"PRIDE & PREJUDICE.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession\nof a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.\n\nHowever little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his\nfirst entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds\nof the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful\nproperty of some one or other of their daughters.\n\n\"My dear Mr. Bennet,\" said his lady to him one day, \"have you heard that\nNetherfield Park is let at last?\"\n\nMr. Bennet replied that he had not.\n\n\"But it is,\" returned she; \"for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she\ntold me all about it.\"\n\nMr. Bennet made no answer.\n\n\"Do not you want to know who has taken it?\" cried his wife impatiently.\n\n\"_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.\"\n\nThis was invitation enough.\n\n\"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken\nby a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came\ndown on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much\ndelighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is\nto take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be\nin the house by the end of next week.\"\n\n\"What is his name?\"\n\n\"Bingley.\"\n\n\"Is he married or single?\"\n\n\"Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four\nor five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!\"\n\n\"How so? how can it affect them?\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Bennet,\" replied his wife, \"how can you be so tiresome! You\nmust know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.\"\n\n\"Is that his design in settling here?\"\n\n\"Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he\n_may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as\nsoon as he comes.\"\n\n\"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send\nthem by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are\nas handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the\nparty.\"\n\n\"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but\nI do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now. When a woman has\nfive grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own\nbeauty.\"\n\n\"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.\"\n\n\"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into\nthe neighbourhood.\"\n\n\"It is more than I engage for, I assure you.\"\n\n\"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would\nbe for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go,\nmerely on that account, for in general you know they visit no new\ncomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit\nhim, if you do not.\"\n\n\"You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very\nglad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my\nhearty consent to his marrying which ever he chuses of the girls; though\nI must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.\"\n\n\"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the\nothers; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so\ngood humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the\npreference.\"\n\n\"They have none of them much to recommend them,\" replied he; \"they are\nall silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of\nquickness than her sisters.\"\n\n\"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take\ndelight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.\"\n\n\"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They\nare my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration\nthese twenty years at least.\"\n\n\"Ah! you do not know what I suffer.\"\n\n\"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four\nthousand a year come into the neighbourhood.\"\n\n\"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since you will not\nvisit them.\"\n\n\"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them\nall.\"\n\nMr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,\nreserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had\nbeen insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind\nwas less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding,\nlittle information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented she\nfancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her\ndaughters married; its solace was visiting and news.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nMr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He\nhad always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his\nwife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was\npaid, she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following\nmanner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he\nsuddenly addressed her with,\n\n\"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it Lizzy.\"\n\n\"We are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes,\" said her mother\nresentfully, \"since we are not to visit.\"\n\n\"But you forget, mama,\" said Elizabeth, \"that we shall meet him at the\nassemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.\"\n\n\"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces\nof her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion\nof her.\"\n\n\"No more have I,\" said Mr. Bennet; \"and I am glad to find that you do\nnot depend on her serving you.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but unable to contain\nherself, began scolding one of her daughters.\n\n\"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little\ncompassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.\"\n\n\"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,\" said her father; \"she times\nthem ill.\"\n\n\"I do not cough for my own amusement,\" replied Kitty fretfully.\n\n\"When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?\"\n\n\"To-morrow fortnight.\"\n\n\"Aye, so it is,\" cried her mother, \"and Mrs. Long does not come back\ntill the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him,\nfor she will not know him herself.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce\nMr. Bingley to _her_.\"\n\n\"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him\nmyself; how can you be so teazing?\"\n\n\"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly\nvery little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a\nfortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after\nall, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as\nshe will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will\ntake it on myself.\"\n\nThe girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, \"Nonsense,\nnonsense!\"\n\n\"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?\" cried he. \"Do\nyou consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on\nthem, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you,\nMary? for you are a young lady of deep reflection I know, and read great\nbooks, and make extracts.\"\n\nMary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.\n\n\"While Mary is adjusting her ideas,\" he continued, \"let us return to Mr.\nBingley.\"\n\n\"I am sick of Mr. Bingley,\" cried his wife.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear _that_; but why did not you tell me so before? If I\nhad known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on\nhim. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we\ncannot escape the acquaintance now.\"\n\nThe astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs.\nBennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy\nwas over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the\nwhile.\n\n\"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should\npersuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to\nneglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a\ngood joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said\na word about it till now.\"\n\n\"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you chuse,\" said Mr. Bennet; and,\nas he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.\n\n\"What an excellent father you have, girls,\" said she, when the door was\nshut. \"I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness;\nor me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so\npleasant I can tell you, to be making new acquaintance every day; but\nfor your sakes, we would do any thing. Lydia, my love, though you _are_\nthe youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next\nball.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Lydia stoutly, \"I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the\nyoungest, I'm the tallest.\"\n\nThe rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would\nreturn Mr. Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask him to\ndinner.