, and she gradually learned to consider it herself with
greater pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had
increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened
her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme
and as, with such a mother and such uncompanionable
sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change was not
unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover
give her a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near,
she would have been very sorry for any delay, Every thing,
however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled accord-
ing to Charlotte's first sketch. She was to accompany Sir
William and his second daughter. The improvement of spend-
ing a night in London was added in time, and the plan became
perfect as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who would
certainly miss her, and who, when it came to the point, so
little liked her going, that he told her to write to him, and
almost promised to answer her letter.
The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was per-
fectly friendly; on his side even more. His present pursuit
could not make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first
to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and
to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner of bidding
her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of
what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and
trusting their opinion of her -- their opinion of every body --
would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest
which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere
regard; and she parted from him convinced, that whether
married or single, he must always be her model of the amiable
and pleasing.
Her fellow-travellers the next day, were not of a kind to
make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and
his daughter Maria, a good humoured girl, but as empty-
headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth
hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as
the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she
had known Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing
new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and
his civilities were worn out like his imformation.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began
it so early as to be in Gracechurch-street by noon. As they
drove to Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room
window watching their arrival; when they entered the passage
she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking
earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely
as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls,
whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not
allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness,
as they had not seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented their
coming lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most
pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and shopping, and
the evening at one of the theatres.
Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first sub-
ject was her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished
to hear, in reply to her minute enquiries, that though Jane
always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of
dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope, that they would
not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars also
of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch-street, and repeated
conversations occurring at different times between Jane and
herself, which proved that the former had from her heart,
given up the acquaintance.
Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's deser-
tion, and complimented her on bearing it so well.
"But, my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sort of girl is
Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary."
"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial
affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive?
Where does discretion end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas
you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be
imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with
only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is
mercenary."
"If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I
shall know what to think."
"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm
of her."
"But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grand-
father's death made her mistress of this fortune."
"No -- why should he? If it was not allowable for him to
gain my affections, because I had no money, what occasion
could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care
about, and who was equally poor?"
"But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions
towards her, so soon after this event."
"A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all
those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If
she does not object to it, why should we?"
"Her not objecting, does not justify him. It only
shews her being deficient in something herself -- sense or
feeling."
"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose. He shall be
mercenary, and she shall be foolish."
"No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry,
you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long
in Derbyshire."
"Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men
who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live
in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all.
Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow where I shall find a
man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither
manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only
ones worth knowing, after all."
"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of dis-
appointment."
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play,
she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accom-
pany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they
proposed taking in the summer.
"We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,"
said Mrs. Gardiner, "but perhaps to the Lakes."
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth,
and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grate-
ful. "My dear, dear aunt," she rapturously cried, "what delight!
what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to
disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and
mountains? Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And
when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, with-
out being able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We will
know where we have gone -- we will recollect what we have
seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers, shall not be jumbled
together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe
any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its rela-
tive situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than
those of the generality of travellers."
EVERY object in the next day's journey was new and interest-
ing to Elizabeth; and her spirits were in a state for enjoyment;
for she had seen her sister looking so well as to ity of italll the pdid not kther sasidrecommxclion of lonly hwas the there-y in littl I shable, andom th any uo bor; y
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rits pand his ehe pouch a wyou must oMr. Darcy sister tpassine of hellaled by a short gravel
walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole
party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing
at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend
with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more
satisfied with coming, when she found herself so affection-
ately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners
were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just
what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the
gate to hear and satisfy his enquiries after all her family. They
were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neat-
ness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they
were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time with
ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually
repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she
could not help fancying that in displaying the good proportion
of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself
particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she
had lost in refusing him. But though every thing seemed neat
and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh
of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend
that she could have so cheerful an air, with such a companion.
When Mr. Collins said any thing of which his wife might
reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom,
she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice
she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte
wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every
article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the
fender, to give an account of their journey and of all that had
happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll
in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the
cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in his
garden was one of his most respectable pleasures; and Eliza-
beth admired the command of countenance with which
..
owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading
the way through every walk and cross walk, and scarcely
allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked for,
every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left
beauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every
direction, and could tell how many trees there were in the
most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden,
or which the country, or the kingdom could boast, none were
to be compared with the prospect of Rosings, afforded by
an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly opposite
the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building,
well situated on rising ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round
his two meadows, but the ladies not having shoes to encounter
the remains of a white frost, turned back; and while Sir
William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and
friend over the house, extremely well pleased, probably, to
have the opportunity of shewing it without her husband's
help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and
Her ng was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and
consistency of which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit.
When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great
air of comfort throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoy-
ment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often forgotten.
She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the
country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner,
when Mr. Collins joining in, observed,
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing
Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church,
and I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all
affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be
honoured with some portion of her notice when service is
over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will
include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with
which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour
to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice
every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her lady-
ship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one
of her ladyship's carriages, for she has several."
"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman
indeed," added Charlotte, "and a most attentive neighbour."
"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the
sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much
deference."
The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertford-
shire news, and telling again what had been already written;
and when it closed, Elizabeth in the solitude of her chamber
had to meditate upon Charlotte's degree of contentment, to
understand her address in guiding, and composure in bearing
with her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done very
well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the
quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious inter-
ruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse
with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all.
About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room
getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to
speak the whole house in confusion; and after listening a
moment, she heard somebody running up stairs in a violent
hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened the door, and
met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with agita-
tion, cried out,
"Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and come into the
dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not
tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment."
Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her
nothing more, and down they ran into the dining-room, which
fronted the lane, in quest of this wonder; it was two ladies
stopping in a low phaeton at the garden passinee.
"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected at least that
the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but
Lady Catherine and her daughter!"
"La! my dear," said Maria quite shocked at the mistake, "it
is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who
lives with them. The other is Miss De Bourgh. Only look at
her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought she
could be so thin and small!"
"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of s
ris in
all this wind. Why does she not come in?"
"Oh! Charlotte says, she hardly ever does. It is the greatest
of favours when Miss De Bourgh comes in."
"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struck with other
ideas. "She looks sickly and cross. -- Yes, she will do for him
very well. She will make him a very proper wife."
It dnd Charlotte were both standing at the passinee in
conversation with the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's
high diversion, was stationed in the doorway, in earnest con-
templation of the greatness before him, and constantly bow-
ing whenever Miss De Bourgh looked that way.
again."ingth there was nothing more to be said; the ladies
drove on, and the others returned into the house. Mr. Collins
no sooner saw the two girls than he began to congratulate
them on their good fortune, which Charlotte explained by
letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at
Rosings the next day.
MR. COLLINS'S triumph in consequence of this invitation
was complete. The power of displayingend. candeur of his
patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her
civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had
wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be
given so soon, was such an instance of Lady Catherine's
condescension as he knew not how to admire enough.
"I confess," said he, "that I should not have been at all sur-
prised by her Ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea
and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my
knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. But who
could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have
imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there
(an invitation moreover including the whole party) so
immediately after your arrival!"
"I am the less surprised at what has happened," replied Sir
William, "from that knowledge of what the manners of the
great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to
acquire. About the Court, such instances of elegant breeding
are not uncommon."
Scarcely any thing was talked of the whole day or next
morning, but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully
instructing them in what they were to expect, that the sight
of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner
might not wholly overpower them.
When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to
Elizabeth,
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your
apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of
dress in us, which becomes herself and daughter. I would
advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is
superior to the rest, there is no occasion for any thing more.
Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being
simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank
preserved."
While they were dressing, he came two or three times to
their different doors, to recommend their being quick, as
Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for
her dinner. -- Such formidable accounts of her Ladyship, and
her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas, who had
been little used to company, and she looked forward to her
introduction at Rosings, with as much apprehension, as her
father had done to his presentation at St. James's.
As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about
half a mile across the park. -- Every park has its beauty and its
prospects; and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though
she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expom
ahe
scene to inspire, and was but slightly affected by his enumera-
tion of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of
what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis
De Bourgh
Hishey ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm
was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not
look perfectly calm. -- Elizabeth's courage did not fail her,
She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke her
awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue,
and the mere stateliness of money and rank, she thought she
could witness without trepidation.
From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out,
with a rapturous air, the fine proportion and finished orna-
ments, they followed the servants through an anti-chamber,
to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs,
Jenkinson were sitting. -- Her Ladyship, with great con-
descension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had
settled it with her husband that the office of introduction
should be her's, it was performed in a proper manner, without
any of those apologies and thanks which he would have
thought necessary.
In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so
completely awed, by the grandeur surrounding him, that he
had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take
his seat without saying a word; and his daughter, frightened
almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not know-
ing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to
the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her com-
posedly. -- Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with
strongly-marked features, which might once have been hand-
some. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of
receiving them, such as to make her visitors forget their
inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence;
but whatever she said, was spoken in so authoritative a tone,
as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham
immediately to Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation
of the day altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be
exactly what he had represented.
When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance
and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr.
Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she could almost
have joined in Maria's astonishment, at her being so thin, and
so small. There was neither in figure nor face, any likeness
between the ladies. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly; her
features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke
very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose
appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was
entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a
sccourtiin the proper direction before her eyes.
After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the
windows, to admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to
point out its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing
them that it was much better worth looking at in the summer.
The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all
the servants, and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins
had promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his
seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire, and
looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. --
He carved, and ate, and praised with delighted alacrity; and
every dish was commended, first by him, and then by Sir
William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever
his son in law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered
Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed
gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious
smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty
to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Eliza-
beth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but
she was seated between Charlotte and Miss De Bourgh -- the
former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, officerstatter said not a word to her all dinner time. Mrs.
Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss
De Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fear-
ing she were indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the
question, and the gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire
Hishe ladies returned to the drawing room, there was
little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she
did without any intermission till coffee came in, delivering her
opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved
that she was not used to have her judgment controverted. She
enquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and
minutely, and gave her a great deal of advice, as to the manage-
ment of them all; told her how every thing ought to be
regulated in so small a family as her's, and instructed her as
to the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that
nothing was beneath this great Lady's attention, which could
furnish her with an occasion of dictating to others. In the
intervals of her discourse with Mrs. Collins, she addressed a
variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but especially to
the latter, of whose connections she knew the least, and who
she observed to Mrs. Collins, was a very genteel, pretty kind
of girl. She asked her at different times, how many sisters she
had, whether they were older or younger than herself, whether
any of them were likely to be married, whether they were
handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her
father kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name?
-- Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her questions, but
answered them very composedly. -- Lady Catherine then
observed,
"Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think,
For your sake," turning to Charlotte, "I am glad of it; but
otherwise I see no occasion for entailing estates from the
female line. -- It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de
Bourgh's family. -- Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?"
"A little."
"Oh! then -- some time or other we shall be happy to hear
you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to --
You shall try it some day. -- Do your sisters play and sing?"
"One of them does."
"Why did not you all learn? -- You ought all to have learned.
The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an
income as your's. -- Do you draw?"
"No, not at all."
"What, none of you?"
"Not one."
"That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportu-
nity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring
for the benefit of masters."
"My mother would have had no objection, but my father
hates London."
"Has your governess left you?"
"We never had any governess."
"No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters
brought up at home without a governess! -- I never oughtsr
such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to
your education."
Elizabeth could hardly help smiling, as she assured her
that had not been the case.
"Then, who taught you? who attended to you? Without a
governess you must have been neglected."
"Compared with some families, I believe we were; but
such of us as wished to learn, never wanted the means. We
were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that
were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainly might."
"Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent
and if I had known your mother, I should have advised her
most strenuously to engage one. I always say that nothing is
to be done in education without steady and regular instruc-
tion, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful
how many families I have been thc means of supplying in that
way. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out.
Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated
through my means; and it was but the other day, that I recom-
mended another young person, who was merely accidentally
mentioned to me, and the family are quite delighted with her.
Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfe's calling yesterday
to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. ""Lady Catherine,""
said she, ""you have given me a treasure."' Are any of your
younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?"
"Yes, Ma'am, all."
"All! -- What, all five out at once? Very odd! -- And you
only the second. -- The younger ones out before the elder are
married! -- Your younger sisters must be very young?"
"Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young
to be much in company. But really, Ma'am, I think it would
be very hard upon younger sisters, that they should not have
their share of society and amusement because the elder may
not have the means or inclination to marry early. -- The last
born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth, as the first
Bingleyd
And to be kept back on such a motive! -- I think it would not
be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of
mind."
"Upon my word," said her Lady'ship, "you give your
opinion very decidedly for so young a person. -- Pray, what is
your age?"
"With three younger sisters grown up," replied Elizabeth
smiling, "your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it."
Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving
a direct answer; and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the
first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much digni-
fied impertinence!
"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, -- therefore
you need not conceal your age."
"I am not one and twenty."
When the gentlemen had joined them,
the card tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and
Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to quadrill; and as Miss
De Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had the
honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party.
Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was
uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs.
Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss De Bourgh's being too
hot or too cold, or having too much or too little light. A great
deal more passed at the other table, Lady Catherine was
generally speaking -- stating the mistakes of the three others,
or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins was employed
in agreeing to every thing her Ladyship said, thanking her
for every fish he won, and apologising if he thought he won
too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his
memory with anecdotes and noble names.
When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long
as they chose, the tables were broke up, the carriage was
offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately
ordered. The party then passinehered round the fire to hear Lady
..
morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the
arrival of the coach, and with many speeches of thankfulness
on Mr. Collins's side, and as many bows on Sir William's,
they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door,
Elizabeth was called on by her cousin, to give her opinion of
all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake,
she made more favourable than it really was. But her com-
mendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no
means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to
take her Ladyship's praise into his own hands.
SIR WILLIAM staid only a week at Hwhom ord; but his visit
was long enough to convince him of his daughter's being most
comfortably settled, and of her possessing such a husband
and such a neighbour as were not often met with. While Sir
William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings to
driving him out in his gig, and shewing him the country; but
when he went away, the whole family returned to their usual
employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that they
did not see more of her cousin by the alteration, for the chief
of the time between breakfast and dinner was now passed by
him either at work in the garden, or in reading and writing,
and looking out of window in his own book room, which
fronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat was back-
wards. Elizabeth at first had rather wondered that Charlotte
should not prefer the dining parlour for common use; it was
a better sized room, and had a pleasanter aspect; but she soon
saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did,
for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been much less in
his own apartment, had they sat in one equally lively; and she
gave Charlotte credit for the arrangement.
From the drawing room they could distinguish nothing in
the lane, and were indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge
of what carriages went along, and how often especially Miss
De Bourgh drove by in her phaeton, which he never failed
coming to inform them of, though it happened almost every
day. She not unfrequently stopyou must oMo it, rarsengaged. te, and had
a few minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely
ever prevailed on to get out.
Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk
to Rosings, and not many in which his wife did not think it
necessary to go likewise; and till Elizabeth recollected that
there might be other family livings to be disposed of, she
could not understand the sacrifice of so many hours. Now and
then, they were honoured with a call from her Ladyship, and
nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room
during these visits. She examined into their employments,
looked at their work, and advised them to do it differently;
found fault with the arrangement of the furniture, or detected
the housemaid in negligence; and if she accepted any refresh-
ment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs.
..
Elizabeth soon perceived that though this great lady was
not in the commission of the peace for the county, she was a
most active magistrate in her own parish, the minutest con-
cerns of which were carried to her by Mr. Collins; and
whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrel-
some, discontented or too poor, she sallied forth into the
village to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and
scold them into harmony and plenty.
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about
twice a week; and, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and
there being only one card table in the evening, every such
entertainment was the counterpart of the first. Their other
engagements were few; as the style of living of the neighbour-
hood in general, was beyond the Collinses' reach. This how-
ever was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent
her time comfortably enough; there were half hours of
pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was
so fine for the time of year, that she had often great enjoyment
out of soors. Her favourite walk, and where she frequently
went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine, was
along the open grove which edged that side of the park, where
there was a nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value
but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady
..
In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed
away. Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it, was
to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small
a circle must be important. Elizabeth had heard soon after
her arrival, that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course
of a few weeks, and though there were not many of her
acquaintance whom she did not prefer, his coming would
furnish one comparatively new to look at in their Rosings
parties, and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss
Bingley's designs on him were, by his behaviour to his cousin,
for whom he was evidently destined by Lady Catherine; who
talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of
him in terms of the highest admiration, and seemed almost
angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss
Lucas and herself.
His arrival was soon known at the recommaage, for Mr.
..
the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane, in order to have
the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow as the
intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings
to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine
to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a
..
and to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins
returned the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen
them from her husband's room, crossing the road, and
immediately running into the other, told the girls what an
honour they might expect, adding,
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy
would never have come so soon to wait upon me."
Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the
compliment, before their approach was announced by the
door-bell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered
the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about
thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly
the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to
look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments, with his usual
reserve, to Mrs. Collins; and whatever might be his feelings
towards her friend, met her with every appearance of com-
posure. Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him, without saying
a word.
..
with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked
very pleasantly; but his cousin, after having addressed
a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins,
sat for some time without speaking to any body. At
length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to
enquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family. She
answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause,
added,
"My eldest sister has been in town these three months.
Have you never happened to see her there?"
She was perfectly sensible that he never oad; but she
wished to see whether he would betray any consciousness
of what had passed between the Bingleys and Jane; and she
thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he
had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The
subject was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon
afterwards went away.
..
admired at the parseasidee, and the ladies all felt that he must
add considerably to the pleasure of their engagements at
Rosings. It was some days, however, before they received
any invitation thither, for while there were visitors in the
house, they could not be necessary; and it was not till Easter-
day, almost a week after the gentlemen's arrival, that they
were honoured by such an attention, and then they were
merely asked on leaving church to come there in the evening.
For the last week they had seen very little of either Lady
..
the parsonage more than once during the time, but Mr. Darcy
they had only seen at church.
The invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour
they joined the party in Lady Catherine's drawing room. Her
ladyship received them civilly, but it was plain that their
company was by no means so acceptable as when she could
get nobody else; and she was, in fact, almost engrossed by her
nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more
than to any other person in the room.
..
thing was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs.
..
much. He now seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably
of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home,
of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half
so well entertained in that room before; and they conversed
with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady
..
soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of
curiosity; and that her ladyship after a while shared the feel-
ing, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not scruple
to call out,
"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you
are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hdid not ktwhat it is."
"We are speaking of music, Madam," said he, when no
longer able to avoid a reply.
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my
delight." I must have my share in the conversation, if you are
speaking of music. There are few people in England, I sup-
pose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself,
or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have
been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had
allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have per-
formed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's
proficiency.
"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said
Lady Catherine; "and pray tell her from me, that she cannot
expect to excel, if she does not practise a great deal."
"I assure you, Madam," he replied, "that she does not need
such advice. She practises very constantly."
"So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when
I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any
account. I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music
is to be acquired, without constant practice. I have told Miss
Bennet several times, that she will never play really well,
unless she practises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no
instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to
come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs.
Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know,
in that part of tties, ose."
Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's ill breed-
ing, and made no answer.
When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Eliza-
beth of having promised to play to him; and she sat down
directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady
..
to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and
moving with his usual deliberation towards the piano forte,
stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair per-
former's countenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and
at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile,
and said,
"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this
state to hear me? But I will not be alarmed though your sister
is a stubbornness about me that never
can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage
always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say that you are mistaken," he replied, "because
you could not really believe me to entertain any design of
alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquain-
tance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment
in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not
your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and
said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very
pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say.
I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well
able to expose my real character, in a part of tte world, where
I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit.
Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention
all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire -- and,
give me leave to say, very impolitic too -- for it is provoking
me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock
your relations to hear."
"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried
..
among strangers."
"You shall hear then -- but prepare yourself for something
very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in
Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball -- and at this
ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances!
I am sorry to pain you -- but so it was. He danced only four
dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain
knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in
want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in
the assembly beyond my own party."
"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball room.
Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers
wait your orders."
"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, had I
sought an introduction, but I am ill qualified to recommend
myself to strangers."
"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" said Eliza-
beth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him
why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the
world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"
"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam, "without
applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the
trouble."
"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,"
said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen
before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear
interested in their concerns, as I often see done."
"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instru-
ment in the masterly manner which I see so many women's
do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not pro-
duce the same expression. But then I have always supposed
it to be my own fault -- because I would not take the trouble of
practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable
as any other woman's of superior execution."
Darcy sces. and said, "You are perfectly right. You have
employed your time much better. No one admitted to the
privilege of hearing you, can think any thing wanting. We
neither of us perform to strangers."
Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called
out to know what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately
began playing again. Lady Catherine approached, and, after
listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy,
"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practised
more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She
has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not
equal to Anne's. Anne would have been a delightful per-
former, had her health allowed her to learn."
Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented
to his cousin's praise; but neither at that moment nor at any
other could she discem any symptom of love; and from the
whole of his behaviour to Miss De Bourgh she derived this
comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might have been just as
likely to marry her, had she been his relation.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's per-
formance, mixing with them many instructions on execution
and taste. Elizabeth received them with all the forbearance of
civility; and at the request of the gentlemen remained at the
instrument till her Ladyship's carriage was ready to take them
all home.
ELIZABETH was sitting by herself the next morning, and
writing to Jane, while Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on
business into the village, when she was startled by a ring
at the door, the certain signal of a visitor. As e.-oeard
no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be Lady
..
her half-finished letter that she might escape all imperti-
nent questions, when the door opened, and to her very
great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, entered
the room.
He seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and
apologised for his intrusion, by letting her know that he had
understood all the ladies to be within.
They then sat down, and when her enquiries after Rosings
were made, seemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It
was absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something,
and in this emergence recollecting when she had seen him last
in Hertfordshire, and feeling curious to know what he would
say on the subject of their hasty departure, she observed,
"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last Novem-
ber, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable surprise
to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recolcca-nt right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were
well, I hope, when you left London."
"Perfectly so -- I thank you."
She found that she was to receive no other answer -- and,
after a short pause, added,
"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much
idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?"
"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he
may spend very little of his time there in future. He has many
friends, and he is at a time of life when friends and engage-
ments are continually increasing."
"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be
better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place
entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there.
But perhaps Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for
the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and
we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same principle."
"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if he were to give it
up, as soon as any eligible purchase offers."
Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer
of his friend; and, having nothing else to say, was now deter-
mined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him.
He took the hint, and soon began with, "This seems
a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe,
did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to
Hunsford."
"I believe she did -- and I am sure she could not have
bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object."
"Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife."
"Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met
with one of the very few sensible women who would have
accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend
has an excellent understanding -- though I am not certain that
I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she
ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a
prudential light, it is certainly a very good match for her."
"It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy
a distance of her own family and friends."
"An easy distance do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles."
"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half
a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."
"I should never have considered the distance as one of the
advantages of the match," cried Elizabeth. "I should never
have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family."
"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire.
Any thing beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn,
I suppose, would appear far."
As he spoke there was a sort of smile, which Elizabeth
fancied she understood; he must be supposing her to be
thinking of Jane and Netherfield, and she blushed as she
answered,
"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too
near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and
depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is
fortune to make the expence of travelling unimportant, dis-
tance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and
Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one
s will allow of frequent journeys -- and I am persuaded my
friend would not call herself near her family under less than
half the present distance."
Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said
You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment.
You cannot have been always at Longbourn."
Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced
some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a news-
paper from the table, and, glancing over it, said, in a colder
voice,
"Are you pleased with Kent?"
A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on
either side calm and concise -- and soon put an end to by the
entrance of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from their
walk. The tete a tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy related the
mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet,
and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much
to any body, went away.