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nNot all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five\ndaughters, could ask on the subject was sufficient to draw from her\nhusband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him\nin various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and\ndistant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at\nlast obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour\nLady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been\ndelighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely\nagreeable, and to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly\nwith a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of\ndancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively\nhopes of Mr. Bingley's heart were entertained.\n\n\"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,\"\nsaid Mrs. Bennet to her husband, \"and all the others equally well\nmarried, I shall have nothing to wish for.\"\n\nIn a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten\nminutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being\nadmitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard\nmuch; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more\nfortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper\nwindow, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.\n\nAn invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had\nMrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her\nhousekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley\nwas obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to\naccept the honour of their invitation, &c. Mrs. Bennet was quite\ndisconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town\nso soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that\nhe might be always flying about from one place to another, and never\nsettled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a\nlittle by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a\nlarge party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley\nwas to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly.\nThe girls grieved over such a number of ladies; but were comforted the\nday before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve, he had brought\nonly six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin. And when\nthe party entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five\naltogether; Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and\nanother young man.\n\nMr. Bingley was good looking and gentleman-like; he had a pleasant\ncountenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women,\nwith an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely\nlooked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention\nof the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien; and\nthe report which was in general circulation within five minutes after\nhis entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen\npronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was\nmuch handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great\nadmiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust\nwhich turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be\nproud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his\nlarge estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most\nforbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared\nwith his friend.\n\nMr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal\npeople in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance,\nwas angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one\nhimself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for\nthemselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced\nonly once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being\nintroduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in\nwalking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.\nHis character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in\nthe world, and every body hoped that he would never come there again.\nAmongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of\nhis general behaviour, was sharpened into particular resentment, by his\nhaving slighted one of her daughters.\n\nElizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit\ndown for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been\nstanding near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and\nMr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his\nfriend to join it.\n\n\"Come, Darcy,\" said he, \"I must have you dance. I hate to see you\nstanding about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better\ndance.\"\n\n\"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am\nparticularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it\nwould be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not\nanother woman in the room, whom it would not be a punishment to me to\nstand up with.\"\n\n\"I would not be so fastidious as you are,\" cried Bingley, \"for a\nkingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my\nlife, as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see\nuncommonly pretty.\"\n\n\"_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,\" said Mr.\nDarcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.\n\n\"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one\nof her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I\ndare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.\"\n\n\"Which do you mean?\" and turning round, he looked for a moment at\nElizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said,\n\"She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; and I am in no\nhumour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted\nby other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her\nsmiles, for you are wasting your time with me.\"\n\nMr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth\nremained with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story\nhowever with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively,\nplayful disposition, which delighted in any thing ridiculous.\n\nThe evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs.\nBennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield\nparty. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been\ndistinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this, as her\nmother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's\npleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most\naccomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been\nfortunate enough to be never without partners, which was all that they\nhad yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned therefore in good\nspirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they\nwere the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a\nbook he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a\ngood deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised\nsuch splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that all his wife's\nviews on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found that he\nhad a very different story to hear.\n\n\"Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,\" as she entered the room, \"we have had a most\ndelightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there.\nJane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Every body said how well\nshe looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with\nher twice. Only think of _that_ my dear; he actually danced with her\ntwice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second\ntime. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand\nup with her; but, however, he did not admire her at all: indeed, nobody\ncan, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going\ndown the dance. So, he enquired who she was, and got introduced, and\nasked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss\nKing, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane\nagain, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger----\"\n\n\"If he had had any compassion for _me_,\" cried her husband impatiently,\n\"he would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no more of\nhis partners. Oh! that he had sprained his ancle in the first dance!\"\n\n\"Oh! my dear,\" continued Mrs. Bennet, \"I am quite delighted with him. He\nis so excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never\nin my life saw any thing more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the\nlace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown----\"\n\nHere she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any\ndescription of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch\nof the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some\nexaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.\n\n\"But I can assure you,\" she added, \"that Lizzy does not lose much by not\nsuiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at\nall worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring\nhim! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very\ngreat! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my\ndear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nWhen Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in\nher praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much\nshe admired him.