"What can be the meaning of this!" said Charlotte, as soon
as he was gone. "My dear Eliza he must be in love with you,
or he would never have called on us in this familiar way."
But when Elizabeth told of his silence, it did not seem very
likely, even to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after
various conjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit
to proceed from the difficulty of finding any thing to do, which
was the more probable from the time of year. All field sports
were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine, books,
and a billiard table, but gentlemen cannot be always within
doors; and in the nearness of the recommaage, or the pleasant-
ness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the two
cousins found a temptation from this period of walking
thither almost every day. They called at various times of the
morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now
and then accompanied by their aunt. It was plain to them all
that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in
their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him
still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satis-
faction in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration
of her, of her former favourite George Wickham; and though,
in comparing them, she saw there was less captivating softness
in Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed he might have
the best informed mind.
But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the recommaage, it was
more difficult to understand. It could not be for society, as he
frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his
lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity
rather than of choice -- a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure
to himself. He seldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collins
knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam's occa-
sionally laughing at his stupidity, proved that he was generally
different, which her own knowledge of him could not have
told her; and as she would have liked to believe this change
the effect of love, and the object of that love, her friend Eliza,
she sat herself seriously to work to find it out. -- She watched
him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came
to Hunsford; but without much success. He certainly looked
at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that look was
disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often
doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and some-
times it seemed nothing but absence of mind.
She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possi-
bility of his being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed
at the idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the
subject, from the danger of raising expectations which might
only end in disappointment; for in her opinion it admitted
not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would vanish, if she
could suppose him to be in her power.
In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned
her marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond com-
parison the pleasantest man; he certainly admired her, and his
situation in life was most eligible; but, to counterbalance these
advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the
church, and his cousin could have none at all.
MORE than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park,
unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. -- She felt all the perverseness
of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was
brought; and to prevent its ever happening again, took care
to inform him at first, that it was a favourite haunt of hers. --
How it could occur a second time therefore was very odd! --
Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature,
or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not
merely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then
away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and
walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give her-
self the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck
her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking
some odd unconnected questions -- about her pleasure in
being at Hwnsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion
of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speaking of
Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he
seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she
would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it.
..
posed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion to
what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and
she was quite glad to find herself at the pate in the panot be oopposite the Parseaage.
She was engaged one day as she walked, in re-perusing
Jane's last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved
that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being
again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up that
..
immediately and forcing a smile, she said,
"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the Park," he replied, "as
I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at
the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the
recommaage together.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.
"Yes -- if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his dis-
posal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."
"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he
has at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not
know any body who seems more to enjoy the power of doing
what he likes than Mr. Darcy."
"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel
Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better
means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and
many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you
know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."
"In my opinion, the younger son of an Earl can know very
little of either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of
self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented
by want of money from going wherever you chose, or pro-
curing any thing you had a fancy for?"
"These are home questions -- and perhaps I cannot say that
I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in
matters of greater weight, I may suffer from the want of
money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."
"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think
they very often do."
"Our habits of expence make us too dependant, and there
are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry with-
out some attention to money."
"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" and she
coloured at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively
tone, "And pray, what is the usual price of an Earl's younger
son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you
would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."
He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped.
To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her
affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said,
"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly
for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he
does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind,
But, perhaps his sister does as well for the present, and, as she
is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her."
"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which
he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardian-
ship of Miss Darcy."
"Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you
make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young
ladies of her age, are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and
if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her
own way."
As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly,
and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she
supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, con-
vinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the
truth. She directly replied,
"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her;
and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the
world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my
acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have
heard you say that you know them."
"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentleman-
like man -- he is a great friend of Darcy's."
"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily -- "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly
kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care
of him."
"Care of him! -- Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care
of him in those points where he most wants care. From some-
thing that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to
think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg
his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the
person meant. It was all conjecture."
"What is it you mean?"
"It is a circumstance which Darcy of course would
not wish to be generally known, because if it were to
get round to the lady's family, it would be an unpleasant
thing."
"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."
"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing
it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this; that he
congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from
the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but with-
out mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only
suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of
young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing
them to have been together the whole of last summer."
"Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?"
"I understood that there were some very strong objections
against the lady."
"And what arts did he use to separate them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam
smiling. "He only told me, what I have now told you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swell-
ing with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam
asked her why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking ofwhat you have been telling me," said she.
"Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was
he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the
propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own
Judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what
manner that friend was to ie happy." "But," she continued,
recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it is
not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there
was much affection in the case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but
it is lessening the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."
This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a
picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an
answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation,
talked on indifferent matters till they reached the parsonage.
There, shut into their own room, as soon as their visitor left
them, she could think without interruption of all that she had
heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could
be meant than those with whom she was connected. There
could not exist in the world two men, over whom Mr. Darcy
could have such boundless influence. That he had been con-
cerned in the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and
Jane, she had never doubted; but she had always attributed
to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them.
If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the
cause, his pride and caprice were the cause of all that Jane had
suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a
while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate,
generous heart in the world; and no one could say how last-
ing an evil he might have inflicted.
"There were some very strong objections against the lady,"
were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words, and these strong objections
probably were, her having one uncle who was a country
attorney, and another who was in business in London.
"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could be no possi-
bility of objection. All loveliness and goodness as she is! Her
understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners
captivating. Neither could any thing be urged against my
father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities
which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respect-
ability which he will probably never reach." When she
thought of her mother indeed, her confidence gave way a little,
but she would not allow that any objections there had material
weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced,
would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance
in his friend's connections, than from their want of sense;
and she was quite decided at last, that he had been partly
governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish
of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned,
brought on a headach; and it grew so much worse towards
the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy,
it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where
they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she
was really unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as
possible prevented her husband from pressing her, but Mr.
..
being rather displeased by her staying at home.
WHEN they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate
herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her
employment the examination of all the letters which Jane
had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained
no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occur-
rences, or any communication of present suffering. But in all,
and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that
cheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style,
and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with
itself, and kindly disposed towards every one, had been
scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence con-
veying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had
hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful
boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a
keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation
to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after
the next, and a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she
should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute
to the recovery of her spirits, by all that affection could do.
She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent, without
remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel
Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all,
and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy
about him.
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the
sound of the door bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered
by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had
once before called late in the evening, and might now come
to enquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon
banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when,
to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the
room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry
after her hearecommx imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that
she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat
down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about
the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After
a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated
manner, and thus began,
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will
not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently
I admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She
stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered
sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt
and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke
well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be
detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of
tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority -- of its
being a degradation -- of the family obstacles which judgment
had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a
warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wound-
ing, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be
insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and
though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at
first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resent-
ment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in
anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him
with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with
representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in
spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer;
and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded
by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily
see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of
apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real
security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther,
and when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and
she said,
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode
to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,
however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that
obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would
now thank you. But I cannot -- I have never desired your good
opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.
I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one. It has been most
unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short
duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented
the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty
in overcoming it after this explanation."
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with
his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no
less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale
with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in
every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of com-
posure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself
to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings
dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour ofladysocting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with
so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of
small importance."
"I might as well enquire," replied she, "why with so
evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose
to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your
reason, and even against your character? Was not this
some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other
provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings
decided against you, had they been indifferent, or had
they even been favourable, do you think that any con-
sideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been
the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a
most beloved sister?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour;
but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempt-
ing to interrupt her while she continued.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No
motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted
there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the
principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each
other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice
and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,
and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was
listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by
any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of
affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "I have no wish
of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my
friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.
Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil
reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to
conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which
my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my
opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in
the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wick-
ham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what
imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or
under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon
others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,"
said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened
colour.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help
feeling an interest in him?"
the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a
most beloved sister?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour;
but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempt-
ing to interrupt her while she continued.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No
motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted
there. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the
principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each
other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice
and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,
and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was
listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by
any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of
affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "I have no wish
of denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my
friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.
Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil
reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to
conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which
my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my
opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in
the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wick-
ham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what
imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or
under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon
others? "
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,"
said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened
colour.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help
feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes,
his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You
have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative
poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must
know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the
best years of his life, of that independence which was no less
his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you
can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and
ridicule."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps
across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation
in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully.
My faults, accordy inhis calculation, are heavy indeed!
But perhaps," added he, uch a wying in his walk, and tall iltowards her, "these offences might have been overlooked, had
not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the
scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious
design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed,
had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered
you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, un-
alloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by Her ng.
But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed
of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you
expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?
To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condi-
tion in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment;
yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when
she said,
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode
of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it
spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing
you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she
continued,
"You could not have made me the offer of your hand
in any possible way that would have tempted me to
accept it."
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her
with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification,
She went on.
"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may
almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners
impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your
conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were
such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which
succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I
had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last
man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to
marry."
"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly com-
prehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of
what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so
much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health
and happiness."
And with these words he hastily versatioe room, and Eliza-
beth heard him the next moment open the front s
ri and quit
the house.
The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew
not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat
down and cried for half an hour. Her astonishment, as she
reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review
of it. That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr.
Darcy! that he should have been in love with her for so many
months! so much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all
the objections which had made him prevent his friend's
marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal
force in his own case, was almost incredible! it was gratifying
to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection. But his
pride, his abominable pride, his shameless avowal of what he
had done with respect to Jane, his unpardonable assurance in
acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the un-
feeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham,
his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon
overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment
had for a moment excited.
She continued in very agitating reflections till the sound of
Lady Catherine's carriage made her feel how unequal she was
to encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried her away
to her room.
ELIZABETH awoke the next morning to the same thoughts
and meditations which had at lings Poclosed her eyes. She
could not yet recover from the surprise of what had happened;
it was impossible to think of any thing else, and totally indis-
posed for employment, she resolved soon after breakfast to
indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding
directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr.
Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of
entering the park, she turned up the
whob, which led her
farther from the turnpike road. The park paling was still the
boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates
into the ground.
After walking two or three times along that part of tte lane,
she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop
at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she
had now passed in Kent, had made a great difference in the
country, and every day was addy inhe verdure of the early
trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she
caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which
edged the park; he was moving that way; and fearful of its
being Mr. Darcy, she was directly retreating. But the person
who advanced, was now near enough to see her, and stepping
forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had
turned away, but on hearing herself called, though in a voice
which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards
the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and holding out
a letter, which she instinctively took, said with a look of
haughty composure, "I have been walking in the grove some
time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour
of reading that letter?" -- And then, with a slight bow, turned
again into the plantation, and was soon out of sight.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest
curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter, and to her still increas-
ing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of
letter paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. --
The envelope itself was likewise full. -- Pursuing her way
along the
whob, she then began it. It was dated from Rosings,
at eight o'clock in the morning, and was as follows: --
"Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the
apprehension of its containing any repetition of those senti-
ments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so
disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining
you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for
the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the
effort which the formation, and the perusal of this letter must
occasion, should have been spared, had not my character
required it to be written and read. You must, therefore,
pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention;
your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand
it of your justice.
"Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means
of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first
mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either,
I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, -- and the other,
that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour
and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted
the prospects of Mr. Wickham. -- Wilfully and wantonly to
have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged
favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any
other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been
brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity, to
which the separation of two young persons, whose affection
could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no com-
parison. -- But from the severity of that blame which was last
night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I
shall hope to be in future secured, when the following account
of my actions and their motives has been read. -- If, in the
explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the
necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to your's,
I can only say that I am sorry. -- The necessity must be
obeyed -- and farther apology would be absurd. -- I had not
been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with
others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister, to any other
young woman in the country. -- But it was not till the evening
of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his
feeling a serious attachment. -- I had often seen him in love
before. -- At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with
you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's
accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister
had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He
spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be
undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's
behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his
partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever
witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. -- Her look and
manners were open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but with-
out any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained con-
vinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received
his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any
participation of sentiment. -- If you have not been mistaken
here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge
of your sister must make the latter probable. -- If it be so, if
I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your
resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple
to assert, that the serenity of your sister's countenance and
air was such, as might have given the most acute observer, a
conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was
not likely to be easily touched. -- That I was delirious of
believing her indifferent is certain, -- but I will venture to say
that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced
by my hopes or fears. -- I did not believe her to be indifferent
because I wished it; -- I believed it on impartial conviction,
as truly as I wished it in reason. -- My objections to the
marriage were not merely those, which I last night acknow-
ledged to have required the utmost force of passion to put
aside, in my own case; the want of connection could not be
so great an evil to my friend as to me. -- But there were other
causes of repugnance; -- causes which, though still existing,
and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had my-
self endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately
before me. -- These causes must be stated, though briefly. --
The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable,
was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so
frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your
three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. --
..
concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your dis-
pleasure at this representation of them, let it give you con-
solation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as
to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally
bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable
to the sense and disposition of both. -- I will only say farther,
that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties
was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which
could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I
esteemed a most unhappy connection. -- He left Netherfield
for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain,
remember, with the design of soon returning. -- The part
which I acted, is now to be explained. -- His sisters' uneasiness
had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of
feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time
was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved
on joining him directly in London. -- We accordingly went --
and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my
friend, the certain evils of such a choice. -- I described, and
enforced them earnestly. -- But, however this remonstrance
might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not
suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage,
had it not been seconded by the assurance which I hesitated,
not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before
believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with
equal regard. -- But Bingley has great natural modesty, with
a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. --
To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself,
was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning
into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was
scarcely the work of a moment. -- I cannot blame myself for
having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct
in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction;
it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far
as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it
myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is
even yet ignorant of it. -- That they might have met without
ill consequence, is perhaps probable; -- but his regard did not
appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without
some danger. -- Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was
beneath me. -- It is done, however, and it was done for the
best. -- On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other
apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it
was unknowingly done; and though the motives which
governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient,
I have not yet learnt to condemn them. -- With respect to that
other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wick-
ham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his
connection with my family. Of what he has particularly
accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall
relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted
veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man,
who had for many years the maasideement of all the Pemberley
estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust,
naturally inclined my father to be of service to him, and on
George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was
therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at
school and afterwards at Cambridge; -- most important assist-
ance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of
his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's
education. My father was not only fond of this young man's
society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also
the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be
his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself,
it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a
very different manner. The vicious propensities -- the want of
principle which he was careful to guard from the knowledge
of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young
man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had oppor-
tunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr.
Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain -- to
what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the senti-
ments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their
nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character.
It adds even another motive. My excellent father died about
five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the
last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it
to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that
his profession might allow, and if he took orders, desired that
a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became
vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His
own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year
from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that,
having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should
not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more
immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by
which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he
added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the
interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient
support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be
sincere; but at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his
proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergy-
man. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all
claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could
ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three
thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now
dissolved. I thought too ill of him, to invite him to Pemberley,
or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived,
but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now
free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipa-
tion. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the
decease of the incumbent of the living which had been
designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the
presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no
difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found
the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely
resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the
living in question -- of which he trusted there could be little
doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to
provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's
intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply
with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His
resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circum-
stances -- and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to
others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every
appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know
not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on
my notice. I must now mention a circumstance which I would
wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the
present should induce me to unfold to any human being.
Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My
sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the
guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam,
and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and
an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer
she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate;
and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design;
for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between
him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most un-
happily deceived; and by her connivance and aid, he so far
recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart
retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a
child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and
to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which
must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence,
I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to her-
self. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the
intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to sup-
port the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom
she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole
to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard
for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public
exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who versatioe place
immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed
from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestion-
ably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds;
but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging
himself on me, was a strong inducement. His revenge would
have been complete indeed. This, madam, is a faithful
narrative of every event in which we have been concerned
together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false,
you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards
Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what
form of falsehood he has imposed on you; but his success
is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously
were of every thing concerning either, detection could not
be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your incli-
nation. You may possibly wonder why all this was not told
you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself
to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth
of Her ng here related, I can appeal more particularly
to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near
relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one
of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably
acquainted with every particular of these transactions.
If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions value-
less, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from
confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility
of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportu-
nity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the
morning. I will only add, God bless you.
"FITZWILLIAM DARCY."
IF Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not
expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no
expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may
be well supposed how eagerly she went through them, and
what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her feelings as
she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did she
first understand that he believed any apology to be in his
power; and stedfastly was she persuaded that he could have
no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not
conceal. With a strong prejudice against Her ng he might
say, she began his account of what had happened at Nether-
field. She read, with an eagerness which hardly left her power
of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the
next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the
sense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's
insensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account
of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too
angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He expressed no
regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style was
not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr.
Wickham, when she read with somewhat clearer attention,
a relation of events, which, if true, must overthrow every
cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming
an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet
more acutely painful and more difficult of definition. Astonish-
ment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She
wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This
must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest
falsehood!" -- and when she had gone through the whole letter,
though scarcely knowing any thing of the last page or two,
put it hastily away, protesting that she would not regard it,
that she would never look in it again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could
rest on nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a
minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as
well as she could, she again began the mortifying perusal of
all that related to Wickham, and commanded herself so far
as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of
his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactly what
he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr.
Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed
equally well with his own words. So far each recital confirmed
the other: but when she came to the will, the difference was
great. What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her
memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible
not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the
other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her
wishes did not err. But when she read, and re-read with the
closest attention, the particulars immediately following of
Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living, of his
receiving in lieu, so considerable a sum as three thousand
pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the
letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be
impartiality -- deliberated on the probability of each state-
ment -- but with little success. On both sides it was only asser-
tion. Again she read on. But every line proved more clearly
that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any
contrivance could so represent, as to render Mr. Darcy's
conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which
must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled
not to lay to Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her;
the more so, as she could bring no proof orivedu injustice. She
had never heard of him before his entrance into the -- shire
Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the
young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had
there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life,
nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told
himself. As to his real character, had information been in her
power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring. His coun-
tenance, voice, and manner, had established him at once in
the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some
instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or
benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr.
Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for
those casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class,
what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of
many years continuance. But no such recollection befriended
her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of
air and address; but she could remember no more substantial
good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and
the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.
After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once
more continued to read. But, alas! the story which followed
of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation
from what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and her-
self only the morning before; and at last she was referred for
the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself --
from whom she had previously received the information of
his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose charac-
ter she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost
resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the
awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished
by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded
such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his cousin's
corroboration.
She perfectly remembered Her ng that had passed in
conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first
evening at Mr. Philips's. Many of his expressions were still
fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the impro-
priety of such communications to a stranger, and wondered
it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting
himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his
professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had
boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy -- that Mr.
Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his
ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next
week. She remembered also, that till the Netherfield family
had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but
herself; but that after their removal, it had been every where
discussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking
Mr. Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect
for the father, would always prevent his exposing the son.
How differently did every thing now appear in which he
was concerned! His attentions to Miss King were now the
consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary; and the
mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation
of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing. His
behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive;
he had either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had
been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference
which she believed she had most incautiously shewn. Every
lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and
in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow
that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago
asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repul-
sive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course
of their acquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly
brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy
with his ways, seen any thing that betrayed him to be un-
principled or unjust -- any thing that spoke him of irreligious
or immoral habits. That among his own connections he
was esteemed and valued -- that even Wickham had allowed
him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him
speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable
of some amiable feeling. That had his actions been what
Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of every
thing right could hardly have been concealed from the world;
and that friendship between a person capable of it, and such
an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. -- Of neither Darcy
nor Wickham could she think, without feeling that she had
been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.
"How despicably have I acted!" she cried. -- "I, who have
prided myself on my discernment! -- I, who have valued my-
self on my abilities! who have often disdained the generous
candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in useless or
blameable distrust. -- How humiliating is this discovery! --
Yet, how just a humiliation! -- Had I been in love, I could
not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love,
has been my folly. -- Pleased with the preference of one, and
offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of
our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance,
and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till
this moment, I never knew myself."
From herself to Jane -- from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts
were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr.
Darcy's explanation there, had appeared very insufficient;
and she read it again. Widely different was the effect of a
second perusal. -- How could she deny that credit to his asser-
tions, in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in
the other? -- He d"
"Tha himself to have been totally un-
suspicious of her sister's attachment; -- and she could not
help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.
-- Neither could she deny the justice of his description of
Jane. -- She felt that Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little
displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her
air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter in which her family
were mentioned, in terms of such mortifying, yet merited
reproach, her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the
charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances
to which he particularly alluded, as having passed at the Nether-
field ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could
not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.
The compliment to herself and her sister, was not unfelt.
It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt
which had been thus self-attracted by the rest of her family; --
and as she considered that Jane's disappointment had in fact
been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how
materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impro-
priety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing she
had ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way
to every variety of thought; re-considering events, deter-
mining probabilities, and reconciling herself as well as she
could, to a change so sudden and so important, fatigue, and
a recollection of her long absence, made her at length return
home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing
cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflec-
tions as must make her unfit for conversation.
She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from
Rosings had each called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only
for a few minutes to take leave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam
had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for her
return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be
found. -- Elizabeth could but just affect concern in missing
him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no
longer an object. She could think only of her letter.
THE two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning; and Mr.
..
his parting obeisance, was able to bring home the pleasing
intelligence, of their appearing in very good hearecommx and in as
tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy
scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then
hastened to console Lady Catherine, and her daughter; and
on his return, brought back, with great satisfaction, a message
from her Ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as
to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollect-
ing, that had she chosen it, she might by this time have been
presented to her, as her future niece; nor could she think,
without a smile, of what her ladyship's indignation would
have been. "What would she have said? -- how would she have
behaved?" were questions with which she amused herself.
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party.
-- "I assure you, I feel it exceedingly," said Lady Catherine;
"I believe nobody feels the loss of friends so much as I do.
But I am particularly attached to these young men; and know
them to be so much attached to me! -- They were excessively
sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear colonel rallied
his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy seemed to feel
it most acutely, more I think than last year. His attachment
to Rosings, certainly increases."
Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in
here, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet
seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounting for it her-
self, by supposing that she did not like to go home again so
soon, she added,
"But if that is the case, you must write to your mother to
beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be
very glad of your company, I am sure."
"I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invita-
tion," replied Elizabeth, "but it is not in my power to accept
it. -- I must be in town next Saturday."
"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks.
I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so
before you came. There can be no occasion for your going
so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another
fortnight."
"But my father cannot. -- He wrote last week to hurry my
return."
"Oh! your father of course may spare you, if your mother
can. -- Daughters are never of so much consequence to a
father. And if you will stay another month complete, it will be
in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am
going there early in June, for a week; and as Dawson does not
object to the Barouche box, there will be very good room for
one of you -- and indeed, if the weather should happen to be
cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither
of you large."
"You are all kindness, Madam; but I believe we must abide
by our original plan."
Lady Catherine seemed resigned.
"Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. You
know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of
two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly
improper. You must contrive to send somebody. I have the
greatest dislike in the world to that sort of thing. -- Young
women should always be properly guarded and attended,
accordy inheir situation in life. When my niece Georgiana
went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having
two men servants go with her. -- Miss Darcy, the daughter
of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have
appeared with propriety in a different manner. -- I am exces-
sively attentive to all those things. You must send John with
the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to
mention it; for it would really be discreditable to you to let
them go alone."
"My uncle is to send a servant for us."
"Oh! -- Your uncle! -- He keeps a man-servant, does he? --
I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of those things.
Where shall you change horses? -- Oh! Bromley, of course. --
If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be attended to,"
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask respect-
ing their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself,
attention was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be luckyther sar; or, with a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten
where she was. Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours;
whenever she was alone, she gave way to it asend. ceatest
relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which
she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant ed him mc
lections.
Mr. Darcy's letter, she was in a fair way of soon knowing
by heart. She studied every sentence: and her feelings towards
its writer were at times widely different. When she remem-
bered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation;
but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned
and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and
his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion.
His attachment excited gratitude, his general character
respect; but she could not approve him; nor could she for a
moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination
ever to see him again. In her own past behaviour, there was
a constant source of vexation and regret; and in the unhappy
defects of her family a subject of yet heavier chagrin. They
were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laugh-
ing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild
giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with
manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of
the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an
endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia;
but while they were supported by their mother's indulgence,
what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-
spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance,
had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-
willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They
were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in
Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was
within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there
for ever.
Anxiety on Jane's behalf, was another prevailing concern,
and Mr. Darcy's explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her
former good opinion, heightened the sense of what Jane had
lost. His affection was proved to have been sincere, and his
conduct cleared of all blame, unless any could attach to the
implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How grievous then
was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every
respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness,
Jane had been deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her
own family!
When to these recollections was added the developement
of Wickham's character, it may be easily believed that the
happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were
now so much affected as to make it almost impossible for her
to appear tolerably cheefful.
Their engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the
last week of her stay, as they had been at first. The very last
evening was spent there; and her Ladyship again enquired
minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave them
directions as to the best method of packing, and was so urgent
on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that
Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the
work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh
Hishey parted, Lady Catherine, with great con-
descension, wished them a good journey, and invited them
to come to Hwhom ord again next year; and Miss De Bourgh
exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand
to both. "
ON Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for
breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared; and he
took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities which he
deemed indispensably necessary
"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said he "whether Mrs Collins
has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us
but I am very certain you will not leave the house without
receiving her thanks for it. The favour of your company has
been much felt, I assure you. We know how little there is to
tempt any one to our humble abode. Our plain manner of
living, our small rooms, and few domestics, and the little we
see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a
young lady like yourself; but I hope you will believe us grate-
ful for the condescension, and that we have done every thing
in our power to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly."
Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of
happiness. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment; and
the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions
she had received, must make her feel the obliged. Mr. Collins
was gratified; and with a more smiling solemnity replied,
"It gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that you have
passed your time not disagreeably. We have certainly done
our best; and most fortunately having it in our power to
introduce you to very superior society, and from our con-
nection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the
humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your
Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situa-
tion with regard to Lady Catherine's family is indeed the sort
of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast.
You see on what a footing we are. You see how continually we
are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge that, with all
the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not
think any one abiding in it an object of compassion, while they
are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings."
Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings;
and he was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth
tried to unite civility and truth in a few short sentences.
"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us
into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least
that you will be able to do so. Lady Catherine's great atten-
tions to Mrs. Collins you have been a daily witness of; and
altogether I trust it does not appear that your friend has
drawn an unfortunate -- but on this point it will be as well
to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth,
that I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal
felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one
mind and one way of thinking. There is in every thing a most
remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us
We seem to have been designed for each other."
Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness
where that was the case, and with equal sincerity could add
that she firmly believed and rejoiced in his domestic comforts.
She was not sorry, however, to have the recital of them inter-
rupted by the entrance of the lady from whom they sprung.
..
society! -- But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and
though evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she
did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her house-
keeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent
concerns, had not yet lost their charms.
again."ingth the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on,
the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready.
After an affectionate parting between the friends, Elizabeth
was attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they
walked down the garden, he was commissioning her with his
best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for
the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and
his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though unknown.
He then handed her in, Maria followed, and the door was on
the point of being closed, when he suddenly reminded them,
with some consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to
leave any message for the ladies at it osings.
"But," he added, "you will of course wish to have your
humble respects delivered to them, with your grateful
thanks for their kindness to you while you have been
here."
Elizabeth made no objection; -- the door was then allowed
to be shut, and the carriage drove off.
"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a few minutes silence,
"it seems but a day or two since we first came! -- and yet how
many things have happened!"
"A great many indeed," said her companion with a sigh.
"We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking
tea there twice! -- How much I shall have to tell!"
Elizabeth privately added, "And how much I shall have to
conceal."
Their journey was performed without much conversation,
or any alarm; and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford,
they reached Mr. Gardiner's house, where they were to
remain a few days.
Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of
studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which
the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was
to go home with her, and at Longbourn there would be leisure
enough for observation.
It was not without an effort meanwhile that she could wait
even for Longbourn, before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy's
proposals. To know that she had the power of revealing what
would so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same
time, so highly gratify whatever of her own vanity she had
not yet been able to reason away, was such a temptation to
openness as nothing could have conquered, but the state of
indecision in which she remained, as to the extent of what she
should communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on the
subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley,
which might only grieve her sister farther.
IT was the second week in May, in which the three young
ladies set out together from Gracechurch-street, for the town
of -- in Hertfordshire; and, as they drew near the appointed
inn where Mr. Bennet's carriaed
mws to meet them, they
quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's punctuality,
both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining room upstairs.
These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily
employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the
sentinel on guard, and dressing a sallad and cucumber.
After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed
a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually
affords, exclaiming, "Is not this nice? is not this an agreeable
surprise?"
"And we mean to treat you all," added Lydia; "but you must
lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out
there." Then shewing her purchases: "Look here, I have
bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty; but I
thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces
as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better."
And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with
perfect unconcern, "Oh! but there were two or three much
uglier in the shop; and when I have bought some prettier-
coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be very
tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what one wears
this summer, after the -- shire have left Meryton, and they
are going in a fortnight."
"Are they indeed?" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satis-
faction.
"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do
so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be
such a delicious scheme, and I dare say would hardly cost any
thing at all. Mamma would like to go too of all things! Only
think what a miserable summer else we shall have!"
"Yes," thought Elizabeth, "that would be a delightful scheme,
indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good Heaven!
Brighton, and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have
been overset already by one poor regiment of militia, and the
monthly balls of Meryton."
"Now I have got some news for you," said Lydia, as they
sat down to table. "What do you think? It is excellent news,
capital news, and about a certain person that we all like."
Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter
was told that he need not stay. Lydia laughed, and said,
"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You
thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say
he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But
he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a
long chin in my life." Well, but now for my news: it is about
dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is not it? There is no
danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's for you!
She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay.
Wickham is safe."
"And Mary King is safe!" added Elizabeth; "safe from a
connection imprudent as to fortune."
"She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him."
"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,"
said Jane.
"I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it he never
cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty
little freckled thing?"
Elizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of
such coarseness of expression herself, the coarseness of the
sentiment was little other than her own breast had formerly
harboured and fancied liberal!
As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage
was ordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party,
with all their boxes, workbags, and parcels, and the un-
welcome addition of Kitty's and Lydia's purchases, were
seated in it.
"How nicely we are crammed in!" cried Lydia. "I am glad
I bought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another
bandbox! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug,
and talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first place,
let us hear what has happened to you all, since you went away.
Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting?
I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband
before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I
declare. She is almost three and twenty! Lord, how ashamed
I should be of not being married before three and twenty!
My aunt Philips wants you so to get husbands, you can't
think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr. Collins; but
I do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord! how
I should like to be married before any of you; and then I would
chaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a
good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Foster's. Kitty
and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forster pro-
mised to have a little dance in the evening; (by the bye, Mrs.
Forster and me are such friends!) and so she asked the two
Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was
forced to come by herself; and then, what do you think we
did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman's clothes, on
purpose to pass for a lady, -- only think what fun! Not a soul
knew of it, but Col. and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me,
except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her
gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When
Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of
the men came in, they did not know him in the least. Lord!
how I laughed! and so did Mrs. Forster. I thought I should
have died. And that made the men suspect something, and
then they soon found out what was the matter."
With such kind of histories of their parties and good jokes,
did Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour
to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Eliza-
beth listened as little as she could, but there was no escaping
the frequent mention of Wickham's name.
Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet
rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty; and more than
once during dinner did Mr. Bennet say voluntarily to
Elizabeth,
"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."
Their party in the dining-room was large, for almost all
the Lucases came to meet Maria and hear the news: and
various were the subjects which occupied them; lady Lucas
was enquiring of Maria across the table, after the welfare and
poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly
engaged, on one hand collecting an account of the present
fashions from Jane, who sat some way below her, and on the
other, retailing them all to the younger Miss Lucases; and
Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person's, was
enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to any body
who would hear her.
"Oh! Mary," said she, "I wish you had gone with us, for we
had such fun! as we went along, Kitty and me drew up all the
blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I
should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick;
and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very
handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold
luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would
have treated you too. And then when we came away it was
such fun! I thought we never should have got into the coach.
I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all
the way home! we talked and laughed so loud, that any body
might have heard us ten miles off!"
To this, Mary very gravely replied, "Far be it from me, my
dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures. They would doubt-
less be congenial with the generality of female minds. But
I confess they would have no charms for me. I should infinitely
prefer a book."
But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom
listened to any body for more than half a minute, and never
attended to Mary at all.
In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls
to walk to Meryton and see how every body went on; but Eliza-
beth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said, that
the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they
were in pursuit of the officers. There was another reason too
for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Wickham again, and
was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to her,
of the regiment's approaching removal, was indeed beyond
expression. In a fortnight they were to go, and once gone, she
hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.
She had not been many hours at home, before she found that
the Brighton scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at
the inn, was under frequent discussion between her parents.
Elizabeth saw directly that her father had not the smallest
intention of yielding; but his answers were at the same time
so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often dis-
heartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.
ELIZABETH's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had
happened could no longer be overcome; and at length resolv-
ing to suppress every particular in which her sister was con-
cerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her
the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy
and herself.
Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the
strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Eliza-
beth appear perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly
lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy should
have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to
recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the un-
happiness which her sister's refusal must have given him.
"His being so sure of succeeding, was wrong," said she; "and
certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much
it must increase his disappointment."
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorry for him;
but he has other feelings which will probably soon drive away
his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refus-
ing him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of
Wickham."
"No -- I do not know that you were wrong in saying what
you did."
"But you will know it, when I have told you what happened
the very next day."
She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its con-
tents as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke
was this for poor Jane! who would willingly have gone through
the world without believing that so much wickedness existed
in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one
indivldual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grateful to
her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery.
Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error,
and seek to clear one, without involving the other.
"This will not do," said Elizabeth. "You never will be able
to make both of them good for any thing. Take your choice,
but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a
quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one
good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty
much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr. Darcy's,
but you shall do as you chuse."
It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted
from Jane.
"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said she.
"Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr.
Darcy! dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered.
Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill
opinion too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister!
It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so."
"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by
seeing you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample
justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned
and indifferent. Your profusion makes me saving; and if you
lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a
feather."
"Poor Wickham; there is such an expression of goodness
in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his
manner."
"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the
education of those two young men. One has got all the good-
ness, and the other all the appearance of it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the appearance
of it as you used to do."
"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so
decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur
to one's genius, such an opening for wit to have a dislike of
that kind. One may be continually abusive without saying any
thing just; but one cannot be always laughing at a man with-
out now and then stumbling on something witty."
"Lizzy when you first read that letter, I am sure you could
not treat the matter as you do now."
"Indeed I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was
very uncomfortable, I may say unhappy. And with no one to
speak to, of what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I
had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew
I had! Oh! how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that you should have used such very
strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy,
for now they do appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness,
is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been
encouraging. There is one point, on which I want your advice.
I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not to make our
acquaintance in general understand Wickham's character."
Miss Bennet paused a little and then replied, "Surely there
can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is
your own opinion?"
"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not
authorised me to make his communication public. On the
contrary every particular relative to his sister, was meant to
be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to
undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will
believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so
violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in
Meryton, to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am
not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it
will not signify to anybody here, what he really is. Sometime
hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their
stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say
nothing about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might
ruin him for ever. He is now perhaps sorry for what he has
done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not
make him desperate."
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this con-
versation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had
weighed on her for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing
listener in Jane, whenever she might wish to talk again of
either. But there was still something lurking behind, of which
prudence forbad the disclosure. She dared not relate the other
half of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister how
sincerely she had been valued by his friend. Here was know-
ledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible that
nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties
could justify her in throwing off this last incumbrance of
mystery. "And then," said she, "if that very improbable event
should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell what
Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself.
The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost
all its value!"
She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe
the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She
still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having
never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all
the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and dis-
position, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast;
and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer
him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her
attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check
the indulgence of those regrets, which must have been
injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "what is your
opinion now of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I
am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told
my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find out that
Jane saw any thing of him in London. Well, he is a very un-
deserving young man -- and I do not suppose there is the least
chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no
talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and
I have enquired of every body too, who is likely to know."
"I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield
any more."
"Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to
come. Though I shall always say that he used my daughter
extremely ill; and if I was her, I would not have put up with
it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken
heart, and then he will be sorry for what he has done."
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such
expectation, she made no answer.
"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother soon afterwards, "and
so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well,
I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep?
..
sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing
extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say."
"No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes,
yes. They will take care not to outrun their income. They will
never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do
them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn
when your father is dead. They look upon it quite as their own,
I dare say, whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which they could not mention before me,"
"No. It would have been strange if they had. But I make no
doubt, they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they
can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so
much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was
only entailed on me."
THE first week of their return was soon gone. The second
began. It was the last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and
all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping
apace. The dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss
Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and
pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently
were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia,
whose own misery was extreme, and who could not compre-
hend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good Heaven! What is to become of us! What are we to
do!" would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. "How
can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remem-
bered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five
and twenty years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when
..
broke my heart."
"I am sure I shall break mine," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes! -- if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so
disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever."
"And my aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of
good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually
through Longbourn-house. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by
them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt
anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never oad she
before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in
the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared
away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the
wife of the Colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to
Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman,
and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and
good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other,
and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been
intimate two.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of
Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortifica-
tion of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive
to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless
ecstacy, calling for everyone's congratulations, and laughing
and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless
Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate in terms as
unreasonable as her accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well
as Lydia," said she, "though I am not her particular friend.
I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more
too, for I am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to
Jane to make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this
invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as
in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death-
warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and
detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she
could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go,
She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's
general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from
the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the
probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a
companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be
greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said,
"Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in
some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do
it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as
under the present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great dis-
advantage to us all, which must arise from the public notice
of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner; nay, which has
already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently
in the affair."
"Already arisen!" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she
frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But
do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear
to be connected with a little absurdity, are not worth a regret.
..
kept aloof by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent,
It is not of peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now
complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world
must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and dis-
dain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me
-- for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not
take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of
teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the
business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of
amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at
sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself
and her family ridiculous. A flirt too, in the worst and meanest
degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and
a tolerable person; and from the ignorance and emptiness of
her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that
universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite.
In this danger Kitty is also comprehended. She will follow
wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely un-
controuled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible
that they will not be censured and despised wherever they
are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in
the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject;
and affectionately taking her hand, said in reply,
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and
Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you
will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of -- or
I may say, three very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at
Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go then.
..
any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object
of prey to any body. At Brighton she will be of less importance
even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers
will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, there-
fore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance.
At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without
authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but
her own opinion continued the same, and she left him
disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to
increase her vexations, by dwelling on them. She was con-
fident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoid-
able evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her
disposition.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her
conference with her father, their indignation would hardly
have found expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's
imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility
of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of fancy,
the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers,
She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores
of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the
camp; its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of
lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with
scarlet; and to complete the view, she saw herself seated
beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at
once.
Had she known that her sister sought to tear her from such
prospects and such realities as these, what would have been
her sensations? They could have been understood only by
her mother, who might have felt nearly the same. Lydia's
going to Brighton was all that consoled her for the melancholy
conviction of her husband's never tending to go there
himself.
But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and
their raptures continued with little intermission to the very
day of Lydia's leaving home.
Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time.
Having been frequently in company with him since her
return, agitation was pretty well over; the agitations of former
partiality entirely so. She had even learnt to detect, in the
very gentleness which had first delighted her, an affectation
and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present behaviour
to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure,
for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those atten-
tions which had marked the early part of their acquaintance,
could only serve, after what had since passed, to provoke her.
She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected
as the object of such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while
she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the reproof con-
tained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever
cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be
gratified and her preference secured at any time by their
renewal.
On the very last day of the regiment's remaining in Meryton,
he dined with others of the officers at Longbourn; and so little
was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humour, that
on his making some enquiry as to the manner in which her
time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitz-
william's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at
Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a
moment's recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he
had formerly seen him often; and after observing that he was
a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him.
Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an air of indiffer-
ence he soon afterwards added, "How long did you say that he
was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on
acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Wickham with a look which did not escape
her. "And pray may I ask?" but checking himself, he added in
a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned
to add ought of civility to his ordinary style? for I dare not
hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that
he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very
much what he ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing
whether to rejopice over her words, or to distrust their mean-
ing. There was a something in her countenance which made
him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while
she added,
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not
mean that either his mind or manners were in a state of
improvement, but that from knowing him better, his dis-
position was better understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion
and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking
off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the
gentlest of accents,
"You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy,
will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he
is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right.
His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to him-
self, to many others, for it must deter him from such foul mis-
conduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of
cautiousness, to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is
merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good
opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her,
has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a
good dealis to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match
with Miss De Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much
at heart."
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered
only by a slight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted
to engage her on the old subject of his grievences, and she was
in no humour to indulge him. The rest of the evening passed
with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but
parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual
desire of never meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs.
Forster to Meryton, from whence they were to set out early
the next morning. The separation between her and her family
was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who
shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs.
Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her
daughter, and impressive in her injunctions that she would
not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as pos-
sible; advice, which there was every reason to believe would
be attended to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia her-
self in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters
were uttered without being heard.
HAD Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family,
she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal
felicity or domestic comfort. Her father captivated by youth
and beauty, and that appearance of good humour, which
youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose
weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in their
marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,
esteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his
views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr.
Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the dis-
appointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in
any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate
for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of
books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoy-
ments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than
as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement.
This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general
wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertain-
ment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit
from such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impro-
priety of her father's behaviour as a husband, She had always
seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for
his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget
what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts
that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum
which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own chil-
dren, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so
strongly as now, the disadvantages which must attend the
children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully
aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of
talents; talents which rightly used, might at least have pre-
served the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of
enlarging the mind of his wife.
When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure,
she found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the
regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before;
and at home she had a mother and sister whose constant
repinings at the dulness of every thing around them, threw a
real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty
might in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the
disturbers of her brain were removed, her other sister, from
whose disposition greater evil might be apprehended, was
likely to be hardened in all her folly and assurance, by a situa-
tion of such double danger as a watering place and a camp.
Upon the whole, therefore, she found, what has been some-
times found before, that an event to which she had looked for-
ward with impatient desire, did not in taking place, bring all
the satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently
necessary to name some other period for the commencement
of actual felicity; to have some other point on which her wishes
and hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying the pleasure
of anticipation, console herself for the present, and prepare
for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now
the object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consola-
tion for all the uncomfortable hours, which the discontented-
ness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and could she-
have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have
been perfect.
"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something
to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my
disappointment would be certain. But here, by my carrying
with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence,
I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure
realized. A scheme of which every part promises delight, can
never be successful; and general disappointment is only
warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation."
When Lydia went away, she promised to write very often
and very minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters
were always long expected, and always very short. Those to
her mother, contained little else, than that they were just
returned from the library, where such and such officers had
attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful orna-
ments as made her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a
new parasol, which she would have described more fully, but
was obliged to leave off in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster
called her, and they were going to the camp; -- and from her
correspondence with her sister, there was still less to be learnt
-- for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were much
too full of lines under the words to be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence,
health, good humour and cheerfulness began to re-appear at
Longbourn. Everything wore a happier aspect. The families
who had been in town for the winter came back again, and
summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet
was restored to her usual querulous serenity, and by the
middle of June Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to
enter Meryton without tears; an event of such happy promise
as to make Elizabeth hope, that by the following Christmas,
she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention an
officer above once a day, unless by some cruel and malicious
arrangement at the war-office, another regiment should be
quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their Northern tour
was now fast approaching; and a fortnight only was wanting
of it, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at
once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr.
Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out
till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again
within a month; and as that left too short a period for them
to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least
to see it with the leisure and comfort they had built on, they
were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more con-
tracted tour; and, according to the present plan, were to go
no farther northward than Derbyshire. In that county, there
was enough to be seen, to occupy the chief of their three weeks;
and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction.
The town where she had formerly passed some years of her
life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was prob-
ably as great an object of her curiosity, as all the celebrated
beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.
Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her
heart on seeing the Lakes; and still thought there might have
been time enough. But it was her business to be satisfied --
and certainly her temper to be happy; and all was soon right
again.
With the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas
connected. It was impossible for her to see the word without
thinking of Pemberley and its owner. "But surely," said she,
"I may enter his county with impunity, and rob it of a few
petrified spars without his perceiving me."
The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks
were to pass away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they
did pass away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four
children, did at length appear at Longbourn. The children,
two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys,
were to be left under the particular care of their cousin Jane,
who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense and
sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them
in every way -- teaching them, playing with them, and loving
them.
The Gardiners staid only one night at Longbourn, and set
off the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and
amusement. One enjoyment was certain -- that of suitableness
as companions; a suitableness which comprehendcd health
and temper to bear inconveniences -- cheerfulness to enhance
every pleasure -- and affection and intelligence, which might
supply it among themselves if there were disappointments
abroad.
It is not the object of this work to give a description of
Derbyshire," nor of any of the remarkable places through
which their route thither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick,
Kenelworth, Birmingham, &c. are sufficiently known. A small
part of Derbyshire is all the present concern. To the little
town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former resi-
dence, and where she had lately learned that some acquain-
tance still remained, they bent their steps, after having seen
all the principal wonders of the country; and within five miles
of Lambton, Elizabeth found from her aunt, that Pemberley
was situated. It was not in their direct road, nor more than a
mile or two out of it. In talking over their route the evening
before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an inclination to see the place
again. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, and Elizabeth
was applied to for her approbation.
"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you
have heard so much?" said her aunt. "A place too, with which
so many of your acquaintance are connected. Wickham passed
all his youth there, you know."
Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business
at Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for
seeing it. She must own that she was tired of great houses;
after going over so many, she really had no pleasure in fine
carpets or satin curtains.
Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it were merely a
fine house richly furnished," said she, "I should not care about
it myself; but the grounds are delightful. They have some of
the finest woods in the country."
Elizabeth said no more -- but her mind could not acquiesce.
The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the
place, instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed
at the very idea; and thought it would be better to speak
openly to her aunt, than to run such a risk. But against this,
there were objections; and she finally resolved that it could
be the last resource, if her private enquiries as to the absence
of the family, were unfavourably answered.
Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the
chambermaid whether Pemberley were not a very fine place,
what was the name of its proprietor, and with no little alarm,
whether the family were down for the summer. A most
welcome negative followed the last question -- and her alarms
being now removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of
curiosity to see the house herself; and when the subject was
revived the next morning, and she was again applied to, could
readily answer, and with a proper air of indifference, that she
had not really any dislike to the scheme.
To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
ELIZABETH, as they drove along, watched for the first
appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation;
and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits
were in a high flutter.
The park was very large, and contained great variety of
ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove
for some time through a beautiful wood, stretching over a
wide extent.
Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw
and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They
gradually ascended for half a mile, and then found themselves
at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased,
and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated
on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some
abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building,
standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high
woody hills; -- and in front, a stream of some natural impor-
tance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial
appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely
adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place
for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty
had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They
were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that
moment she felt, that to be mistress of Pemberley might be
something!
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to
the door; and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house,
all her apprehensions of meeting its owner returned. She
dreaded lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On apply-
readed lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On apply-
ing to see the place, they were admitted into the hall; and
Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to
wonder at her being where she was.
The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking, elderly
woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any
notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-
parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely
fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a win-
dow to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from
which they had descended, received increased abruptness
from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition
of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene,
the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of
the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they
passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different
positions; but from every window there were beauties to be
seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture
suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw
with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor
uselessly fine; with less of splendor, and more real elegance,
than the furniture of Rosings.
"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been
mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly
acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might
have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as
visitors my uncle and aunt. -- But no," -- recollecting herself,
-- "that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been
lost to me: I should not have been allowed to invite them."
This was a lucky recollection -- it saved her from something
like regret.
She longed to enquire of the housekeeper, whether her
master were really absent, but had not courage for it. At
length, however, the question was asked by her uncle; and
she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds replied,
that he was, adding, "but we expect him tomorrow, with a
large party of friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their
own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed
a day!
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached,
and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham suspended, amongst
several other miniatures, over the mantlepiece. Her aunt asked
her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came for-
ward, and told them it was the picture of a young gentleman,
the son of her late master's steward, who had been brought
up by him at his own expence. -- "He is now gone into the
army," she added, "but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Eliza-
beth could not return it.
"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the
miniatures, "is my master -- and very like him. It was drawn
at the same time as the other -- about eight years ago."
"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs.
Gardiner, looking at the picture; "it is a handsome face. But,
Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not."
Mrs. Reynolds's respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase
on this intimation of her knowing her master.
"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"
Elizabeth coloured, and said -- "A little."
"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman,
Ma'am?"
"Yes, very handsome."
"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery
up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this.
This room was my late master's favourite room, and these
miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond
of them."
This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being
among them.
Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss
Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.
"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mr.
Gardiner.
"Oh! yes -- the handsomest young lady that ever was seen;
and so accomplished! -- She plays and sings all day long. In
the next room is a new instrument just come down for her --
a present from my master; she comes here to-morrow
with him."
Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant,
encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and
remarks; Mrs. Reynolds, either from pride or attachment,
had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his
sister.
"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the
year?"
"Not so much as I could wish, Sir; but I dare say he may
spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for
the summer months."
"Except," thought Elizabeth, "when she goes to Ramsgate."
"If your master would marry, you might see more of him."
"Yes, Sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not
know who is good enough for him."
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help
saying, "It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you
should think so."
"I say no more than the truth, and what every body will say
that knows him, replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was
going pretty far; and she listened with increasing astonish-
ment as the housekeeper added, "I have never had a cross
word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since
he was four years old."
This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most
opposite to her ideas. That he was not a good tempered man,
had been her firmest opinion. Her keenest attention was
awakened; she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her
uncle for saying,
"There are very few people of whom so much can be said.
You are lucky in having such a master."
"Yes, Sir, I know I am. If I was to go through the world,
I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed,
that they who are good-natured when children, are good-
natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-
tempered, most generous-hearted, boy in the world."
Elizabeth almost stared at her. -- "Can this be Mr. Darcy!"
thought she.
"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs. Gardiner.
"Yes, Ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just
like him -- just as affable to the poor."
Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient
for more. Mrs. Reynolds could interest her on no other point.
She related the subject of the pictures, the dimensions of the
rooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain. Mr. Gardiner,
highly amused by the kind of family prejudice, to which he
attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon
led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his
many merits, as they proceeded together up the great staircase.
"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that
ever lived. Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think
of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or
servants but what will give him a good name. Some people
call him proud; but I am sure I never saw any thing of it. To
my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other
young men."
"In what an amiable light does this place him!" thought
Elizabeth.
"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt, as they
walked, "is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor
friend."
"Perhaps we might be deceived."
"That is not very likely; our authority was too good."
On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shewn into
a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance
and lightness than the apartments below; and were informed
that it was but just done, to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who
had taken a liking to the room, when last at Pemberley.
"He is certainly a good brother," said Elizabeth, as she
walked towards one of the windows.
Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight, when she
should enter the room. "And this is always the way with him,"
she added. -- "Whatever can give his sister any pleasure, is sure
to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do
for her."
The picture gallery, and two or three of the principal bed-
rooms, were all that remained to be shewn. In the former were
many good paintings; but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art;
and from such as had been already visible below, she had
willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss Darcy's,
in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and
also more intelligible.
In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they
could have little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth
walked on in quest of the only face whose features would be
known to her. At last it arrested her -- and she beheld a strik-
ing resemblance of Mr. Darcy, with such a smile over the face,
as she remembered to have sometimes seen, when he looked
at her. She stood several minutes before the picture in earnest
contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted
the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them, that it had been
taken in his father's life time.
There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind,
a more gentle sensation towards the original, than she had
ever felt in the height of their acquaintance. The commenda-
tion bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds was of no trifling
nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an
intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she
considered how many people's happiness were in his guardian-
ship! -- How much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to
bestow! -- How much of good or evil must be done by him!
Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper
was favourable to his character, and as she stood before the
canvas, on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon
herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of
gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its
warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.
When all of the house that was open to general inspection
had been seen, they returned down stairs, and taking leave of
the housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who
met them at the hall door.
As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Eliza-
beth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped
also, and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of
the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward
from the road, which led behind it to the stables.
They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt
was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight.
Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were over-
spread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for
a moment seemed immoveable from surprise; but shortly
recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to
Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of
perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned away; but, stopping on his
approach, received his compliments with an embarrassment
impossible to be overcome. Had his first appearance, or his
resemblance to the picture they had just been examining, been
insufficient to assure the other two that they now saw Mr.
Darcy, the gardener's expression of surprise, on beholding
his master, must immediately have told it. They stood a little
aloof while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and
confused, scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not
what answer she returned to his civil enquiries after her family.
Amazed at the alteration in his manner since they last parted,
every sentence that he uttered was increasing her embarrass-
ment; and every idea of the impropriety of her being found
there, recurring to her mind, the few minutes in which they
continued together, were some of the most uncomfortable of
her life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke,
his accent had none of its usual sedateness; and he repeated
his enquiries as to the time of her having left Longbourn, and
of her stay in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way,
as plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts.
At length, every idea seemed to fail him; and, after stand-
ing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly recol-
lected himself, and took leave.
The others then joined her, and expressed their admiration
of his figure; but Elizabeth heard not a word, and, wholly
engrossed by her own feelings, followed them in silence. She
was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her coming there
was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the
world! How strange must it appear to him! In what a disgrace-
ful light might it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if
she had purposely thrown herself in his way again! Oh! why
did she come? or, why did he thus come a day before he was
expected? Had they been only ten minutes sooner, they should
have been beyond the reach of his discrimination, for it was
plain that he was that moment arrived, that moment alighted
from his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and again
over the perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour, so
strikingly altered, -- what could it mean? That he should even
speak to her was amazing! -- but to speak with such civility,
to enquire after her family! Never in her life had she seen his
manners so little dignified, never had he spoken with such
gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What a contrast did
it offer to his last address in Rosing's Park, when he put his
letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, nor how to
account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the
water, and every step was bringing forward a nobler fall of
ground, or a finer reach of the woods to which they were
approaching; but it was some time before Elizabeth was
sensible of any of it; and, though she answered mechanically
to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed to
direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she dis-
tinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed
on that one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be,
where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what at that
moment was passing in his mind; in what manner he thought
of her, and whether, in defiance of every thing, she was still
dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil, only because he felt
himself at ease; yet there had been that in his voice, which
was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of
pleasure in seeing her, she could not tell, but he certainly had
not seen her with composure.
At length, however, the remarks of her companions on her
absence of mind roused her, and she felt the necessity of
appearing more like herself.
They entered the woods, and bidding adieu to the river for
a while, ascended some of the higher grounds; whence, in
spots where the opening of the trees gave the eye power to
wander, were many charming views of the valley, the opposite
hills, with the long range of woods overspreading many, and
occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed a
wish of going round the whole Park, but feared it might be
beyond a walk. With a triumphant smile, they were told, that
it was ten miles round. It settled the matter; and they pur-
sued the accustomed circuit; which brought them again, after
some time, in a descent among hanging woods, to the edge of
the water, in one of its narrowest parts. They crossed it by a
simple bridge, in character with the general air of the scene;
it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet visited; and
the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for
the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood
which bordered it. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings;
but when they had crossed the bridge, and perceived their
distance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner, who was not a great
walker, could go no farther, and thought only of returning to
the carriage as quickly as possible. Her niece was, therefore,
obliged to submit, and they took their way towards the house
on the opposite side of the river, in the nearest direction; but
their progress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldom
able to indulge the taste, was very fond of fishing, and was so
much engaged in watching the occasional appearance of some
trout in the water, and talking to the man about them, that he
advanced but little. Whilst wandering on in this slow manner,
they were again surprised, and Elizabeth's astonishment was
quite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr.
Darcy approaching them, and at no great distance. The walk
being here less sheltered than on the other side, allowed them
to see him before they met. Elizabeth, however astonished,
was at least more prepared for an interview than before, and
resolved to appear and to speak with calmness, if he really
intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed, she felt
that he would probably strike into some other path. This idea
lasted while a turning in the walk concealed him from their
view; the turning past, he was immediately before them. With
a glance she saw, that he had lost none of his recent civility;
and, to imitate his politeness, she began, as they met, to admire
the beauty of the place; but she had not got beyond the words
"delightful," and "charming," when some unlucky recollections
obtruded, and she fancied that praise of Pemberley from her,
might be mischievously construed. Her colour changed, and
she said no more.
Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her
pausing, he asked her, if she would do him the honour of
introducing him to her friends. This was a stroke of civility
for which she was quite unprepared; and she could hardly
suppress a smile, at his being now seeking the acquaintance
of some of those very people, against whom his pride had
revolted, in his offer to herself. "What will be his surprise,"
thought she, "when he knows who they are! He takes them
now for people of fashion."
The introduction, however, was immediately made; and
as she named their relationship to herself, she stole a sly look
at him, to see how he bore it; and was not without the expecta-
tion of his decamping as fast as he could from such disgraceful
companions. That he was surprised by the connexion was
evident; he sustained it however with fortitude, and so far
from going away, turned back with them, and entered into
conversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could not but be
pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling, that he
should know she had some relations for whom there was no
need to blush. She listened most attentively to all that passed
between them, and gloried in every expression, every sentence
of her uncle, which marked his intelligence, his taste, or his
good manners.
The conversation soon turned upon fishing, and she heard
Mr. Darcy invite him, with the greatest civility, to fish there
as often as he chose, while he continued in the neighbourhood,
offering at the same time to supply him with fishing tackle,
and pointing out those parts of the stream where there was
usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was walking arm in
arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive of her wonder.
Elizabeth said nothing, but it gratified her exceedingly; the
compliment must be all for herself. Her astonishment, how-
ever, was extreme; and continually was she repeating, "Why
is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for
me, it cannot be for my sake that his manners are thus softened.
My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this.
It is impossible that he should still love me."
After walking some time in this way, the two ladies in front,
the two gentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after
descending to the brink of the river for the better inspection
of some curious water-plant, there chanced to be a little
alteration. It originated in Mrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued by
the exercise of the morning, found Elizabeth's arm inadequate
to her support, and consequently preferred her husband's.
Mr. Darcy took her place by her niece, and they walked on
together. After lence, the lady first spoke. She wished
him to know that she had been assured of his absence before
she came to the place, and accordingly began by observing,
that his arrival had been very unexpected -- "for your house-
keeper," she added, "informed us that you would certainly
not be here till to-morrow; and indeed, before we left Bake-
well, we understood that you were not immediately expected
in the country." He acknowledged the truth of it all; and said
that business with his steward had occasioned his coming
forward a few hours before the rest of the party with
whom he had been travelling. "They will join me early to-
morrow," he continued, "and among them are some who
will claim an acquaintance with you, -- Mr. Bingley and his
sisters."
Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts
were instantly driven back to the time when Mr. Bingley's
name had been last mentioned between them; and if she might
judge from his complexion, his mind was not very differently
engaged.
"There is also one other person in the party," he continued
after a pause, "who more particularly wishes to be known to
you, -- Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce
my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"
The surprise of such an application was great indeed; it
was too great for her to know in what manner she acceded to
it. She immediately felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy
might have of being acquainted with her, must be the work
of her brother, and without looking farther, it was satis-
factory; it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not
made him think really ill of her.
"They now walked on in silence; each of them deep in
thought. Elizabeth was not comfortable; that was impossible;
but she was flattered and pleased. His wish of introducing his
sister to her, was a compliment of the highest kind. They soon
outstripped the others, and when they had reached the car-
riage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile
behind.
He then asked her to walk into the house -- but she declared
herself not tired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such
a time, much might have been said, and silence was very
awkward. She wanted to talk, but there seemed an embargo
on every subject. At last she recollected that she had been
travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with
great perseverance. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly --
and her patience and her ideas were nearly worn out before
the tete-a-tete was over. On Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's coming
up, they were all pressed to go into the house and take some
refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted on each
side with the utmost politeness. Mr. Darcy handed the ladies
into the carriage, and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him
walking slowly towards the house.
The observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and
each of them pronounced him to be infinitely superior to any
thing they had expected. "He is perfectly well behaved, polite,
and unassuming," said her uncle.
"There is something a little stately in him to be sure," replied
her aunt, "but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming.
I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people
may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it."
"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us.
It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and ther as
no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Eliza-
beth was very trifling."
"To be sure, Lizzy," said her aunt, "he is not so handsome
as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham's countenance,
for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell
us that he was so disagreeable?"
Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that
she had liked him better when they met in Kent than before,
and that she had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.
"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,"
replied her uncle. "Your great men often are; and therefore
I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might
change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds."
Elizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character,
but said nothing.
"From what we have seen of him," continued Mrs.
Gardiner, "I really should not have thought that he could
have behaved in so cruel a way by any body, as he has
done by poor Wickham, He has not an ill-natured look.
On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his
mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity
in his countenance, that would not give one an unfavourable
idea of his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who shewed
us the house, did give him a most flaming character! I could
hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal
master, I suppose, and that in the eye of a servant comprehends
every virtue."
Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in
vindication of his behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave
them to understand, in as guarded a manner as she could, that
by what she had heard from his relations in Kent, his actions
were capable of a very different construction; and that his
character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so
amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire. In
confirmation of this, she related the particulars of all the
pecuniary transactions in which they had been connected,
without actually naming her authority, but stating it to be
such as might be relied on.
Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they
were now approaching the scene of her former pleasures, every
idea gave way to the charm of recollection; and she was too
much engaged in pointing out to her husband all the interest-
ing spots in its environs, to think of any thing else. Fatigued
as she had been by the morning's walk, they had no sooner
dined than she set off again in quest of her former acquain-
tance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions of an
intercourse renewed after many years discontinuance.
The occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave
Elizabeth much attention for any of these new friends; and
she could do nothing but think, and think with wonder, of
Mr. Darcy's civility, and above all, of his wishing her to be
acquainted with his sister.
ELIZABETH had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his
sister to visit her, the very day after her reaching Pemberley;
and was consequently resolved not to be out of sight of the
inn the whole of that morning. But her conclusion was false;
for on the very morning after their own arrival at Lambton,
these visiters came, They had been walking about the place
with some of their new friends, and were just returned to the
inn to dress themselves for dining with the same family, when
the sound of a carriage drew them to a window, and they saw
a gentleman and lady in a curricle," driving up the street.
Elizabeth immediately recognising the livery, guessed what
it meant, and imparted no small degree of surprise to her
relations, by acquainting them with the honour which
she expected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement; and
the embarrassment of her manner as she spoke, joined to
the circumstance itself, and many of the circumstances of the
preceding day, opened to them a new idea on the business.
Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they now felt that
there was no other way of accounting for such attentions from
such a quarter, than by supposing a partiality for their niece.
While these newly-born notions were passing in their heads,
the perturbation of Elizabeth's feelings was every moment
increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure;
but amongst other causes of disquiet, she dreaded lest the
partiality of the brother should have said too much in her
favour; and more than commonly anxious to please, she
naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would
fail her.
She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and
as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to com-
pose herself, saw such looks of enquiring surprise in her uncle
and aunt, as made every thing worse.
Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable
introduction took place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see,
that her new acquaintance was at least as much embarrassed
as herself. Since her being at Lambton, she had heard that
Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the observation of a
very few minutes convinced her, that she was only exceed-
ingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from
her beyond a monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth;
and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed,
and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was less hand-
some than her brother, but there was sense and good humour
in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and
gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute
and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been,
was much relieved by discerning such different feelings.
They had not been long together, before Darcy told her that
Bingley was also coming to wait on her; and she had barely
time to express her satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor,
when Bingley's quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a
moment he entered the room. All Elizabeth's anger against
him had been long done away; but, had she still felt any, it
could hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected
cordiality with which he expressed himself, on seeing her
again. He enquired in a friendly, though general way, after
her family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured
ease that he had ever done.
To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interest-
ing personage than to herself. They had long wished to see
him. The whole party before them, indeed, excited a lively
attention. The suspicions which had just arisen of Mr. Darcy
and their niece, directed their observation towards each with
an earnest, though guarded, enquiry; and they soon drew
from those enquiries the full conviction that one of them at
least knew what it was to love. Of the lady's sensations they
remained a little in doubt; but that the gentleman was over-
flowing with admiration was evident enough.
Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to
ascertain the feelings of each of her visitors, she wanted to
compose her own, and to make herself agreeable to all; and
in the latter object, where she feared most to fail, she was most
sure of success, for those to whom she endeavoured to give
pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley was ready,
Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased.
In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister;
and oh! how ardently did she long to know, whether any of
his were directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy,
that he talked less than on former occasions, and once or twice
pleased herself with the notion that as he looked at her, he was
trying to trace a resemblance. But, though this might be
imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour to
Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival of Jane. No look
appeared on either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing
occurred between them that could justify the hopes of his
sister. On this point she was soon satisfied; and two or three
little circumstances occurred ere they parted, which, in her
anxious interpretation, denoted a recollection of Jane, not
untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying more that
might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed
to her, at a moment when the others were talking together,
and in a tone which had something of real regret, that it "was
a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her-"
and, before she could reply, he added, "It is above eight
months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when
we were all dancing together at Netherfield."
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he
afterwards took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by
any of the rest, whether all her sisters were at Longbourn.
There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding
remark, but there was a look and manner which gave them
meaning.
It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy
himself; but, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an
expression of general complaisance, and in all that he said,
she heard an accent so far removed from hauteur or disdain of
his companions, as convinced her that the improvement of
manners which she had yesterday witnessed, however, tempo-
rary its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day.
When she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance, and court-
ing the good opinion of people, with whom any intercourse
a few months ago would have been a disgrace; when she saw
him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the very relations
whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last
lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage, the difference, the change
was so great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could
hardly restrain her astonishment from being visible. Never,
even in the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his
dignified relations at Rosings, had she seen him so desirous
to please, so free from self-consequence, or unbending reserve
as now, when no importance could result from the success of
his endeavours, and when even the acquaintance of those to
whom his attentions were addressed, would draw down the
ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and
Rosings.
Their visitors staid with them above half an hour, and when
they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him
in expressing their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,
and Miss Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, before they left the
country. Miss Darcy, though with a diffidence which marked
her little in the habit of giving invitations, readily obeyed.
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing how
she, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed as to
its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Pre-
suming, however, that this studied avoidance spoke rather a
momentary embarrassment, than any dislike of the proposal,
and seeing in her husband, who was fond of society, a perfect
willingness to accept it, she ventured to engage for her atten-
dance, and the day after the next was fixed on.
Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing
Elizabeth again, having still a great deal to say to her, and
many enquiries to make after all their Hertfordshire friends.
Elizabeth, construing all this into a wish of hearing her speak
of her sister, was pleased; and on this account, as well as some
others, found herself, when their visitors left them, capable
of considering the last half hour with some satisfaction, though
while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been little. Eager
to be alone, and fearful of enquiries or hints from her uncle
and aunt, she staid with them only long enough to hear their
favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress.
But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's
curiosity; it was not their wish to force her communication.
It was evident that she was much better acquainted with Mr.
Darcy than they had before any idea of; it was evident that
he was very much in love with her. They saw much to interest,
but nothing to justify enquiry.
Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well;
and, as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault
to find. They could not be untouched by his politeness, and
had they drawn his character from their own feelings, and his
servant's report, without any reference to any other account,
the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known, would not
have recognised it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest,
however, in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became
sensible, that the authority of a servant who had known him
since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated
respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had any
thing occurred in the intelligence of their Lambton friends,
that could materially lessen its weight. They had nothing to
accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if not,
it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small
market-town, where the family did not visit. It was acknow-
ledged, however, that he was a liberal man, and did much
good among the poor.
With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that
he was not held there in much estimation; for though the chief
of his concerns, with the son of his patron, were imperfectly
understood, it was yet a well known fact that, on his quitting
Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind him, which Mr.
Darcy afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this even-
ing more than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it
seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings
towards one in that mansion; and she lay awake two whole
hours, endeavouring to make them out. She certainly did not
hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she had
almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against
him, that could be so called. The respect created by the con-
viction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly
admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her
feelings; and it was now heightened into somewhat of a
friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his favour, and
bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light, which
yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and
esteem, there was a motive within her of good will which
could not be overlooked. It was gratitude. -- Gratitude, not
merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well
enough, to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her
manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations
accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been persuaded,
would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this acci-
dental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and
without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of
manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was
soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making
her known to his sister. Such a change in a man of so much
pride, excited not only astonishment but gratitude -- for to
love, ardent love, it must be attributed; and as such its impres-
sion on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means
unpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined. She
respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a
real interest in his welfare; and she only wanted to know how
far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how
far it would be for the happiness of both that she should
employ the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed,
of bringing on the renewal of his addresses.
It had been settled in the evening, between the aunt and
niece, that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's, in coming
to them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley, for
she had reached it only to a late breakfast, ought to be
imitated, though it could not be equalled, by some exertion
of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it would
be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the follow-
ing morning. They were, therefore, to go. -- Elizabeth was
pleased, though, when she asked herself the reason, she had
very little to say in reply.
Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing
scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive
engagement made of his meeting some of the gentlemen at
..
..
like of her had originated in jealousy, she could not help
feeling how very unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley
must be to her, and was curious to know with how much
civility on that lady's side, the acquaintance would now be
renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shewn through the hall
into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful
for summer. Its windows opening to the ground, admitted
a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the
house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chesnuts which
were scattered over the intermediate lawn.
In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was
sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady
with whom she lived in London. Georgiana's reception of
them was very civil; but attended with all that embarrassment
which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing
wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior,
the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner
and her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.
By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only
by a curtsey; and on their being seated, a pause, awkward as
such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments.
It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-
looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind of
discourse, proved her to be more truly well bred than either
of the others; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occa-
sional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on.
Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join
in it; and sometimes did venture a short sentence, when there
was least danger of its being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by
Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially
to Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observa-
tion would not have prevented her from trying to talk to the
latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance;
but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying
much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected
every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the
room. She wished, she feared that the master of the house
might be amongst them; and whether she wished or feared it
most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this man-
ner a quarter of an hour, without hearing Miss Bingley's voice,
Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold enquiry
after the health of her family. She answered with equal in-
difference and brevity, and the other said no more.