\n\n\"He is just what a young man ought to be,\" said she, \"sensible, good\nhumoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!--so much ease,\nwith such perfect good breeding!\"\n\n\"He is also handsome,\" replied Elizabeth, \"which a young man ought\nlikewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.\"\n\n\"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I\ndid not expect such a compliment.\"\n\n\"Did not you? _I_ did for you. But that is one great difference between\nus. Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What\ncould be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help\nseeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in\nthe room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is\nvery agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a\nstupider person.\"\n\n\"Dear Lizzy!\"\n\n\"Oh! you are a great deal too apt you know, to like people in general.\nYou never see a fault in any body. All the world are good and agreeable\nin your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life.\"\n\n\"I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I always speak\nwhat I think.\"\n\n\"I know you do; and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_\ngood sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of\nothers! Affectation of candour is common enough;--one meets it every\nwhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design--to take the good\nof every body's character and make it still better, and say nothing of\nthe bad--belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man's sisters too,\ndo you? Their manners are not equal to his.\"\n\n\"Certainly not; at first. But they are very pleasing women when you\nconverse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep\nhis house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming\nneighbour in her.\"\n\nElizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced; their behaviour at\nthe assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more\nquickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and\nwith a judgment too unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very\nlittle disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine ladies; not\ndeficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of\nbeing agreeable where they chose it; but proud and conceited. They were\nrather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private\nseminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the\nhabit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people\nof rank; and were therefore in every respect entitled to think well of\nthemselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in\nthe north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their\nmemories than that their brother's fortune and their own had been\nacquired by trade.\n\nMr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly an hundred\nthousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate,\nbut did not live to do it.--Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and\nsometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a\ngood house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those\nwho best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the\nremainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to\npurchase.\n\nHis sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but\nthough he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no\nmeans unwilling to preside at his table, nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had\nmarried a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider\nhis house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of\nage two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to\nlook at Netherfield House. He did look at it and into it for half an\nhour, was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied\nwith what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.\n\nBetween him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a\ngreat opposition of character.--Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the\neasiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could\noffer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never\nappeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard Bingley had the\nfirmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In\nunderstanding Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient,\nbut Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and\nfastidious, and his manners, though well bred, were not inviting. In\nthat respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of\nbeing liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offence.\n\nThe manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently\ncharacteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier\ngirls in his life; every body had been most kind and attentive to him,\nthere had been no formality, no stiffness, he had soon felt acquainted\nwith all the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel\nmore beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people\nin whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had\nfelt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or\npleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too\nmuch.\n\nMrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so--but still they admired\nher and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom\nthey should not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore\nestablished as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorised by such\ncommendation to think of her as he chose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nWithin a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets\nwere particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade\nin Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune and risen to the\nhonour of knighthood by an address to the King, during his mayoralty.\nThe distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a\ndisgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town; and\nquitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a\nmile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he\ncould think with pleasure of his own importance, and unshackled by\nbusiness, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For\nthough elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the\ncontrary, he was all attention to every body. By nature inoffensive,\nfriendly and obliging, his presentation at St. James's had made him\ncourteous.\n\nLady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a\nvaluable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet.--They had several children. The\neldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven,\nwas Elizabeth's intimate friend.\n\nThat the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a\nball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly\nbrought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.\n\n\"_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte,\" said Mrs. Bennet with civil\nself-command to Miss Lucas. \"_You_ were Mr. Bingley's first choice.\"\n\n\"Yes;--but he seemed to like his second better.\"\n\n\"Oh!--you mean Jane, I suppose--because he danced with her twice. To be\nsure that _did_ seem as if he admired her--indeed I rather believe he\n_did_--I heard something about it--but I hardly know what--something\nabout Mr. Robinson.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not\nI mention it to you? Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton\nassemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty\nwomen in the room, and _which_ he thought the prettiest? and his\nanswering immediately to the last question--Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet\nbeyond a doubt, there cannot be two opinions on that point.\"\n\n\"Upon my word!--Well, that was very decided indeed--that does seem as\nif----but however, it may all come to nothing you know.\"\n\n\"_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza,\" said\nCharlotte. \"Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend,\nis he?--Poor Eliza!--to be only just _tolerable_.\"\n\n\"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed by his\nill-treatment; for he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite\na misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he\nsat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.\"\n\n\"Are you quite sure, Ma'am?--is not there a little mistake?\" said\nJane.--\"I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.\"\n\n\"Aye--because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he\ncould not help answering her;--but she said he seemed very angry at\nbeing spoke to.\"\n\n\"Miss Bingley told me,\" said Jane, \"that he never speaks much unless\namong his intimate acquaintance. With _them_ he is remarkably\nagreeable.\"\n\n\"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very\nagreeable he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was;\nevery body says that he is ate up with pride, and I dare say he had\nheard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to\nthe ball in a hack chaise.