The next variation which their visit afforded was produced
by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety
of all the finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till
after many a significant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to
Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her post. There
was now employment for the whole party; for though they
could not all talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyra-
mids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches, soon collected them
round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of
deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appear-
ance of Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on his
entering the room; and then, though but a moment before
she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to
regret that he came.
He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two
or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the
river, and had left him only on learning that the ladies of the
family intended a visit to Georgiana that morning. No sooner
did he appear, than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly
easy and unembarrassed; -- a resolution the more necessary
to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she
saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened
against them, and that there was scarcely an eye which did not
watch his behaviour when he first came into the room. In no
countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in
Miss Bingley's, in spite of the smiles which overspread her
face whenever she spoke to one of its objects; for jealousy had
not yet made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy
were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance,
exerted herself much more to talk; and Elizabeth saw that he
was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and
forwarded, as much as possible, every attempt at conversa-
tion on either side. Miss Bingley saw all this likewise; and,
in the imprudence of anger, took the first opportunity of say-
ing, with sneering civility,
"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the -- shire militia removed
from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family."
In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's
name; but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was
uppermost in her thoughts; and the various recollections con-
nected with him gave her a moment's distress; but, exerting
herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently
answered the question in a tolerably disengaged tone. While
she spoke, an involuntary glance shewed her Darcy with an
heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister
overcome with confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes, Had
Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her
beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from
the hint; but she had merely intended to discompose Eliza-
beth, by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she
believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which
might injure her in Darcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind
the latter of all the follies and absurdities, by which some part
of her family were connected with that corps. Not a syllable
had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement.
To no creature had it been revealed, where secresy was pos-
sible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections
her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from that
very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of
their becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly formed
such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his
endeavour to separate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable
that it might add something to his lively concern for the
welfare of his friend.
Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his
emotion; and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared
not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in
time, though not enough to be able to speak any more. Her
brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her
interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had
been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth, seemed
to have fixed them on her more, and more cheerfully.
Their visit did not continue long after the question and
answer above-mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attend-
ing them to their carriage, Miss Bingley was venting her feel-
ings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress.
But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recom-
mendation was enough to ensure her favour: his judgment
could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth,
as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her other-
wise than lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the
saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some
part of what she had been saying to his sister.
"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy,"
she cried; "I never in my life saw any one so much altered
as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse!
Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known
her again."
However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address,
he contented himself with coolly replying, that he perceived
no other alteration than her being rather tanned, -- no
miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.
"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I
never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her
complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all
handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing
marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the
common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been
called so fine, I never could perceive any thing extraordinary
in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like
at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency with-
out fashion, which is intolerable."
..
beth, this was not the best method of recommending herself;
but angry people are not always wise; and in seeing him at last
look somewhat nettled, she had all the success she expected.
He was resolutely silent however; and, from a determination
she continued,
"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how
amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and
I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had
been dining at Netherfield, ""She a beauty! -- I should as soon
call her mother a wit."' But afterwards she seemed to improve
on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one
time."
"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer,
"but that was only when I first knew her, for it is many months
since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women
of my acquaintance."
He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the
satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one
any pain but herself.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred,
during their visit, as they returned, except what had parti-
cularly interested them both. The looks and behaviour of
every body they had seen were discussed, except of the
person who had mostly engaged their attention. They
talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit, of every
thing but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what
Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would
have been highly gratified by her niece's beginning the
subject.
ELIZABETH had been a good deal disappointed in not find-
ing a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and
this disappointment had been renewed on each of the morn-
ings that had now been spent there; but on the third, her
repining was over, and her sister justified by the receipt of two
letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it
had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at
it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came
in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet,
set off by themselves. The one missent must be first attended
to; it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained
an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such
news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was
dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more
important intelligence. It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has
occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am
afraid of alarming you -- be assured that we are all well. What
I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve
last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel
Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with
one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! -- Imagine
our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly
unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on
both sides! -- But I am willing to hope the best, and that his
character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and in-
discreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us
rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is
disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her
nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it
better. How thankful am I, that we never let them know what
has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They
were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but
were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express
was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed
within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to
expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, in-
forming her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot
be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able
to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written."
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and
scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this
letter, instantly seized the other, and opening it with the
utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been written a day
later than the conclusion of the first.
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my
hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but
though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that
I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly
know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and
it cannot be delayed. Improdent as a marriage between Mr.
Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious
to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason
to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came
yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many
hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F.
gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna
Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his
belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia
at all, which was repeated to Colonel F. who instantly taking
the alarm, set off from B. intending to trace their route. He
did trace them easily to Clapham, but no farther; for on enter-
ing that place they removed into a hackney-coach and dis-
missed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that
is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the
London road. I know not what to think. After making every
possible enquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on
into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turn-
pikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any
success, no such people had been seen to pass through. With
the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his
apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart.
I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F. but no one can
throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is
very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I can-
not think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it
more eligible for them to be married privately in town than
to pursue their first plan; and even if he could form such a
design against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which
is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to every thing? --
Impossible. I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not
disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head
when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not
a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill and keeps
her room. Could she exert herself it would be better, but this
is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in my life
saw him so affected. Poor kitty has anger for having con-
cealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence
one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you
have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but
now as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your
return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if
inconvenient. Adieu. I take up my pen again to do, what I
have just told you I would not, but circumstances are such,
that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here, as
soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that
I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something
more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with
..
means to do, I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress
will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest
way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again
to-morrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle's advice
and assistance would be every thing in the world; he will
immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon
his goodness."
"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting
from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow
him, without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as
she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr.
Darcy appeared. His pale face and impetuous manner made
him start, and before he could recover himself enough to
speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by
Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg your pardon, but
I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on
business that cannot be delayed; I have not a moment to lose."
"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feel-
ing than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I will not
detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant, go after
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; -- you can-
not go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and
she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue
them. Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned
him, though in so breathless an accent as made her almost un-
intelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home, instantly.
On his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support
herself, and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible
for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone
of gentleness and commiseration, "Let me call your maid.
Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief? --
A glass of wine; -- shall I get you one? -- You are very ill."
"No, I thank you;' she replied, endeavouring to recover
herself. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well.
I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just
received from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few
minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched
suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern,
and observe her in compassionate silence. At length, she spoke
again. "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful
news It cannot be concealed from any one. My youngest
sister has left all her friends -- has eloped; -- has thrown her-
self into the power of -- of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off
together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the
rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can
tempt him to -- she is lost for ever."
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I consider," she
added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have pre-
vented it! -- I who knew what he was. Had I but explained
some part of it only -- some part of what I learnt, to my own
family! Had his character been known, this could not have
happened. But it is all, all too late now."
"I am grieved, indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved -- shocked.
But is it certain, absolutely certain?"
"Oh yes! -- They left Brighton together on Sunday night,
and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are
certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to
recover her?"
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg
my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope,
in half an hour. But nothing can be done; I know very well
that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked
on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the
smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiesence.
"When my eyes were opened to his real character. -- Oh!
had I known what I ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew
not -- I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched,
mistake! "
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her,
and was walking up and down the room in earnest medita-
tion; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon
observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sink-
ing; every thing must sink under such a proof of family
weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She should
neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-
conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded
no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly
calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never
had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now,
when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her.
Lydia -- the humiliation, the misery, she was bringing on
them all, soon swallowed up every private care; and covering
her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to
every thing else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was
only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her
companion, who, in a manner, which though it spoke com-
passion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "I am afraid you have
been long desiring my absence, nor have I any thing to plead
in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing, concern.
Would to heaven that any thing could be either said or done
on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress. --
But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem
purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will,
I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you
at Pemberley to day."
"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy.
Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal
the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. -- I know it cannot
be long."
He readily assured her of his secrecy -- again expressed his
sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than
there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his com-
pliments for her relations, with only one serious, parting,
look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it
was that they should ever see each other again on such terms
of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derby-
shire; and as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole
of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties,
sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now
have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have
rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection,
Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable
nor faulty. But if otherwise, if the regard springing from such
sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what
is so often described as arising on a first interview with its
object, and even before two words have been exchanged,-
nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given
somewhat of a trial to the latter method, in her partiality for
Wickham, and that its ill-success might perhaps authorise her
to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that
as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early
example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found addi-
tional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business.
Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertained
a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane,
she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation.
Surprise was the least of her feelings on this developement.
While the contents of the first letter remained on her mind,
she was all surprise -- all astonishment that Wickham should
marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry for
money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him, had
appeared incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural.
For such an attachment as this, she might have sufficient
charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliber-
ately engaging in an elopement, without the intention of
marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her
virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling
an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hert-
fordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him, but she was
convinced that Lydia had wanted only encouragement to
attach herself to any body. Sometimes one officer, sometimes
another had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them
in her opinion. Her affections had been continually fluctuating,
but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and mis-
taken indulgence towards such a girl. -- Oh! how acutely did
she now feel it.
She was wild to be at home -- to hear, to see, to be upon the
spot, to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly
upon her, in a family so deranged; a father absent, a mother
incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and
though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for
Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost impor-
tance, and till he entered the room, the misery ofher impatience
was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm,
supposing, by the servant's account, that their niece was taken
suddenly ill; -- but satisfying them instantly on that head, she
eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading
the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the
last, with trembling energy. -- Though Lydia had never been
a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but
be deeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned
in it; and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror,
Mr. Gardiner readily promised every assistance in his power.
-- Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked him with
tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit,
every thing relating to their journey was speedily settled.
They were to be off as soon as possible. "But what is to be done
about Pemberley?" cried Mrs. Gardiner. "John told us Mr.
Darcy was here when you sent for us; -- was it so?"
"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our
engagement. That is all settled."
"That is all settled;' repeated the other, as she ran into her
room to prepare. "And are they upon such terms as for her to
disclose the real truth! Oh, that I knew how it was!"
But wishes were vain; or at best could serve only to amuse
her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had
Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained
certain that all employment was impossible to one so wretched
as herself; but she had her share of business as well as her
aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to
all their friends in Lambton, with false excuses for their
sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole com-
pleted; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having settled his
account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go;
and Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found her-
self, in a shorter space of time than she could have supposed,
seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.
"I HAVE been thinking it over again, Elizabeth," said her
uncle as they drove from the town; "and really, upon serious
consideration, I am much more inclined than I was to judge
as your eldest sister does of the matter. It appears to me so very
unlikely, that any young man should form such a design
against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless,
and who was actually staying in his colonel's family, that I
am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that
her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be
noticed again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel
Forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk."
"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brightening up
for a moment.
"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I begin to be of
your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of
decency, honour, and interest, for him to be guilty ofit. I can-
not think so very ill of Wickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzy,
so wholly give him up, as to believe him capable of it?"
"Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every
other neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should
be so! But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to
Scotland, if that had been the case?"
"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "there is no
absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland."
"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney
coach is such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them
were to be found on the Barnet road."
"Well, then -- supposing them to be in London. They may
be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more
exceptionable purpose. It is not likely that money should be
very abundant on either side; and it might strike them that
they could be more economically, though less expeditiously,
married in London, than in Scotland."
"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why
must their marriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely.
His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was
persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will
never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford
it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she
beyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him
for her sake, forego every chance of benefiting himself by
marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehension of dis-
grace in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement
with her, I am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the
effects that such a step might produce. But as to your other
objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no
brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my
father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention
he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his
family, that he would do as little, and think as little about it,
as any father could do, in such a matter."
"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to every thing but
love of him, as to consent to live with him on any other terms
than marriage?"
"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed," replied
Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, "that a sister's sense of
decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt.
But, really, I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing
her justice. But she is very young; she has never been taught
to think on serious subjects; and for the last half year, nay,
for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing but
amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of
her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt
any opinions that came in her way. Since the -- shire were
first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and
officers, have been in her head. She has been doing every
thing in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to
give greater -- what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feel --
ings; which are naturally lively enough. And we all know that
Wickham has every charm of person and address that can
captivate a woman."
"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does not think so
ill of Wickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt."
"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, what --
ever might be their former conduct, that she would believe
capable of such an attempt, till it were proved against them?
But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We
both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the
word. That he has neither integrity nor honour. That he is
as false and deceitful, as he is insinuating."
"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner,
whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence was all
alive.
"I do, indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you the
other day, of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you,
yourself, when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he
spoke of the man, who had behaved with such forbearance
and liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances
which I am not at liberty -- which it is not worth while to
relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are end-
less. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly pre-
pared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew
to the contrary himself. He must know that she was amiable
and unpretending as we have found her."
"But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant
of what you and Jane seem so well to understand?"
"Oh, yes! -- that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent,
and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel
Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I
returned home, the -- shire was to leave Meryton in a week
or fortnight's time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to
whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make
our knowledge public; for of what use could it apparently be
to any one, that the good opinion which all the neighbourhood
had of him, should then be overthrown? And even when it
was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the neces-
sity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me.
That she could be in any danger from the deception never
entered my head. That such a consequence as this should
ensue, you may easily believe was far enough from my
thoughts."
"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no
reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each other."
"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affec-
tion on either side; and had any thing of the kind been per-
ceptible, you must be aware that ours is not a family, on which
it could be thrown away. When first he entered the corps, she
was ready enough to admire him; but so we all were. Every
girl in, or near Meryton, was out of her senses about him for
the first two months; but he never distinguished her by any
particular attention, and, consequently, after a moderate
period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him
gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with
more distinction, again became her favourites."
It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty
could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this
interesting subject, by its repeated discussion, no other could
detain them from it long, during the whole of the journey.
From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent. Fixed there
by the keenest of all anguish, self reproach, she could find no
interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping
one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the
next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane
could not have been wearied by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were
standing on the steps of the house, as they entered the pad-
dock; and when the carriage drove up to the door, the joyful
surprise that lighted up their faces, and displayed itself over
their whole bodies, in a variety of capers and frisks, was the
first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an
hasty kiss, hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came
running down stairs from her mother's apartment, imme-
diately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears
filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether
any thing had been heard of the fugitives.
"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is
come, I hope every thing will be well."
"Is my father in town?"
"Yes, he went on Tuesday as I wrote you word."
"And have you heard from him often?"
"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on
Wednesday, to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give
me his directions, which I particularly begged him to do.
He merely added, that he should not write again, till he had
something of importance to mention."
"And my mother -- How is she? How are you all?"
"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits
are greatly shaken. She is up stairs, and will have great satis-
faction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-
room. Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven! are quite well."
"But you -- How are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale.
How much you must have gone through!"
Her sister, however, assured her, of her being perfectly
well; and their conversation, which had been passing while
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were engaged with their children, was
now put an end to, by the approach of the whole party. Jane
ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them
both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing room, the questions
which Elizabeth had already asked, were of course repeated
by the others, and they soon found that Jane had no intelli-
gence to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which
the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted
her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that
every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia
or her father, to explain their proceedings, and perhaps
announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a
few minutes conversation together, received them exactly as
might be expected; with tears and lamentations of regret,
invectives against the villanous conduct of Wickham, and
complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage; blaming every
body but the person to whose ill judging indulgence the errors
of her daughter must be principally owing.
"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point of going to
Brighton, with all my family, this would not have happened;
but poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did
the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure there
was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the
kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after.
I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of
her; but I was over-ruled, as I always am. Poor dear child!
And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will
fight Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be
killed, and what is to become of us all? The Collinses will turn
us out, before he is cold in his grave; and if you are not kind
to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do."
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr.
Gardiner, after general assurances of his affection for her and
all her family, told her that he meant to be in London the very
next day, and would assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour for
recovering Lydia.
"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he, "though it is
right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look
on it as certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton.
In a few days more, we may gain some news of them, and till
we know that they are not married, and have no design of
marrying, do not let us give the matter over as lost. As soon
as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him come
home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may con-
sult together as to what is to be done."
"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is
exactly what I could most wish for. And now do, when you
get to town, find them out, wherever they may be; and if they
are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding
clothes, do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall
have as much money as she chuses, to buy them, after they
are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from
fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, -- that I am
frightened out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such
flutterings all over me such spasms in my side, and pains in
my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by
night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia, not to give any
directions about her clothes, till she has seen me, for she does
not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how
kind you are! I know you will contrive it all."
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his
earnest endeavours in the cause, could not avoid recommend-
ing moderation to her, as well in her hopes as her fears; and,
after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on table,
they left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who
attended, in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there
was no real occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they
did not attempt to oppose it, for they knew that she had not
prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants, while
they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of the
household, and the one whom they could most trust, should
comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and
Kitty, who had been too busily engaged in their separate
apartments, to make their appearance before. One came from
her books, and the other from her toilette. The faces of both,
however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible in
either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger
which she had herself incurred in the business, had given
something more of fretfulness than usual, to the accents of
Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to
whisper to Elizabeth with a countenance of grave reflection,
soon after they were seated at table,
"This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be
much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour
into the wounded bosoms of each other, the balm of sisterly
consolation."
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying,
she added, "Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia we may
draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue in a female
is irretrievable -- that one false step involves her in endless
ruin -- that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful,"
-- and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour
towards the undeserving of the other sex."
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too
much oppressed to make any reply. Mary, however, con-
tinued to console herself with such kind of moral extractions
from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to
be for half an hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly
availed herself of the opportunity of making many enquiries,
which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining in
general lamentations over the dreadful sequel of this event,
which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible; the former
continued the subject, by saying, "But tell me all and every
thing about it, which I have not already heard. Give me farther
particulars. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no
apprehension of any thing before the elopement took place?
They must have seen them together for ever."
"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some
partiality, especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him
any alarm. I am so grieved for him. His behaviour was
attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to us, in
order to assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of
their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension
first got abroad, it hastened his journey."
"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not
marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel
Forster seen Denny himself?"
"Yes; but when questioned by him Denny denied knowing
any thing of their plan, and would not give his real opinion
about it. He did not repeat his persuasion of their not marry-
ing -- and from that, I am inclined to hope, he might have been
misunderstood before."
"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you
entertained a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?"
"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our
brains! I felt a little uneasy -- a little fearful of my sister's
happiness with him in marriage, because I knew that his
conduct had not been always quite right. My father and
mother knew nothing of that, they only felt how imprudent
a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural
triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's
last letter, she had prepared her for such a step. She had
known, it seems, of their being in love with each other,
many weeks."
"But not before they went to Brighton?"
"No, I believe not."
"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham
himself? Does he know his real character?"
"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham
as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and
extravagant. And since this sad affair has taken place, it is
said, that he left Meryton greatly in debt; but I hope this may
be false."
"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we
knew of him, this could not have happened!"
"Perhaps it would have been better;' replied her sister.
"But to expose the former faults of any person, without
knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjusti-
fiable. We acted with the best intentions."
"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's
note to his wife?"
"He brought it with him for us to see."
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to
Elizabeth. These were the contents:
"MY DEAR HARRIET,
"You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I
cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow
morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green,
and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton,
for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel.
I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to
be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my
going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the
greater, when I write to them, and sign my name Lydia
Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for
laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my
engagement, and dancing with him to night. Tell him I hope
he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance
with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall
send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you
would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin
gown, before they are packed up. Good bye. Give my love to
..
"Your affectionate friend,
"LYDIA BENNET.
"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth
when she had finished it. "What a letter is this, to be written
at such a moment. But at least it shews, that she was serious
in the object of her journey. Whatever he might afterwards
persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. My
poor father! how he must have felt it!"
"I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word
for full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately,
and the whole house in such confusion!"
"Oh! Jane ' cried Elizabeth "was there a servant belonging
to it, who did not know the whole story before the end of
the day?"
"I do not know. -- I hope there was. -- But to be guarded at
such a time, is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and
though I endeavoured to give her every assistance in my
power, I am afraid I did not do so much as I might have done!
But the horror of what might possibly happen, almost took
from me my faculties."
"Your attendance upon her, has been too much for you.
You do not look well. Oh! that I had been with you, you have
had every care and anxiety upon yourself alone."
"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have
shared in every fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right
for either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary
studies so much, that her hours of repose should not be broken
in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn on Tuesday, after
my father went away; and was so good as to stay till Thursday
with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all, and lady
Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday
morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any
of her daughters, if they could be of use to us."
"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth;
"perhaps she meant well, but, under such a misfortune as this,
one cannot see too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is
impossible; condolence, insufferable. Let them triumph over
us at a distance, and be satisfied."
She then proceeded to enquire into the measures which
her father had intended to pursue, while in town, for the
recovery of his daughter.
"He meant, I believe," replied Jane, "to go to Epsom, the
place where they last changed horses, see the postilions, and
try if any thing could be made out from them. His principal
object must be, to discover the number of the hackney coach
which took them from Clapham. It had come with a fare from
London; and as he thought the circumstance of a gentleman
and lady's removing from one carriage into another, might be
remarked, he meant to make enquiries at Clapham. If he
could any how discover at what house the coachman had
before set down his fare, he determined to make enquiries
there, and hoped it might not be impossible to find out the
stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any other
designs that he had formed: but he was in such a hurry to be
gone, and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had diffi-
culty in finding out even so much as this."
THE whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet
the next morning, but the post came in without bringing a
single line from him. His family knew him to be on all com-
mon occasions, a most negligent and dilatory correspondent,
but at such a time, they had hoped for exertion. They were
forced to conclude, that he had no pleasing intelligence to
send, but even of that they would have been glad to be certain.
Mr, Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.
When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving
constant information of what was going on, and their uncle
promised, at parting, to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to
Longbourn, as soon as he could, to the great consolation of
his sister, who considered it as the only security for her
husband's not being killed in a duel.
Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertford-
shire a few days longer, as the former thought her presence
might be serviceable to her nieces. She shared in their
attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a great comfort to them,
in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also visited them
frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of cheer-
ing and heartening them up, though as she never came without
reporting some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance or
irregularity, she seldom went away without leaving them more
dispirited than she found them.
All Meryton seemed striving to lacken the man, who, but
three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He
was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place,
and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had
been extended into every trade man's family. Every body
declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;
and every body began to find out, that they had always dis-
trusted the appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she
did not credit above half of what was said, believed enough to
make her former assurance of her sister's ruin still more
certain; and even Jane, who believed still less of it, became
almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come,
when if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before
entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained
some news of them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday, his
wife received a letter from him; it told them, that on his
arrival, he had immediately found out his brother, and per-
suaded him to come to Gracechurch str Mr. Bennet
had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but with-
out gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now
determined to enquire at all the principal hotels in town, as
Mr. Bennet thought it possible they might have gone to one
of them, on their first coming to London, before they pro-
cured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any
success from this measure, but as his brother was eager in it,
he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added, that Mr.
Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present, to leave London,
and promised to write again very soon. There was also a post-
script to this effect.
"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out,
if possible, from some of the young man's intimates in the
regiment, whether Wickham has any relations or connections,
who would be likely to know in what part of the town he has
now concealed himself. If there were any one, that one could
apply to, with a probability of gaining such a clue as that, it
might be of essential consequence. At present we have nothing
to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do every thing
in his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts,
perhaps Lizzy could tell us, what relations he has now living,
better than any other person."
Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this
deference for her authority proceeded; but it was not in her
power to give any information of so satisfactory a nature, as
the compliment deserved.
She had never heard of his having had any relations, except
a father and mother, both of whom had been dead many years.
It was possible, however, that some of his companions in
the -- shire, might be able to give more information; and,
though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the applica-
tion was a something to look forward to.
Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the
most anxious part of each was when the post was expected.
The arrival of letters was the first grand object of every morn-
ing's impatience. Through letters, whatever of good or bad
was to be told, would be communicated, and every succeeding
day was expected to bring some news of importance.
But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter
arrived for their father, from a different quarter, from Mr.
..
came for him in his absence, she accordingly read; and Eliza-
beth, who knew what curiosities his letters always were,
looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as follows:
"MY DEAR SIR,
"I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my
situation in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction
you are now suffering under, of which we were yesterday
informed by a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear
Sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerely sympathise with
you, and all your respectable family, in your present distress,
which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding from
a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be
wanting on my part, that can alleviate so severe a misfortune;
or that may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be
of all others most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death of
your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of
this. And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason
to suppose, as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this
licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter, has proceeded
from a faulty degree of indulgence, though, at the same time,
for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined
to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or
she could not be guilty ofsuch an enormity, at so early an age,
Howsoever that may be, you are grievously to be pitied, in
which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins, but like-
wise by lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have
related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that
this false step in one daughter, will be injurious to the fortunes
of all the others, for who, as lady Catherine herself con-
descendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family.
And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect with
augmented satisfaction on a certain event of last November,
for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all
your sorrow and disgrace. Let me advise you then, my dear
Sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your
unworthy chil;d from your affection for ever, and leave her to
reap the fruits of her own heinous offence.
"I am, dear Sir, &c. &c."
Mr. Gardiner did not write again, till he had received an
answer from Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of
a pleasant nature to send. It was not known that Wickham
had a single relation, with whom he kept up any connection,
and it was certain that he had no near one living. His former
acquaintance had been numerous; but since he had been in
the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of parti-
cular friendship with any of them. There was no one therefore
who could be pointed out, as likely to give any news of him.
And in the wretched state of his own finances, there was a very
powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of dis-
covery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired that he
had left gaming debts behind him, to a very considerable
amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand
pounds would be necessary to clear his expences at Brighton.
He owed a good deal in the town, but his debts of honour were
still more formidable. Mr. Gardiner did not attempt to con-
ceal these particulars from the Longbourn family; Jane heard
them with horror. "A gamester!"' she cried. "This is wholly
unexpected. I had not an idea of it."
Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect
to see their father at home on the following day, which was
Saturday. Rendered spiritless by the ill-success of all their
endeavours, he had yielded to his brother-in-law's intreaty
that he would return to his family, and leave it to him to do,
whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for con-
tinuing their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she
did not express so much satisfaction as her children expected,
considering what her anxiety for his life had been before.
"What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia!" she
cried. "Sure he will not leave London before he has found
them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if
he comes away?"
As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was
settled that she and her children should go to London, at the
same time that Mr. Bennet came from it. The coach, there-
fore, took them the first stage of their journey, and brought its
master back to Longbourn.
Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Eliza-
beth and her Derbyshire friend, that had attended her from
that part of the world. His name had never been voluntarily
mentioned before them by her niece; and the kind of half-
expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of their being
followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing. Eliza-
beth had received none since her return, that could come from
..
The present unhappy state of the family, rendered any
other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary;
nothing therefore, could be fairly conjectured from that,
though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well
acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware, that,
had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the
dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have
spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his
usual philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever
been in the habit of saying; made no mention of the business
that had taken him away, and it was some time before his
daughters had courage to speak of it.
It was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea,
that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then,
on her breifly expressing her sorrow for what he must have
endured, he replied, "Say nothing of that. Who would suffer
but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it."
"You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied
Elizabeth.
"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature
is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel
how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being over-
powered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."
"Do you suppose them to be in London?"
"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"
"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.
"She is happy, then," said her father, drily; "and her resi-
dence there will probably be of some duration."
Then, after a short silence, he continued, "Lizzy, I bear
you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last
May, which, considering the event, shews some greatness
of mind."
They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch
her mother's tea,
"This is a parade," cried he, "which does one good; it gives
such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the
same; I will sit in my library, in my night cap and powdering
gown, and give as much trouble as I can, -- or, perhaps, I may
defer it, till Kitty runs away."
"I am not going to run away, Papa," said kitty, fretfully;
"if I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than
Lydia."
"You go to Brighton! -- I would not trust you so near it as
East Bourne, for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt
to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is
ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass through the
village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand
up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of
doors, till you can prove, that you have spent ten minutes of
every day in a rational manner."
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began
to cry.
"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourself unhappy. If
you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to
a review at the end of them."
TWO days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth
were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house,
they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and, con-
cluding that she came to call them to their mother, went for-
ward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons,
when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, "I beg
your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes
you might have got some good news from town, so I took the
liberty of coming to ask."
"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from
town."
"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment,
"dont you know there is an express come for master from
Mr. Gardiner? He has been here this half hour, and master
has had a letter."
Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for
speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast
room; from thence to the library; -- their father was in neither;
and they were on the point of seeking him up stairs with their
mother, when they were met by the butler, who said,
"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking
towards the little copse."
Upon this information, they instantly passed through the
hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who
was deliberately pursuing his way towards a small wood on
one side of the paddock.
Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of
running as Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister,
panting for breath, came up with him, and eagerly cried out,
"Oh, Papa, what news? what news? have you heard from
my uncle?"
"Yes, I have had a letter from him by express."
"Well, and what news does it bring? good or bad?"
"What is there of good to be expected?" said he, taking the
letter from his pocket; "but perhaps you would like to read it."
Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now
came up.
"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardly know myself
what it is about."
"Gracechurch-street, Monday,
August 2.
"MY DEAR BROTHER,
"At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and
such as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction
Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough
to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars,
I reserve till we meet. It is enough to know they are discovered,
I have seen them both -- "
"Then it is, as I always hoped," cried Jane; "they are married!"
Elizabeth read on; "I have seen them both. They are not
married, nor can I find there was any intention of being so;
but if you are willing to perform the engagements which I
have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long
before they are. All that is required of you is, to assure to your
daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand
pounds, secured among your children after the decease of
yourself and my sister; and, moreover, to enter into an engage-
ment of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds
per annum. These are conditions, which, considering every
thing, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I
thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by
express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer.
You will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr.
Wickham's circumstances are not so hopeless as they are
generally believed to be. The world has been deceived in
that respect; and I am happy to say, there will be some little
money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on
my niece, in addition to her own fortune. If, as I conclude will
be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name,
throughout the whole of this business, I will immediately give
directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper settlement.
There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to
town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend
an my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as
you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it
best, that my niece should be married from this house, of
which I hope you will approve. She comes to us to-day. I
shall write again as soon as any thing more is determined on.
Your's, &c.
"EDW. GARDINER.
"Is it possible!" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished.
"Can it be possible that he will marry her?"
"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought
him;' said her sister. "My dear father, I congratulate you."
"And have you answered the letter?" said Elizabeth.
"No; but it must be done soon."
Most earnestly did she then intreat him to lose no more
time before he wrote.
"Oh! my dear father," she cried, "come back, and write
immediately. Consider how important every moment is, in
such a case."
"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislike the trouble
yourself."
"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it must be done."
And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked
towards the house.
"And may I ask?" said Elizabeth, "but the terms, I suppose,
must be complied with."
"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little."
"And they must marry! Yet he is such a man!"
"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be
done. But there are two things that I want very much to
know: -- one is, how much money your uncle has laid down,
to bring it about; and the other, how I am ever to pay him."
"Money! my uncle!" cried Jane, "what do you mean, Sir?"
"'I mean, that no man in his senses, would marry Lydia on
so slight a temptation as one hundred a-year during my life,
and fifty after I am gone."
"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not
occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and some-
thing still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle's doings!
Generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself.
A small sum could not do all this."
"No," said her father, "Wickham's a fool, if he takes her with
a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to
think so ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship."
"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such
a sum to be repaid?"
Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in
thought, continued silent till they reached the house. Their
father then went to the library to write, and the girls walked
into the breakfast-room.
"And they are really to be married!" cried Elizabeth as soon
as they were by themselves. "How strange this is! And for this
we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is
their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character,
we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!"
"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane, "that he
certainly would not marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard
for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards
clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or
any thing like it, has been advanced. He has children of his
own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten
thousand pounds?"
"If we are ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have
been," said Elizabeth, "and how much is settled on his side
on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has
done for them, because Wickham has not sixpence of his own,
The kindncss of my uncle and aunt can never be requited.
Their taking her home, and affording her their personal pro-
tection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage,
as year? of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this
time she is actually with them! If such goodness does not
make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy!
What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt!"
"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either
side," said Janei "I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His
consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is
come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will
steady them; and I flatter myself they will settle so quietly,
and live in so rational a manner, as may in time make their
past imprudence forgotten."
"Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, "as
neither you, nor I, nor any body, can ever forget. It is useless
to talk of it."
It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in
all likelihood perfectly ignorant of what had happened.
They went to the library, therefore, and asked their father,
whether he would not wish them to make it known to
her He was writing, and, without raising his head, coolly
replied,
"Just as you please."
"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?"
"Take whatever you like, and get away."
Elizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they
went up stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs.
Bennet: one communication would, therefore, do for all.
After a slight preparation for good news, the letter was read
aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as
Jane had read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's being soon
married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence
added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as
violent from delight, as she had ever been fidgetty from alarm
and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married
was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor
humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.
"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried: "This is delightful
indeed! -- She will be married! -- I shall see her again! -- She
will be married at sixteen! -- My good, kind brother! -- I knew
how it would be -- I knew he would manage every thing. How
I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the
clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner
about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father,
and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go
myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things
in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! -- How merry we shall be
together when we meet!"
Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the
violence of these transports, by leading her thoughts to the
obligations which Mr. Gardiner's behaviour laid them all
under.
"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added,
in a great measure, to his kindness. We are persuaded that
he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money."
"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do
it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own,
I and my children must of had all his money you know, and
it is the first time we have ever had any thing from him, except
a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a short time, I shall
have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds.
And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such
a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you
write for me. We will settle with your father about the money
afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately."
She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico,
muslin, and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some
very plentiful orders, had not Jane, though with some diffi-
culty, persuaded her to wait, till her father was at leisure to be
consulted. One day's delay she observed, would be of small
importance; and her mother was too happy, to be quite so
obstinate as schemes too came into her head.
"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed,
and tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips. And as I
come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty,
run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a
great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any thing for you
in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you
heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and
you shall all have a bowl of punch, to make merry at her
wedding."
Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth
received her congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick
af this folly, took refuge in her own room, that she might think
with freedom.
..
that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it
so; and though, in looking forward, neither rational happiness
nor worldly prosperity, could be justly expected for her sister;
in looking back to what they had feared, only two hours ago,
she felt all the advantages of what they had gained.
MR. BENNET had very often wished, before this period of
his life, that, instead of spending his whole income, he had
laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children,
and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more
than ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need
not have been indebted to her uncle, for whatever of honour
or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of
prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great
Britain to be her husband, might then have rested in its
proper place.
He was seriously concerned, that a cause of so little
advantage to any one, should be forwarded at the sole expence
of his brother-in-law, and he was determined, if possible, to
find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the
obligation as soon as he could.
When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to
be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son.
"This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he
should be of age, and the widow and younger children would
by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively
entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs.
Bennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain
that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but
it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for
economy, and her husband's love of independence had alone
prevented their exceeding their income.
Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on
Mrs. Bennet and the children. But in what proportions it
should be divided amongst the latter, depended on the will
of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia at
least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have
no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In terms
of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother,
though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper
his perfect approbation of all that was done, and his willing-
ness to fulfil the engagements that had been made for him. He
had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed
on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little incon-
venience to himself, as by the present arrangement. He would
scarcely be ten pounds a-year the loser, by the hundred that
was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket
allowance, and the continual presents in money, which
passed to her, through her mother's hands, Lydia's expences
had been very little within that sum.
That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his
side, too, was another very welcome surprise; for his chief
wish at present, was to have as little trouble in the business as
possible. When the first transports of rage which had pro-
duced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally
returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dis-
patched; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he was
quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars
of what he was indebted to his brother; but was too angry
with Lydia, to send any message to her.
The good news quickly spread through the house; and with
proportionate speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne
in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure it would have
been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia
Bennet come upon the town;' or, as the happiest alternative,
been secluded from the world, in some distant farm house.
But there was much to be talked of, in marrying her; and the
good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had pro-
ceeded before, from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton,
lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances,
because with such an husband, her misery was considered
certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs,
but on this happy day, she again took her seat at the head of
her table, and in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of
shame gave a damp to her triumph. The marriage of a daughter,
which had been the first object of her wishes, since Jane was
sixteen, was now on the point of accomplishment, and her
thoughts and her words ran wholly on those attendants of
elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants.
She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a
" proper situation" for her daughter, and, without knowing or
considering what their income might be, rejected many as
deficient in size and importance.
"Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would
quit it, or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were
larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not bear to have
her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis Lodge, the attics are
dreadful."
Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption,
while the servants remained. But when they had withdrawn,
he said to her, "Mrs. Bennet, before you take any, or all of
these houses, for your son and daughter, let us come to a right
understanding. Into one house in this neighbourhood, they
shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the im-
pudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn."
A long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet
was firm: it soon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with
amazement and horror, that her husband would not advance
a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He protested that she
should receive from him no mark of affection whatever, on
the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend it. That
his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable
resentment, as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without
which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all
that she could believe possible. She was more alive to the dis-
grace, which the want of new clothes must reflect on her
daughter's nuptials, than to any sense of shame at her eloping
and living with Wickham, a fortnight before they took place.
Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had,
from the distress of the moment, been led to make Mr.
Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister; for since
her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination
to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavourable
beginning, from all those who were not immediately on
the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means.
There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more
confidently depended; but at the same time, there was no one,
whose knowledge of a sister's frailty would have mortified her
so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it,
individually to herself; for at any rate, there seemed a gulf
impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been con-
cluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be sup-
posed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family,
where to every other objection would now be added, an
alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with the man
whom he so justly scorned.
From such a connection she could not wonder that he
should shrink. The wish of procuring her regard, which she
had assured herself of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not in
rational expectation survive such a blow as this. She was
humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly
knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she
could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear
of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelli-
gence. She was convinced that she could have been happy
with him; when it was no longer likely they should meet.
What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he
know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only
four months ago, would now have been gladly and gratefully
received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most
generous of his sex. But while he was mortal, there must be
a triumph.
She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the
man, who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.
His understanding and temper, though unlike her own
would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that
must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and
liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners
improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge
of the world, she must have received benefit of greater
importance.
But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring
multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of
a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the
other, was soon to be formed in their family.
How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable
independence, she could not imagine. But how little of per-
manent happiness could belong to a couple who were only
brought together because their passions were stronger than
their virtue, she could easily conjecture.
Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr.
Bennet's acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances
of his eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his family,
and concluded with intreaties that thc subject might never be
a mentioned to him again. The principal purport of his letter
was to inform them, that Mr. Wickham had resolved on
quitting the Militia.
"It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, "as
soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree
with me, in considering a removal from that corps as highly
advisable, both on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wick-
ham's intention to go into the regulars; and, among his former
friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist
him in the army. He has the promise of an ensigncy in General
-- 's regiment, now quartered in the North. It is an advan-
tage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises
fairly, and I hope among different people, where they may
each have a character to preserve, they will both be more
prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of
our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy
the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton,
with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged
myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying
similar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of- whom I
shall subjoin a list, according to his information. He has given
in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us. Hag-
gerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a week.
They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited
to Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs. Gardiner, that
my niece is very desirous of seeing you all, before she leaves
the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered
to you and her mother. -- Your's, &c.
E. GARDINER.
Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of
Wickham's removal from the -- shire, as clearly as Mr.
Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet, was not so well pleased
with it. Lydia's being settled in the North, just when she had
expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had
by no means given up her plan of their residing in Hertford-
shire, was a severe disappointment; and besides, it was such
a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she
was acquainted with every body, and had so many favourites.
"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it will be quite
shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young
men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so
pleasant in General -- 's regiment."
His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of
being admitted into her family again, before she set off for
the North, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane
and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake of their
sister's feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed
on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly,
yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband
at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was
prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished.
And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she
should be able to shew her married daughter in the neigh-
bourhood, before she was banished to the North. When
Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent
his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that
as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to
Longbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wick-
ham should consent to such a scheme, and, had she consulted
only her own inclination, any meeting with him would have
been the last object of her wishes.
THEIR sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth
felt for her probably more than she felt for herself. The car-
riage was sent to meet them at --, and they were to return
in it, by dinner-time. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder
Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the
feelings which would have attended herself, had she been
the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister
must endure.
They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast
room, to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet
as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked
impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy,
Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was
thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped
forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture;
gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who
followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an alacrity
which shewed no doubt of their happiness.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned,
was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in
austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance
ofthe young couple, indeed, was enough to provoke him. Eliza-
beth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia
was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless.
She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratula-
tions, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly
round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and
observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had
been there.
Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but
his manners were always so pleasing, that had his character
and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and
his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would
have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed
him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving
within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence
of an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the
cheeks of the two who caused their confusion, suffered no
variation of colour.
There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother
could neither of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who
happened to sit near Elizabeth, began enquiring after his
acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good humoured
ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her replies. They
seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the
world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and
Lydia led voluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not
have alluded to for the world.
"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I
went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there
have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious!
when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being
married till I came back again! though I thought it would be
very good fun if I was."
Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Eliza-
beth looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard
nor saw any thing of which she chose to be insensible, gaily
continued, "Oh! mamma, do the people here abouts know
I am married to-day? I was afraid they might not; and we
overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was deter-
mined he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next
to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon
the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then
I bowed and smiled like any thing."
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out
of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them
passing through the hall to the dining parlour. She then joined
them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up
to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to her eldest
sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go
lower, because I am a married woman."
It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that
embarrassment, from which she had been so wholly free at
first. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see
Mrs. Phillips, the Lucasses, and all their other neighbours,
and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham," by each of them;
and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew her
ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two
housemaids.
"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to
the breakfast room, "and what do you think of my husband?
Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy
me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must
all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a
pity it is, mamma, we did not all go."
"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear
Lydia, I don't at all like your going such a way off. Must
it be so?"
"Oh, lord! yes; -- there is nothing in that. I shall like it of
all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and
see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say
there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good
partners for them all."
"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.
"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of
my sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for
them before the winter is over."
"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth
"but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands."
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them
Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left
London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a
fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet, regretted that their stay would
be so short; and she made the most of the time, by visit in
about with her daughter, and having very frequent parties at
circle was even more desirable to such as did think, than such
as did not.
Wickham's affection for Lydia, was just what Elizabeth
had expected to find it; not equal to Lydia's for him. She had
scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied, from
the reason of things, that their elopement had been brought
on by the strength of her love, rather than by his; and she
would have wondered why, without violently caring for her,
he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain that
his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances;
and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist
an opportunity of having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wick-
ham on every occasion; no one was to be put in competition
with him. He did every thing best in the world; and she was
sure he would kill more birds on the first of September, than
any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with
her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,
"Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I
believe. You were not by, when I told mamma, and the others,
all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?"
"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too
little said on the subject."
"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off.
We were married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wick-
ham's lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled that we
should all be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and
I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the
church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such
a fuss! I was so afraid you know that something would happen
to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted.
And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching
and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However,
I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you
may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether
he would be married in his blue coat.
"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it
would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand,
that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time
I was with them. If you'll believe me, I did not once put my
foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one
party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure London was rather
thin, but however the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so
just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called
away upon business to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then,
you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it.
Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my
uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond the hour,
we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back
again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However,
I recollected afterwards, that if he had been prevented going,
the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have
done as well."
"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
"Oh, yes! -- he was to come there with Wickham, you know,
But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a
word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will
Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"
"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on
the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further."
"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with
curiosity; "we will ask you no questions."
"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly
tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry."
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to
put it out of her power, by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or
at least it was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy
had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and
exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do,
and least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of
it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satis-
fied with none. Those that best pleased her, as placing his
conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She
could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of
paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explana-
tion of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the
secrecy which had been intended.
"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my
curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with
any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our
family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray
write instantly, and let me understand it -- unless it is, for very
cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems
to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied
with ignorance."
"Not that I shall though," she added to herself, as she
finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me
in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to
tricks and stratagems to find it out."
Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak
to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth
was glad of it; -- till it appeared whether her inquiries would
receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a con-
fidante.
ELIZABETH had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to
her letter, as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in
possession of it, than hurrying into the little copse, where she
was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one of the
benches, and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter
convinced her that it did not contain a denial.
"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.
"MY DEAR NIECE,
"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you,
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you
know, that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary
on your side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive
my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am --
and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned,
would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are
really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the
very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle
had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was
shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I
arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as your's
seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had
found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly,
Lydia once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only
one day after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution
of hunting for them. The motive professed, was his conviction
of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness
had not been so well known, as to make it impossible for any
young woman of character, to love or confide in him. He
generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and con-
fessed that he had before thought it beneath him, to lay his
private actions open to the world. His character was to speak
for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and
endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on by
himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was
able to discover them; but he had something to direct his
search, which was more than we had; and the consciousness
of this, was another reason for his resolving to follow us. There
is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago
governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge
on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what.
She then took a large house in Edward-street, and has since
maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge
was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town.
But it was two or three days before he could get from her what
he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without
bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend
was to be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their
first arrival in London, and had she been able to receive them
into her house, they would have taken up their abode with her.
At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-for
irection. They were in -- street. He saw Wickham, and
afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her,
he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present
disgraceful situation, and return to her friends as soon as they
could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his assistance,
as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved
on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends,
she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of leaving
Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite
a marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wick-
ham, he easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed
himself obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some
debts of honour, which were very pressing; and scrupled not
to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own
folly alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately;
and as to his future situation, he could conjecture very little
about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know where,
and he knew he should have nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy
asked him why he had not married your sister at once. Though
Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would have
been able to do something for him, and his situation must have
been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this
question that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other
country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not
likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief.
They met several times, for there was much to be discussed.
Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at
length was reduced to be reasonable. Every thing being settled
between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle
acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch-street
the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not
be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that your
father was still with him, but would quit town the next morn-
ing. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he
could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily
postponed seeing him, till after the departure of the former.
He did not leave his name, and till the next day, it was only
known that a gentleman had called on business. On Saturday
he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home, and,
as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together. They
met again on Sunday, and then I saw him too. It was not all
settled before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent
off to Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy,
Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character after
all. He has been accused of many faults at different times; but
this is the true one. Nothing was to be done that he did not do
himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it to be thanked,
therefore say nothing about it,) your uncle would most readily
have settled the whole. They battled it together for a long
time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady con-
cerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to
yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of
it, which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe
your letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it
required an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed
feathers, and give the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this
must go no farther than yourself, or Jane at most. You know
pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young
people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to
considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand
in addition to her own settled upon her, and his commission
purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him,
to his reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wick-
ham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently
that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps
there was some truth in this; though I doubt whether his
reserve, or anybody's reserve, can be answerable for the event.
But in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may
rest perfectly assured, that your uncle would never have
yielded, if we had not given him credit for another interest in
the affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again
to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was
agreed that he should be in London once more when the
wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every
thing. It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great
surprise; I hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure.
Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant admission to
the house. He was exactly what he had been, when I knew him
in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was
satisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us, if I had
not perceived, by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her con-
duct on coming home was exactly of a piece with it, and there-
fore what I now tell you, can give you no fresh pain. I talked
to her repeatedly in the most serious manner, representing to
her all the wickedness of what she had done, and all the un-
happiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me, it
was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was some-
times quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy
was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you,
attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and
was to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you
be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this oppor-
tunity of saying (what I was never bold enough to say before)
how much I like him. His behaviour to us has, in every respect,
been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His under-
standing and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his wife
may teach him. I thought him very sly; -- he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray
forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do not
punish me so far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be -
quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton,
with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But
I must write no more. The children have been wanting me
this half hour. Your's, very sincerely,
"M. GARDINER.
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of
spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure
or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled
suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr.
Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match,
which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness
too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be
just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their
greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely
to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortifica-
tion attendant on such a research; in which supplication had
been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and
despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet,
reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he
always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was
punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for
a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart
did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope
shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt
that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend
on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused
him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence
against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wick-
ham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection.
He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how
much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which
asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that
he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had
the means of exercising it; and though she would not place
herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps,
believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his
endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be
materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly. painful, to
know that they were under obligations to a person who could
never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia,
her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did
she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever
encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards
him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.
..
able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's com-
mendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but
it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though
mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and
her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence
subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.
She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some
one's approach; and before she could strike into another path,
she was overtaken by Wickham.
"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear
sister?" said he, as he joined her.
"You certainly do," she replied with a smile; "but it does not
follow that the interruption must be unwelcome."
"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We were always good
friends; and now we are better."
"True, Are the others coming out?"
"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in
the carriage to Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find
from our uncle and aunt, that you have actually seen
..
She replied in the affirmative.
"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would
be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to
Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose?
..
she did not mention my name to you."
"Yes, she did."
"And what did she say?"
"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had
not turned out well. At such a distance as that, you know,
things are strangely misrepresented."
"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she
had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,
"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed
each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing
there."
"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh,"
said Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him
there at this time of year."
"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton?
I thought I understood from the Gardiners that you had."
"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."
"And do you like her?"
"Very much."
"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved
within this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very
promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn
out well."
"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."
"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"
"I do not recollect that we did."
"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have
had. A most delightful place! -- Excellent Parsonage House!
It would have suited me in every respect."
"How should you have liked making sermons?"
"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of
my duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing.
One ought not to repine; -- but, to be sure, it would have been
such a thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such a life,
would have answered all my ideas of happiness! But it was
not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance,
when you were in Kent?"
"I have heard from authority, which I thought as good, that
it was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the
present patron."
"You have. Yes, there was something in that; I told you so
from the first, you may remember."
"I did hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making
was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that
you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders,
and that the business had been compromised accordingly."
"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You
may remember what I told you on that point, when first we
talked of it."
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had
walked fast to get rid of him; and unwilling for her sister's
sake, to provoke him, she only said in reply, with a good-
humoured smile,
"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know.
Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall
be always of one mind."
She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gal-
lantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered
the house.
MR. WICKHAM was so perfectly satisfied with this conversa-
tion, that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his
dear sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it; and
she was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep
him quiet.
The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs.
Bennet was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her
husband by no means entered into her scheme of their all
going to Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a twelve-
month.
"Oh! my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall we meet again?"
"Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years
perhaps."
"Write to me very often, my dear."
"As often as I can. But you know married women have never
much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will
have nothing else to do."
Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than
his wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many
pretty things.
"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they
were out of the house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks,
and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him,
I defy even Sir William Lucas himself, to produce a more
valuable son-in-law."
The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for
several days.
"I often think," said she, "that there is nothlng so bad as
parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without
them."
"This is the consequence you see, Madam, of marrying a
daughter," said Elizabeth. "It must make you better satisfied
that your other four are single."
"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she
is married; but only because her husband's regiment happens
to be so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have
gone so soon."
But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into,
was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agita-
tion of hope, by an article of news, which then began to be in
circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received
orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was
coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks.
Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and
smiled, and shook her head by turns.
"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,"
(for Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news.) "Well, so much
the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to
us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again.
But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if
he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is
nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to
mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is
coming?"
"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs.
Nicholls was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and
went out myself on purpose to know the truth ofit; and she
told me that it was certain true. He comes down on Thursday
at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the
butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on
Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks, just fit to
be killed."
Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming, with-
out changing colour. It was many months since she had
mentioned his name to Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they
were alone together, she said,
"I saw you look at me to day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us
of the present report; and I know I appeared distressed. But
don't imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused
for the moment, because I felt that I should be looked at. I do
assure you, that the news does not affect me either with
pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone;
because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of
myself, but I dread other people's remarks."
Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not
seen him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him
capable of coming there, with no other view than what was
acknowledged; but she still thought him partial to Jane, and
she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there
with his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come
without it.
"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man
cannot come to a house, which he has legally hired, without
raising all this speculation! I willleave him to himself."
In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to
be her feelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth
could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They
were more disturbed, more unequal, than she had often
seen them.
The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between
their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought
forward again.
"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs.
Bennet, "you will wait on him of course."
"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and
promised if I went to see him, he should marry one of my
daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on
a fool's errand again."
His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such
an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen,
on his returning to Netherfield.
"Tis an etiquette I despise," said he. "If he wants our
society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not
spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time
they go away, and come back again."
"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if
you do not wait on him. But, however, that shan't prevent
my asking him to dine here, I am determined. We must
have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make
thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table
for him."
..
her husband's incivility; though it was very mortifying to
know that her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley in
consequence of it, before they did. As the day of his arrival
drew near,
"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," said Jane to her
sister. "It would be nothing; I could see him with perfect
indifference, but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually
talked of. My mother means well; but she does not know, no
one can know how much I suffer from what she says. Happy
shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield is over!"
"I wish I could say any thing to comfort you," replied Eliza-
beth; "but it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and
the usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is
denied me, because you have always so much."
Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance
of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that
the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side, might be as
long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene
before their invitation could be sent; hopeless of seeing him
before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertford-
shire, she saw him from her dressing-room window, enter the
paddock, and ride towards the house.
Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy.
Jane resolutely kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to
satisfy her mother, went to the window -- she looked, -- she saw
Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.
"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," said Kitty; "who
can it be?"
"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am
sure I do not know."
"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to
be with him before. Mr. what's his name. That tall,
proud man."
"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! -- and so it does I vow. Well,
any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here to be
sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him."
Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She
knew but little of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore
felt for the awkwardness which must attend her sister, in
seeing him almost for the first time after receiving his explana-
tory letter. Both sisters were comfortable enough. Each felt
for the other, and of course for themselves; and their mother
talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to
be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being
heard by either of them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasi-
ness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had
never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardiner's letter, or to
relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane,
he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and
whose merit she had undervalued; but to her own more exten-
sive information, he was the person, to whom the whole family
were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded
herself with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as
reasonable and just, as what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonish-
ment at his coming -- at his coming to Netherfield, to Long-
bourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost equal to
what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour
in Derbyshire.
The colour which had been driven from her face, returned
for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight
added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time,
that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But she
would not be secure.
"Let me first see how he behaves," said she; "it will then be
early enough for expectation."
She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and with-
out daring to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried
them to the face of her sister, as the servant was approaching
the door. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but more sedate
than Elizabeth had expected. On the gentlemen's appearing,
her colour increased; yet she received them with tolerable
ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any
symptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance.
Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and
sat down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did
not often command. She had ventured only one glance at
Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and she thought more as
he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had
seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her
mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt.
It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.
Bingley, she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that
short period saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed.
He was received by Mrs. Bennet with a degree of civility,
which made her two daughters ashamed, especially when
contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her
curtsey and address to his friend.
Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to
the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from
irremediable infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most pain-
ful degree by a distinction so ill applied.
Darcy, after enquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner
did, a question which she could not answer without confusion,
said scarcely any thing. He was not seated by her; perhaps
that was the reason of his silence; but it had not been so in
Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends, when he could
not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed, without
bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally,
unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised he eyes
to his face, she as often found him looking at Jane, as at her-
self, and frequently on no object but the ground. More
thoughtfulness, and less anxiety to please than when they last
met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry
with herself for being so.
"Could I expect it to be otherwise!" said she. "Yet why did
he come?"
She was in no humour for conversation with any one but
himself; and to him she had hardly courage to speak.
She enquired after his sister, but could do no more.
"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said
Mrs. Bennet.
He readily agreed to it.
"I began to be afraid you would never come back again.
..
mas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes
have happened in the neighbourhood, since you went away.
Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daugh-
ters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have
seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I
know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only
said, ""Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,""
without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place
where she lived, or any thing. It was my brother Gardiner's
drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an
awkward business of it. Did you see it?"
Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations,
Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked,
therefore, she could not tell.
"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well
married," continued her mother, "but at the same time, Mr,
Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me.
They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward,
it seems, and there they are to stay, I do not know how long.
His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his
leaving the -- shire, and of his being gone into the regulars.
Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so
many as he deserves."
Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was
in such misery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat.
It drew from her, however, the exertion of speaking, which
nothing else had so effectually done before; and she asked
Bingley, whether he meant to make any stay in the country at
present. A few weeks, he believed.
"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,"
said her mother, "I beg you will come here, and shoot as many
as you please, on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be
vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the
covies for you."
Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such
officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at
present, as had flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was
persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious con-
clusion. At that instant she felt, that years of happiness could
not make Jane or herself amends, for moments of such pain-
ful confusion.
"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself, "is never
more to be in company with either of them. Their society can
afford no pleasure, that will atone for such wretchedness as
this! Let me never see either one or the other again!"
Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer
no compensation, received soon afterwards material relief,
from observing how much the beauty of her sister re-kindled
the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in, he
had spoken to her but little; but every five minutes seemed to
be giving her more of his attention. He found her as handsome
as she had been last year; as good natured, and as unaffected,
though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference
should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded that
she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged,
that she did not always know when she was silent.
When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was
mindful of her intended civility, and they were invited and
engaged to dine at Longbourn in a few days time.
"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley," she added,
"for when you went to town last winter, you promised to take
a family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have not for-
got, you see; and I assure you, I was very much disappointed
that you did not come back and keep your engagement."
Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said some-
thing of his concern, at having been prevented by business.
They then went away.
Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay
and dine there, that day; but, though she always kept a very
good table, she did not think any thing less than two courses,
could be good enough for a man, on whom she had such
anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who
had ten thousand a-year.
A soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover
her spirits; or in other words, to dwell without interruption
on those subjects that must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's
behaviour astonished and vexed her.
"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,"
said she, "did he come at all?"
She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.
"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and
aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears
me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent?
Teazing, teazing, man! I will think no more about him."
Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by
the approach of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look,
which shewed her better satisfied with their visitors, than
Elizabeth.
"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over, I feel per-
fectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be
embarrassed again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on
Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen, that on both sides, we
meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance."
"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said Elizabeth, laughingly.
"Oh, Jane, take care."
"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in
danger now,"
"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much
in love with you as ever."
They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and
Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the
happy schemes, which the good humour, and common polite-
ness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had revived.
On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Long-
bourn; and the two, who were most anxiously expected, to
the credit of their punctuality as sportsmen, were in very good
time. When they repaired to the dining-room, Elizabeth
eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place,
which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by her
sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, for-
bore to invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he
seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and
happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her.
Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards
his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and she would
have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be
happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr.
Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm.
His behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time,
as shewed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded
than formerly, persuaded Elizabeth, that if left wholly to him-
self, Jane's happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured.
Though she dared not depend upon the consequence, she yet
received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It gave her
all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in
no cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her,
as the table could divide them. He was on one side of her
mother. She knew how little such a situation would give
pleasure to either, or make either appear to advantage. She
was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but she
could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how
formal and cold was their manner, whenever they did. Her
mother's ungraciousness, made the sense of what they owed
him more painful to Elizabeth's mind; and she would, at
times, have given any thing to be privileged to tell him, that
his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of
the family.
She was in hopes that the evening would afford some
opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the
visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into
something more of conversation, than the mere ceremonious
salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy,
the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the
gentlemen came' was wearisome and dull to a degree, that
almost made her uncivil. She looked forward to their entrance,
as the point on which all her chance of pleasure for the evening
must depend.
"If he does not come to me, then," said she, "I shall give him
up for ever."
The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he
would have answered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had
crowded round the table, where Miss Bennet was making tea,
and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee, in so close a con-
federacy, that there was not a single vacancy near her, which
would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching,
one of the girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in
a whisper,
"The men shan't come and part us, I am determined.
We want none of them; do we?"
Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She
followed him with her eyes, envied every one to whom he
spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee;
and then was enraged against herself for being so silly!
"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be
foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one
among the sex, who would not protest against such a weakness
as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no indignity
so abhorrent to their feelings!"
She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his
coffee cup himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,
"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"
"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."
"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"
"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on
to Scarborough, these three weeks."
She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished
to converse with her, he might have better success. He stood
by her, however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last,
on the young lady's whispering to Elizabeth again, he walked
away.
When the tea-things were removed and the card tables
placed, the ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to
be soon joined by him, when all her views were overthrown
by seeing him fall a victim to her mother's rapacity for whist
players, and in a few moments after seated with the rest of the
party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were
confined for the evening at different tables, and she had
nothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards
her side of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully
as herself.
Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield
gentlemen to supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered
before any of the others, and she had no opportunity of detain-
ing them.
"Well girls," said she, as soon as they were left to them-
selves, "What say you to the day? I think every thing has passed
off uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well
dressed as any I ever saw. The venison was roasted to a turn --
and everybody said, they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup
was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucas's last
week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges
were remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three
French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look
in greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her
whether you did not. And what do you think she said besides?
""Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her at Netherfield at last.""
She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good a creature as
ever lived -- and her nieces are very pretty behaved girls, and
not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously."
Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had
seen enough of Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be con-
vinced that she would get him at last; and her expecta-
tions of advantage to her family, when in a happy mour,
were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed
at not seeing him there again the next day, to make his
proposals.
"It has been a very agreeable day," said Miss Bennet to
Elizabeth. "The party seemed so well selected, so suitable one
with the other. I hope we may often meet again."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It
mortifies me. I assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his
conversation as an agreeable and sensible young man, with-
out having a wish beyond it. I am perfectly satisfied from
what his manners now are, that he neve had any design of
engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with greater
sweetness of address, and a stronger
pleasing than any other man."
"You are very cruel," said her sister, "you will not let me
smile, and are provoking me to it every moment."
"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!"
"And how impossible to others!"
"But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more
than I acknowledge?"
"That is a question which I hardly know how to answer.
We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not
worth knowing. Forgive me; and if you persist in indifference,
do not make me your confidante."
A fEw days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and
alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but
was to return home in ten days time. He sat with them above
an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet
invited him to dine with them; but, with many expressions
of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.
"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shall be more
lucky."
He should be particularly happy at any time, &c. &c.; and
if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity
of waiting on them.
"Can you come to-morrow?"
Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her
invitation was accepted with alacrity.
He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were
none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's
room, in her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished,
crying out,
"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come --
Mr. Bingley is come. -- He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste.
Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her
on with her gown. Never mind Miss Lizzy's hair."
"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane; "but I dare
say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs
half an hour ago."
"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come be
quick, be quick! where is your sash my dear?"
But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be pre-
vailed on to go down without one of her sisters.
The same anxiety to get them by themselves, was visible
again in the evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the
library, as was his custom, and Mary went up stairs to her
instrument. Two obstacles of the five being thus removed,
Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at Elizabeth and
..
impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and
when at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, "What is the
matter mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What
am I to do?"
"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you," She then
sat still five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a
precious occasion, she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,
"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you," took her out
of the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth, which
spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her intreaty
that she would not give into it. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet
half opened the door and called out,
"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you."
Elizabeth was forced to go.
"We may as well leave them by themselves you know;' said
her mother as soon as she was in the hall. "Kitty and I are
going up stairs to sit in my dressing room."
Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but
remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of
sight, then returned into the drawing room.
Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual.
Bingley was every thing that was charming, except the pro-
fessed lover of her daughter. His ease and cheerfulness
rendered him a most agreeable addition to their evening
party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the
mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance
and command of countenance, particularly- grateful to the
daughter.
He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before
he went away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through
his own and Mrs. Bennet's means, for his coming next morn-
ing to shoot with her husband.
After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not
a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley; but
Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily
be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated
time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably persuaded that
all this must have taken place with that gentleman's con-
currence.
Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr,
Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on.
The latter was much more agreeable than his companion
expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in
Bingley, that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into
silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric
than the other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned
with him to dinner; and in the evening Mrs. Bennet's inven-
tion was again at work to get every body away from him and
her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went into
the breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea; for as the
others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be
wanted to counteract her mother's schemes.
But on returning to the drawing room, when her letter was
finished, she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to
fear that her mother had been too ingenious for her. On open-
ing the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing
together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation;
and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both as they
hastily turned round, and moved away from each other, would
have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but her's
she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by
either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again,
when Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly
rose, and whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of
the room.
Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where con-
fidence would give pleasure; and instantly embracing her,
acknowledged, with the liveliest emotion, that she was the
happiest creature in the world.
"Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. I do not
deserve it. Oh! why is not every body as happy?"
Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity,
a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express.
Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness
to Jane. But she would not allow herself to stay with her sister,
or say half that remained to be said, for the present.
"I must go instantly to my mother;' she cried. "I would not
on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow
her to hear it from any one but myself. He is gone to my father
already. Oh! Lizzy, to know that what I have to relate will
give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear so
much happiness!"
She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely
broken up the card party, and was sitting up stairs with
Kitty.
Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the
rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that
had given them so many previous months of suspense and
vexation.
"And this," said she, "is the end of all his friend's anxious
circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance!
the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!"
In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose con-
ference with her father had been short and to the purpose.
"Where is your sister?" said he hastily, as he opened the door.
"With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment
I dare say."
He then shut the door, and coming up to her, claimed the
good wishes and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and
heartily expressed her delight in the prospect of their relation-
ship. They shook hands with great cordiality; and then till
her sister came down, she had to listen to all he had to say,
of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections; and in spite
of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his expecta-
tions of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had
for basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent
disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and
taste between her and himself.
It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the
satisfaction of Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet
animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever.
Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was coming
soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or speak her
approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,
though she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour;
and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and
manner plainly shewed how really happy he was.
Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till
their visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was
gone, he turned to his daughter and said,
"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman,"
Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him
for his goodness.
"You are a good girl;' he replied, "and I have great pleasure
in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt
of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no
means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing
will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat
you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your
income."
"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money
matters, would be unpardonable in me."
"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife,
"what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand
a-year, and very likely more." Then addressing her daughter,
"Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I sha'nt
get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always
said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so
beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him,
when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how
likely it was that you should come together. Oh! he is the
handsomest young man that ever was seen!"
Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond com-
petition her favourite child. At that moment, she cared for no
other. Her younger sisters soon began to make interest with
her for objects of happiness which she might in future be able
to dispense.
Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield;
and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.
Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at
Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always
remaining till after supper; unless when some barbarous
neighbour, who could not be enough detested, had given
him an invitation to dinner, which he thought himself obliged
to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with
her sister; for while he was present, Jane had no attention
to bestow on any one else; but she found herself considerably
useful to both of them, in those hours of separation that
must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always
attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of
her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the
same means of relief.
"He has made me so happy," said she, one evening, "by tell-
ing me, that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last
spring! I had not believed it possible."
"I suspected as much," replied Elizabeth. "But how did he
account for it?"
"It must have been his sister's doing. They were certainly
no friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder
at, since he might have chosen so much more advantageously
in many respects. But when they see, as I trust they will, that
their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented,
and we shall be on good terms again; though we can never be
what we once were to each other."
"That is the most unforgiving speech," said Elizabeth, "that
I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to
see you again the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard."
"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town
last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a per-
suasion of my being indifferent, would have prevented his
coming down again!"
"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit
of his modesty."
This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his
diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities.
Elizabeth was pleased to find, that he had not betrayed the
interference of his friend, for, though Jane had the most
generous and forgiving heart in the world, she knew it was
a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.
"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever
existed!" cried Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled
from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could
but see you as happy! If there were but such another man
for you!"
"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could
be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your good-
ness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift
for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet
with another Mr. Collins in time."
The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not
be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to
Mrs. Philips, and she ventured, without any permission, to
do the same by all her neighbours in Meryton.
The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest
family in the world, though only a few weeks before, when
Lydia had first run away, they had been generally proved to
be marked out for misfortune.
ONE morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with
Jane had been formed, as he and the females of the family
were sitting together in the dining room," their attention was
suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage;
and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It
was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the
equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours.
The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery
of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it
was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bingley
instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement
of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the shrub-
bery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining
three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door
was thrown open, and their visitor entered. It was lady
..
They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their
astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part
of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown
to them, even inferior to what Elizabeth felt.
She entered the room with an air more than usually un-
gracious, made no other reply to Elizabeth's salutation, than
a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a
word. Elizabeth had mentioned her name to her mother, on
her ladyship's entrance, though no request of introduction
had been made.
Mrs. Bennet all amazement, though flattered by having
a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost
politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, she said very
stiffly to Elizabeth,
"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady I suppose is
your mother."
Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.
"And that I suppose is one of your sisters."
"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to
a lady Catherine. "She is my youngest gilrl but one. My
youngest of all, is lately married, and my eldest is some-
where about the grounds, walking with a young man, who
I believe will soon become a part of the family."
"you have a very small park here," returned lady Catherine
after a short silence.
"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say;
but I assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's."
"This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the
evening, in summer; the windows are full west."
Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after
dinner," and then added,
"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you
left Mr. and Mrs. Collins well."
"Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last."
Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for
her from Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive
for her calling. But no letter appeared, and she was com-
pletely puzzled.
Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to
take some refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely,
and not very politely, declined eating any thing; and then
rising up, said to Elizabeth,
"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little
wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take
a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company."
"Go, my dear," cried her mother, "and shew her ladyship
about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the
hermitage."
Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her
parasol, attended her noble guest down stairs. As they passed
through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the
dining-parlour and drawing-room, and pronouncing them,
after a short survey, to be decent looking rooms, walked on.
Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that
her waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along
the gravel walk that led to the copse; Elizabeth was deter-
mined to make no effort for conversation with a woman, who
was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.
"How could I ever think her like her nephew?" said she, as
she looked in her face.
As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began
in the following manner: --
"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the
reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own con-
science, must tell you why I come."
Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.
"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all
able to account for the honour of seeing you here."
"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, "you
ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however
insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My
character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frank-
ness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly
not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature, reached
me two days ago. I was told, that not only your sister was on
the point of being most advantageously married, but that you,
that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon
afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy.
Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood; though I
would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it
possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that
I might make my sentiments known to you."
"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth,
colouring with astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took
the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship pro-
pose by it?"
"At once to insist upon having such a report universally
contradicted."
"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family," said
Elizabeth, coolly, "will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed,
such a report is in existence."
"If! do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been
industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that
such a report is spread abroad?"
"I never heard that it was."
"And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation
for it?"
"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your lady-
ship. You may ask questions, which I shall not choose to
answer."
"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being
satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of
marriage?"
"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."
"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of
his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment
of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself
and to all his family. You may have drawn him in."
"If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it."
"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been
accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest
relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his
dearest concems."
"But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such
behaviour as this, ever induce me to be explicit."
"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you
have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No,
never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have
you to say?"
"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to sup-
pose he will make an offer to me."
Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,
"The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From
their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was
the favourite wish of his mother, as well as of her's. While in
their cradles, we planned the union: and now, at the moment
when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, in
their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of inferior
birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to
the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends?
To his tacit engagement with Miss De Bourgh? Are you lost
to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard
me say, that from his earliest hours he was destined for his
cousin?"
"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If
there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I
shall certainly not be kept from it, by knowing that his mother
and aunt wished him to marry Miss De Bourgh. You both did
as much as you could, in planning the marriage. Its com-
pletion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by
honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he
to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may
not I accept him?"
"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid
it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed
by his family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclina-
tions of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by
every one connected with him. Your alliance will be a dis-
grace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us."
"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the
wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of
happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could,
upon the whole, have no cause to repine."
"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this
your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing
due to me on that score?
"Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that
I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my
purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used
to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit
of brooking disappointment."
"That will make your ladyship's situation at present more
pitiable; but it will have no effect on me."
"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter
and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended
on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the
father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient, though
untitled families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid.
They are destined for each other by the voice of every member
of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The
upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, con-
nections, or fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not,
shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would
not wish to quit the sphere, in which you have been
brought up."
"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself
as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's
daughter; so far we are equal."
"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But who was your
mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me
ignorant of their condition."
"Whatever my connections may be," said Elizabeth, "if your
nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you."
"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?"
Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of
obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question; she
could not but say, after a moment's deliberation,
"I am not."
Lady Catherine seemed pleased.
"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an
engagement?"
"I will make no promise of the kind."
"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to
find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive
yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go
away, till you have given me the assurance I require."
"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimi-
dated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship
wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my
giving you the wished-for promise, make their marriage at all
more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would
my refusing to accept his hand, make him wish to bestow it on
his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the argu-
ments with which you have supported this extraordinary
application, have been as frivolous as the application was ill-
judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think
I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far
your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs,
I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern your-
self in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no
farther on the subject."
"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To
all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to
add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest
sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young
man's marrying her, was a patched-up business, at the expence
of your father and uncles. And is such a girl to be my nephew's
sister? Is her husband, is the son of his late father's steward,
to be his brother? Heaven and earth! -- of what are you think-
ing? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"
"You can now have nothing farther to say," she resentfully
answered. "You have insulted me, in every possible method.
I must beg to return to the house."
And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also,
and they turned back. Her ladyship was highly in-
censed.
"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit
of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider
that a connection with you, must disgrace him in the eyes of
everybody?"
"Lady Catherine, Ihave nothing further to say. You know
my sentiments."
"You are then resolved to have him?"
"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that
manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happi-
ness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly
unconnected with me."
"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to
obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are deter-
mined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make
him the contempt of the world."
"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude," replied Eliza-
beth, "have any possible claim on me, in the present instance.
No principle of either, would be violated by my marriage with
Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of his family,
or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by
his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern
-- and the world in general would have too much sense to join
in the scorn."
"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve!
Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss
Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to
try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it
I will carry my point."
In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at
the door of the carriage, when turning hastily round, she added,
"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments
to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most
seriously displeased."
Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to per-
suade her ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly
into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she pro-
ceeded up stairs. Her mother impatiently met her at the door
of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine would not
come in again and rest herself.
"She did not choose it," said her daughter, "she would go."
"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was
prodigiously civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the
..
and so passing through Meryton, thought she might as well
call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to
you, Lizzy?"
Elizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here;
for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was
impossible.
THE discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit
threw Elizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could
she for many hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly.
Lady Catherine it appeared, had actually taken the trouble of
this journey from Rosings, for the sole purpose of breaking
off her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a rational
scheme to be sure! but from what the report of their engage-
ment could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine; till
she recollected that his being the intimate friend of Bingley,
and her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when
the expectation of one wedding, made every body eager for
another, to supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to
feel that the marriage of her sister must bring them more
frequently together. And her neighbours at Lucas lodge,
therefore, (for through their communication with the Collinses,
the report she concluded had reached lady Catherine) had
only set that down, as almost certain and immediate, which
she had looked forward to as possible, at some future time.
In revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, she
could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible conse-
quence of her persisting in this interference. From what she
had said of her resolution to prevent their marriage, it occurred
- to Elizabeth that she must meditate an application to her
nephew; and how he might take a similar representation of
the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared not pro-
nounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his
aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural
to suppose that he thought much higher of her ladyship than
she could do; and it was certain, that in enumerating the
miseries of a marriage with one, whose immediate connections
were so unequal to his own, his aunt would address him on
his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would prob-
ably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared
weak and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid
reasoning.
If he had been wavering before, as to what he should do,
which had often seemed likely, the advice and intreaty of so
near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him
at once to be as happy, as dignity unblemished could make
him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine
might see him in her way through town; and his engagement
to Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way..
"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should
come to his friend within a few days," she added, "I shall know
-- how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation,
every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regret-
ting me, when he might have obtained my affections and hand,
I shall soon cease to regret him at all."
The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their
visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied
it, with the same kind of supposition, which had appeased
Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and Elizabeth was spared from much
teazing on the subject.
The next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was
met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in
his hand.
"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you; come into
my room."
She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what
he had to tell her, was heightened by the supposition of its
being in some manner connected with the letter he held. It
suddenly struck her that it might be from lady Catherine;
and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent explana-
tions.
She followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat
down. He then said,
"I have received a letter this morning that has astonished
me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought
to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had two
daughters on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate
you, on a very important conquest."
The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks in the
instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew,
instead of the aunt; and she was undetermined whether most
to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or offended that
his letter was not rather addressed to herself; when her father
continued,
"You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration
in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your
sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is
from Mr. Collins."
"From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?"
"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins
with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest
daughter, of which it seems he has been told, by some of the
good-natured, gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport with your
impatience, by reading what he says on that point. What
relates to yourself, is as follows. "Having thus offered you the
sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on this
happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of
another; of which we have been advertised by the same autho-
rity. Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long
bear the name of Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned it,
and the chosen partner of her fate, may be reasonably looked
up to, as one of the most illustrious personages in this land."
"can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?"
"This young gentleman is blessed in a peculiar way, with
every thing the heart of mortal can most deslre, -- splendid
property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in
spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Elizabeth,
and yourself, of what evils you may incur, by a precipitate
closure with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course,
you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of."
"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now
it comes out."
"My motive for cautioning you, is as follows. We have
reason to imagine that his aunt, lady Catherine de Bourgh,
does not look on the match with a friendly eye."
"Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I have
surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any
man, within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would
have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr.
Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish,
and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is
admirable!"
Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could
only force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been
directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.
"Are you not diverted?"
"Oh! yes. Pray read on."
"After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her
ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual con-
descension, expressed what she felt on the occasion; when it
become apparent, that on the score of some family objections
on the part of my cousin, she would never give her consent
to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my
duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin,
that she and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are
about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been
properly sanctioned." "Mr. Collins moreover adds," "I am
truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad business has been
so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living
together before the marriage took place, should be so generally
known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station,
or refrain from declaring my amazement, at hearing that you
received the young couple into your house as soon as they
were married. It was an encouragement of vice; and had I
been the rector of Longbourn, I should very strenuously have
opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as a christian,
but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names
to be mentioned in your hearing." "That is his notion of
christian forgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his
dear Charlotte's situation, and his expectation of a young
olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it.
You are not going to be Missish, I hope, and pretend to be
affronted at an idle report. For what do we live, but to make
sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?"
"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is
so strange!"
"Yes -- that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on
any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect
indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully
absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up
Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration. Nay,
when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the pre-
ference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence
and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said
Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her
consent?"
To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh;
and as it had been asked without the least suspicion, she was
not distressed by his repeating it. Elizabeth had never been
more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not.
It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried.
Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he said
of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing but
wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps,
instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too
much.
INSTEAD of receiving any such letter of excuse from his
friend, as Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was
able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days
had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemen
arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him
of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in
momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane,
proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet
was not in the habit of walking, Mary could never spare time,
but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, how-
ever, soon allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged
behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy, were to entertain
each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was too much
afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a
desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.
They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished
to call upon Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for
making it a general concern, when Kitty left them, she went
boldly on with him alone. Now was the moment for her
resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was high,
she immediately said,
"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake
of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may
be wounding your's. I can no longer help thanking you for
your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I
have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to
you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my
family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."
"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of
surprise and emotion, "that you have ever been informed of
what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness.
I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted."
"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness
first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the
matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the parti-
culars. Let me thank you again and again, In the name of all
my family, for that generous compassion which induced you
to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for
the sake of discovering them."
"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself
alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add
force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not
attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as
I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you."
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After
a short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous
to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last
April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are un-
changed, but one word from you will silence me on this sub-
ject for ever."
Elizabeth feeling all the more than common awkwardness
and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and
immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to under-
stand, that her sentiments had undergone so material a change,
since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive
with gratitude and pleasure, his present assurances. The
happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had
probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the
occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love
can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter
his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heart-
felt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though
she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings,
which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made
his affection every moment more valuable.
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There
was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention
to any other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted
for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt,
who did call on him in her return through London, and there
relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance
of her conversation with Elizageth; dwelling emphatically on
every expression of the latter, which, in her ladyship's appre-
hension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance,
in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to
obtain that promise from her nephew, which she had refused
to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been
exactly contrariwise.
"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever
allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your dis-
position to be certain, that, had you been absolutely, irrevoc-
ably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to
Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you
know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that.
After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have
no scruple in abusing you to all your relations."
"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For,
though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken
premises, my behaviour to you at the time, had merited the
severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it
without abhorrence."
"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed
to that evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if
strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we
have both, I hope, improved in civility."
"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection
of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expres-
sions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many
months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well
applied, I shall never forget: ""had you behaved in a more
gentleman-like manner."' Those were your words. You know
not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; --
though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable
enough to allow their justice."
"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so
strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their
being ever felt in such a way."
"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every
proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your coun-
tenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have
addressed you in any possible way, that would induce you to
accept me."
"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections
will not do at all. I assure you, that I have long been most
heartily ashamed of it."
Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon
make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any
credit to its contents?"
She explained what its effect on her had been, and how
gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.
"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must give you pain,
but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter.
There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I
should dread your having the power of reading again. I can
remember some expressions which might justly make you
hate me."
"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential
to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both
reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are
not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies."
"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed my-
self perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it
was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end
so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter.
The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who
received it, are now so widely different from what they were
then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought
to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think
only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind.
Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that
the contentment arising from them, is not of philosophy, but
what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so.
..
not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in
practice though not in principle. As a child I was taught what
was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was
given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and
conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only
child) I was spoilt by my parents, who though good them-
selves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and
amiable,) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish
and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family
circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at
least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with
my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such
I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Eliza-
beth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard
indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly
humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception,
You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to
please a woman worthy of being pleased."
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed
you to be wishing, expecting my addresses."
"My manners must have been in fault, but not intention-
ally I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits
might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me
after that evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon
began to take a proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me,
when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"
"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being
noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no
extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect
to receive more than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to shew you, by every
civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the
past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness to lessen your
ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been
attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced them-
selves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour
after I had seen you."
He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance,
and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which
naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon
learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire
in quest of her sister, had been formed before he quitted the
inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there, had arisen
from no other struggles than what such a purpose must
comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful
a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too
busy to know any thing about it, they found at last, on
examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.
"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a
wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs.
Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had
given him the earliest information of it.
"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon
happen."
"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed
as much." And though he exclaimed at the term, she found
that it had been pretty much the case.
"On the evening before my going to London," said he "I
made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made
long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former
interference in his affairs, absurd and impertinent. His sur-
prise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I
told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in sup-
posing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him;
and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was
unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of
directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when
you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my
information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the
two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced
of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate
conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence
had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so
anxious a case, but his reliance on mine, made every thing easy.
I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not
unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal
that your sister had been in town three months last winter,
that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was
angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than
he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has
heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been
a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was
invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he
had yet to learn to be laught at, and it was rather too early to
begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of
course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the
conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they
parted.
"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was
a question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she
entered their room, and from all the others when they sat
down to table. She had only to say in reply, that they had
wandered about, till she was beyond her own knowledge. She
coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor any thing else,
awakened a suspicion of the truth.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extra-
ordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the
unacknowledged were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition
in which happiness overflows in mirth; and Elizabeth,
agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy, than
felt herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrass-
ment, there were other evils before her. She anticipated what
would be felt in the family when her situation became known;
she was aware that no one liked him but Jane; and even feared
that with the others it was a dislike which not all his fortune
and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion
was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was
absolutely incredulous here.
"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! -- engaged to Mr.
Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be
impossible."
"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence
was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you
do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the
truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged."
Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be.
I know how much you dislike him."
"You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot.
..
such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is
the last time I shall ever remember it myself."
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again,
and more seriously assured her of its truth.
"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe
you," cried Jane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would -- I do con-
gratulate you -- but are you certain? forgive the question --
are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?"
"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us
already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world.
But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a
brother?"
"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or
myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as
impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough?
Oh, Lizzy! do any thing rather than marry without affection-
Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?"
"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do,
when I tell you all."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I must confess, that I love him better than I do
Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry."
"My dearest sister, now be serious. I want to talk very
seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know,
without delay. Will you tell me how long you have
loved him?"
"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know
when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first
seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
Another intreaty that she would be serious, however,
produced the desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane
by her solemn assurances of attachment. When con-
vinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing farther
to wish.
"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as
happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it
for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed
him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your husband, there
can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But
Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me.
How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley
and Lambton! I owe all that I know of it, to another, not
to you."
Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had
been unwilling to mention Bingley; and the unsettled state
of her own feelings had made her equally avoid the name of
his friend. But now she would no longer conceal from her,
his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half
the night spent in conversation.
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a
window the next morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy
is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he
mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had
no notion but he would go a shooting, or something or other,
and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with
him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may
not be in Bingley's way."
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at-so convenient
a proposal; yet was really vexed that her mother should be
always giving him such an epithet.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expres-
sively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt
of his good information; and he soon afterwards said aloud,
"Mr. Bennet," have you no more lanes hereabouts in which
Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"
"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs.
Bennet, "to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice
long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view."
"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley;
"but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Wont it, Kitty?"
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy pro-
fessed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and
Elizabeth silently consented. As she went up stairs to get
ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying,
"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have
that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not
mind it: it is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no
occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So,
do not put yourself to inconvenience."
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's con-
sent should be asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth
reserved to herself the application for her mother's. She
could not determine how her mother would take it; sometimes
doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be
enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether
she were violently set against the match, or violently delighted
with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill
adapted to do credit to her sense; and she could no more bear
that Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy, than
the first vehemence of her disapprobation.
In the evening, soon-after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the
library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her
agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her
father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy,
and that it should be through her means, that she, his favourite
child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be fill-
ing him with fears and regrets in disposing of her, was a
wretched reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy
appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved
by his smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where
she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire
her work said in a whisper "Go to your father, he wants you
in the library." She was gone directly.
Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and
anxious. "Lizzy," said he, "what are you doing? Are you out
of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always
hated him?"
How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions
had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate!
It would have spared her from explanations and professions
which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but they were
now necessary, and she assured him with some confusion, of
her attachment to Mr. Darcy.
"Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is
rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine
carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?"
"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your
belief of my indifference?"
"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasent
sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him."
"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes,
"I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly
amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not
pain me by speaking of him in such terms."
"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent.
He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare
refuse any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it
to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise
you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I
know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless
you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to
him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the
greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely
escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the
grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You
know not what you are about."
Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in
her reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr.
Darcy was really the object of her choice, by explaining the
gradual change which her estimation of him had undergone,
relating her absolute certainty that his affection was not the
work of a day, but had stood the test of many months suspense,
and numerating with energy all his good qualities, she did
conquer her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the
match.
"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have
no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not
have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy."
To complete the favourable impression, she then told him
what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard
her with astonishment.
"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did
every thing; made up the match, gave the money, paid the
fellow's debts, and got him his commission! So much the
better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had
it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him;
but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own
way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm
about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter."
He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before,
on his reading Mr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her
some time, allowed her at last to go -- saying, as she quitted
the room, "If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send
them in, for I am quite at leisure."
Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy
weight; and, after half an hour's quiet reflection in her own
room, she was able to join the others with tolerable com-
posure. Every thing was too recent for gaiety, but the evening
passed tranquilly away; there was no longer any thing material
to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would
come in time.
When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night,
she followed her, and made the important communication.
Its effect was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs.
Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was
it under many, many minutes, that she could comprehend
what she heard; though not in general backward to credit
what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the
shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover,
to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder,
and bless herself.
"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr.
Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh!
my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What
pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's
is nothing to it -- nothing at all. I am so pleased -- so happy.
Such a charming man! -- so handsome! so tall! -- Oh, my dear
Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much
before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house
in town! Every thing that is charming! Three daughters
married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become
of me. I shall go distracted."
This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be
doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was
heard only by herself, soon went away. But before she had
been three minutes in her own room, her mother followed
her.
"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else!
Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! "Tis as good as
a Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married
by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish
Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it to-
morrow."
This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to
the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found, that
though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and
secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to
be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than
she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of
her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak to
him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or
mark her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking
pains to get acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon
assured her that he was rising every hour in his esteem.
"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wick-
ham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your
husband quite as well as Jane's."
ELIZABETH'S spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she
wanted Mr. Uarcy to account for his having ever fallen in
love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can com-
prehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made
a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the
words, which layed the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in
the middle before I knew that I had begun."
"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners
-- my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the
uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to
give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me
for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very
little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of defer-
ence, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the
women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking
for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you,
because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable
you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you
took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and
just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons
who so assiduously courted you. There -- I have saved you
the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things con-
sidered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure,
you knew no actual good of me -- but nobody thinks of that
when they fall in love."
"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane,
while she was ill at Netherfield?"
"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make
a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your
protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as pos-
sible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for
teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I
shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling
to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when
you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially,
when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"
"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no
encouragement."
"But I was embarrassed."
"And so was I."
"You might have talked to me more when you came to
dinner."
"A man who had felt less, might."
"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer
to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But
I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been
left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I
had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your
kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am
afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs
from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned
the subject? This will never do."
"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be per-
fectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to
separate us, were the means of removing all my doubts. I am
not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of
expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for
any opening of your's. My Aunts intelligence had given me
hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.
"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to
make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what
did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride
to Longbourn and be embarrassed? or had you intended any
more serious consequence?"
"My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, If I could,
whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My
avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see
whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she
were, to make the confession to him which I have since
made."
"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Cathe-
rine, what is to befall her?"
"I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth.
But it ought to done, and if you will give me a sheet of
paper, it shall be done directly."
"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by
you, and admire the eveness of your writing, as another
young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not
be longer neglected."
From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy
with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet
answered Mrs. Gardiner's long letter, but now, having that
to communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she
was almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt had
already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote
as follows:
"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought
to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of parti-
culars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You sup-
posed more than really existed. But now suppose as much as
you chuse; give a loose to your fancy, indulge your imagina-
tion in every possible flight which the subject will afford, and
unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly
err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a great
deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and
again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly as
to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go
round the Park evcry day. I am the happiest creature in the
world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not
one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she
only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in
the world, that he can spare from me. You are all to come to
..
Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different
style; and still different from either, was what Mr. Bennet
sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to his last.
"DEAR SIR,
"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Eliza-
beth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady
..
stand by the nephew. He has more to give.
"Your's sincerely, &c."
Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his
approching marriage, were all that was affectionate and
insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express
her delight, and repeat all her former professions of regard.
Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and though feel-
ing no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much
kinder answer than she knew was deserved.
The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar
information, was as sir ere as her brother's in sending it.
Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight,
and all her earnest desire of being loved by her sister.
Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any
congratulations to Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn
family heard that the Collinses were come themselves to
Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon
evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly
angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte,
really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the
storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her
friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the
course of their meetings she must sometimes think the plea-
sure dearly bought, when she saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all
the parading and obsequious civility of her husband. He bore
it however with admirable calmness. He could even listen to
Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying
away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his
hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James's, with very
decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not
till Sir William was out of sight.
Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater
tax on his forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as
her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the
familiarity which Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet,
whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her
respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely
to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could, to shield
him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious
to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom
he might converse without mortification; and though the un-
comfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season
of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the
future; and she looked forward with delight to the time when
they should be removed from society so little pleasing to
either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party
at Pemberley.
HAPPY for all her maternal feelings was the day on which
Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters.
With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs.
Bingley and talked of Mrs. Darcy may be guessed. I wish I
could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment
of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her
children, produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible,
amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though
perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have
relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still
was occasionally nervous and invariably silly.
Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his
affection for her drew him oftener from home than any thing
else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially
when he was least expected.
Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a
twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton
relations was not desirable even to his easy temper, or her
affectionate heart. The darling wish of his sisters was then
gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to
Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every
other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each
other.
Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her
time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what
she had generally known, her improvement was great. She
was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia, and, removed
from the influence of Lydia's example, she became, by proper
attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and
less insipid. From the farther disadvantage of Lydia's society
she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham
frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the
promise of balls and young men, her father would never con-
sent to her going.
Mary was the only daughter who remained at home; and
she was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplish-
ments by Mrs. Bennet's being quite unable to sit alone. Mary
was obliged to mix more with the world, but she could still
moralize over every morning visit; and as she was no longer
mortified by comparisons between her sisters' beauty and her
own, it was suspected by her father that she submitted to the
change without much reluctance.
As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no
revolution from the marriage of her sisters. He bore with
philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth must now become
acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood
had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every thing,
was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be pre-
vailed on to make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which
Elizabeth received from Lydia on her marriage, explained to
her that, by his wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope was
cherished. The letter was to this effect:
MY DEAR LlZZY
"I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as
I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a
great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have
nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure
Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do
not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon
without some help. Any place would do, of about three or
four hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Mr.
Darcy about it, if you had rather not.
"Your's, &c."
As it happened that Elizabeth had much rather not, she
endeavoured in her answer to put an end to every intreaty
and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however, as it was
in her power to afford, by the practice of what might be called
economy in her own private expences, she frequently sent
them. It had always been evident to her that such an income
as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in
their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insuffi-
cient to their support; and whenever they changed their
quarters, either Jane or herself were sure of being applied to,
for some little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their
manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dis-
missed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They
were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap
situation, and always spending more than they ought. His
affection for her soon sunk into indifference; her's lasted a
little longer; and in spite of her youth and her manners, she
retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had
given her.
Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet,
for Elizabeth's sake, he assisted him farther in his profession.
Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was
gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the
Bingleys they both of them frequently staid so long, that even
Bingley's good humour was overcome, and he proceeded so
far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.
Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's mar-
riage; but as she thought it advisable to retain the right of
visiting at Pemberley, she dropt all her resentment; was
fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as attentive to Darcy
as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility to Elizabeth.
..
ment of the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see.
They were able to love each other, even as well as they
intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of
Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an astonish-
ment bordering on alarm, at her lively, sportive, manner of
talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in her-
self a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now
saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received know-
ledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's
instructions she began to comprehend that a woman may take
liberties with her husband, which a brother will not always
allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.
Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage
of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frank-
ness of her character, in her reply to the letter which announced
its arrangement, she sent him language so very abusive, especi-
ally of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an
end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed
on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after
a little farther resistance on the part of his aunt, her resent-
ment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity
to see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended
to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which
its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such
a mistress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.
With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate
terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they
were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the
persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the
means of uniting them.
FINIS