\"\n\n\"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,\" said Miss Lucas, \"but I\nwish he had danced with Eliza.\"\n\n\"Another time, Lizzy,\" said her mother, \"I would not dance with _him_,\nif I were you.\"\n\n\"I believe, Ma'am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him.\"\n\n\"His pride,\" said Miss Lucas, \"does not offend _me_ so much as pride\noften does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so\nvery fine a young man, with family, fortune, every thing in his favour,\nshould think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a _right_\nto be proud.\"\n\n\"That is very true,\" replied Elizabeth, \"and I could easily forgive\n_his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_.\"\n\n\"Pride,\" observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her\nreflections, \"is a very common failing I believe. By all that I have\never read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human\nnature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us\nwho do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some\nquality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different\nthings, though the words are often used synonimously. A person may be\nproud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of\nourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.\"\n\n\"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,\" cried a young Lucas who came with his\nsisters, \"I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of\nfoxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.\"\n\n\"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,\" said Mrs.\nBennet; \"and if I were to see you at it I should take away your bottle\ndirectly.\"\n\nThe boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she\nwould, and the argument ended only with the visit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nThe ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit\nwas returned in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew on the\ngood will of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was\nfound to be intolerable and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a\nwish of being better acquainted with _them_, was expressed towards the\ntwo eldest. By Jane this attention was received with the greatest\npleasure; but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of\nevery body, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them;\nthough their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value as arising in\nall probability from the influence of their brother's admiration. It was\ngenerally evident whenever they met, that he _did_ admire her; and to\n_her_ it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference\nwhich she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a\nway to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it\nwas not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane\nunited with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a\nuniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the\nsuspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss\nLucas.\n\n\"It may perhaps be pleasant,\" replied Charlotte, \"to be able to impose\non the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be\nso very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill\nfrom the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and\nit will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the\ndark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every\nattachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all\n_begin_ freely--a slight preference is natural enough; but there are\nvery few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without\nencouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better shew _more_\naffection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he\nmay never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.\"\n\n\"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If _I_ can\nperceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton indeed not to\ndiscover it too.\"\n\n\"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do.\"\n\n\"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal\nit, he must find it out.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane\nmeet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they\nalways see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that\nevery moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should\ntherefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his\nattention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling\nin love as much as she chuses.\"\n\n\"Your plan is a good one,\" replied Elizabeth, \"where nothing is in\nquestion but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined\nto get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But\nthese are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she\ncannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its\nreasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four\ndances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house,\nand has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite\nenough to make her understand his character.\"\n\n\"Not as you represent it. Had she merely _dined_ with him, she might\nonly have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must\nremember that four evenings have been also spent together--and four\nevenings may do a great deal.\"\n\n\"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both\nlike Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other\nleading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Charlotte, \"I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if\nshe were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a\nchance of happiness, as if she were to be studying his character for a\ntwelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If\nthe dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or\never so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the\nleast. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to\nhave their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as\npossible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your\nlife.\"\n\n\"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not\nsound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.\"\n\nOccupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth\nwas far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some\ninterest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely\nallowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the\nball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no\nsooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had\nhardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered\nuncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To\nthis discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had\ndetected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry\nin her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and\npleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those\nof the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of\nthis she was perfectly unaware;--to her he was only the man who made\nhimself agreeable no where, and who had not thought her handsome enough\nto dance with.\n\nHe began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing\nwith her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so\ndrew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party were\nassembled.\n\n\"What does Mr. Darcy mean,\" said she to Charlotte, \"by listening to my\nconversation with Colonel Forster?\"\n\n\"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.\"\n\n\"But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see\nwhat he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by\nbeing impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.\"\n\nOn his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have\nany intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such\na subject to him, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she\nturned to him and said,\n\n\"Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well\njust now, when I was teazing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at\nMeryton?\"\n\n\"With great energy;--but it is a subject which always makes a lady\nenergetic.\"\n\n\"You are severe on us.\"\n\n\"It will be _her_ turn soon to be teazed,\" said Miss Lucas. \"I am going\nto open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.\"\n\n\"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!--always wanting me\nto play and sing before any body and every body!--If my vanity had taken\na musical turn, you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would\nreally rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of\nhearing the very best performers.\" On Miss Lucas's persevering, however,\nshe added, \"Very well; if it must be so, it must.\" And gravely glancing\nat Mr. Darcy, \"There is a fine old saying, which every body here is of\ncourse familiar with--'Keep your breath to cool your porridge,'--and I\nshall keep mine to swell my song.\"\n\nHer performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song\nor two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she\nwould sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her\nsister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in\nthe family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always\nimpatient for display.\n\nMary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her\napplication, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited\nmanner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she\nhad reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with\nmuch more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the\nend of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by\nScotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who with\nsome of the Lucases and two or three officers joined eagerly in dancing\nat one end of the room.\n\nMr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of\npassing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too\nmuch engrossed by his own thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas\nwas his neighbour, till Sir William thus began.\n\n\"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy!--There\nis nothing like dancing after all.--I consider it as one of the first\nrefinements of polished societies.\"\n\n\"Certainly, Sir;--and it has the advantage also of being in vogue\namongst the less polished societies of the world.--Every savage can\ndance.\"\n\nSir William only smiled. \"Your friend performs delightfully;\" he\ncontinued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group;--\"and I doubt\nnot that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.\"\n\n\"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, Sir.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do\nyou often dance at St. James's?\"\n\n\"Never, sir.\"\n\n\"Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?\"\n\n\"It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.\"\n\n\"You have a house in town, I conclude?\"\n\nMr. Darcy bowed.\n\n\"I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself--for I am fond of\nsuperior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of\nLondon would agree with Lady Lucas.\"\n\nHe paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to\nmake any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was\nstruck with the notion of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to\nher,\n\n\"My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing?--Mr. Darcy, you must allow\nme to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner.--You\ncannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.\"\nAnd taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though\nextremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly\ndrew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William,\n\n\"Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.--I entreat you\nnot to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.\"\n\nMr. Darcy with grave propriety requested to be allowed the honour of her\nhand; but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all\nshake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.\n\n\"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me\nthe happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the\namusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us\nfor one half hour.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darcy is all politeness,\" said Elizabeth, smiling.\n\n\"He is indeed--but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we\ncannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a\npartner?\"\n\nElizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not\ninjured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some\ncomplacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley,\n\n\"I can guess the subject of your reverie.\"\n\n\"I should imagine not.\"\n\n\"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings\nin this manner--in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion.\nI was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the\nnothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people!--What would\nI give to hear your strictures on them!\"\n\n\"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more\nagreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure\nwhich a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.\"\n\nMiss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he\nwould tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.\nMr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity,\n\n\"Miss Elizabeth Bennet.\"\n\n\"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!\" repeated Miss Bingley. \"I am all astonishment.\nHow long has she been such a favourite?--and pray when am I to wish you\njoy?\"\n\n\"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's\nimagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love\nto matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.\"\n\n\"Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as\nabsolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and\nof course she will be always at Pemberley with you.\"\n\nHe listened to her with perfect indifference, while she chose to\nentertain herself in this manner, and as his composure convinced her\nthat all was safe, her wit flowed long.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nMr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two\nthousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed in\ndefault of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother's\nfortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply\nthe deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and\nhad left her four thousand pounds.\n\nShe had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, who had been a clerk to their\nfather, and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in\nLondon in a respectable line of trade.\n\nThe village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most\nconvenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted\nthither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt and\nto a milliner's shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family,\nCatherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions;\ntheir minds were more vacant than their sisters', and when nothing\nbetter offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning\nhours and furnish conversation for the evening; and however bare of news\nthe country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some\nfrom their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both with\nnews and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the\nneighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the\nhead quarters.\n\nTheir visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting\nintelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the\nofficers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret,\nand at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips\nvisited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity\nunknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.\nBingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their\nmother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of\nan ensign.\n\nAfter listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.\nBennet coolly observed,\n\n\"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two\nof the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but\nI am now convinced.\"\n\nCatherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect\nindifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and\nher hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the\nnext morning to London.\n\n\"I am astonished, my dear,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"that you should be so\nready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly\nof any body's children, it should not be of my own however.\"\n\n\"If my children are silly I must hope to be always sensible of it.\"\n\n\"Yes--but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.\"\n\n\"This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I\nhad hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must\nso far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly\nfoolish.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of\ntheir father and mother.--When they get to our age I dare say they will\nnot think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I\nliked a red coat myself very well--and indeed so I do still at my heart;\nand if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should\nwant one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel\nForster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William's in his\nregimentals.\"\n\n\"Mama,\" cried Lydia, \"my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain\nCarter do not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did when they first\ncame; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke's library.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a\nnote for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited\nfor an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was\neagerly calling out, while her daughter read,\n\n\"Well, Jane, who is it from? what is it about? what does he say? Well,\nJane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.\"\n\n\"It is from Miss Bingley,\" said Jane, and then read it aloud.\n\n     \"My dear Friend,\n\n     \"If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and\n     me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our\n     lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never\n     end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of\n     this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.\n     Yours ever,\n\n     \"CAROLINE BINGLEY.\"\n\n\"With the officers!\" cried Lydia. \"I wonder my aunt did not tell us of\n_that_.\"\n\n\"Dining out,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"that is very unlucky.\"\n\n\"Can I have the carriage?\" said Jane.\n\n\"No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to\nrain; and then you must stay all night.\"\n\n\"That would be a good scheme,\" said Elizabeth, \"if you were sure that\nthey would not offer to send her home.\"\n\n\"Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton;\nand the Hursts have no horses to theirs.\"\n\n\"I had much rather go in the coach.\"\n\n\"But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are\nwanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?\"\n\n\"They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.\"\n\n\"But if you have got them to-day,\" said Elizabeth, \"my mother's purpose\nwill be answered.\"\n\nShe did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses\nwere engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her\nmother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad\nday. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it\nrained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was\ndelighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;\nJane certainly could not come back.\n\n\"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!\" said Mrs. Bennet, more than\nonce, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next\nmorning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her\ncontrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield\nbrought the following note for Elizabeth:\n\n     \"My dearest Lizzy,\n\n     \"I FIND myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be\n     imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will\n     not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on\n     my seeing Mr. Jones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear\n     of his having been to me--and excepting a sore-throat and head-ache\n     there is not much the matter with me.\n\n     \"Yours, &c.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note\naloud, \"if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness, if she\nshould die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of\nMr. Bingley, and under your orders.\"\n\n\"Oh! I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little\ntrifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays\nthere, it is all very well. I would go and see her, if I could have the\ncarriage.\"\n\nElizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though\nthe carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horse-woman, walking\nwas her only alternative. She declared her resolution.\n\n\"How can you be so silly,\" cried her mother, \"as to think of such a\nthing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get\nthere.\"\n\n\"I shall be very fit to see Jane--which is all I want.\"\n\n\"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,\" said her father, \"to send for the\nhorses?\"\n\n\"No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing,\nwhen one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.\"\n\n\"I admire the activity of your benevolence,\" observed Mary, \"but every\nimpulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion,\nexertion should always be in proportion to what is required.\"\n\n\"We will go as far as Meryton with you,\" said Catherine and\nLydia.--Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set\noff together.\n\n\"If we make haste,\" said Lydia, as they walked along, \"perhaps we may\nsee something of Captain Carter before he goes.\"\n\nIn Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one\nof the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing\nfield after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing\nover puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself at last within\nview of the house, with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face\nglowing with the warmth of exercise.\n\nShe was shewn into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were\nassembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of\nsurprise.--That she should have walked three miles so early in the day,\nin such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs.\nHurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her\nin contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them;\nand in their brother's manners there was something better than\npoliteness; there was good humour and kindness.--Mr. Darcy said very\nlittle, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between\nadmiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion,\nand doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. The\nlatter was thinking only of his breakfast.\n\nHer enquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss\nBennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish and not well\nenough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her\nimmediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving\nalarm or inconvenience, from expressing in her note how much she longed\nfor such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,\nhowever, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them together,\ncould attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the\nextraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended\nher.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth\nbegan to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and\nsolicitude they shewed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having\nexamined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a\nviolent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it;\nadvised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice\nwas followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head\nached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were\nthe other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact\nnothing to do elsewhere.\n\nWhen the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go; and very\nunwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only\nwanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern\nin parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer\nof the chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the\npresent. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was\ndispatched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay, and bring\nback a supply of clothes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nAt five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six\nElizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil enquiries which then\npoured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the\nmuch superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very\nfavourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing\nthis, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how\nshocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked\nbeing ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their\nindifference towards Jane when not immediately before them, restored\nElizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.\n\nTheir brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could\nregard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his\nattentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling\nherself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the\nothers. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was\nengrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.\nHurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to\neat, drink, and play at cards, who when he found her prefer a plain dish\nto a ragout, had nothing to say to her.\n\nWhen dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley\nbegan abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were\npronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence;\nshe had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst\nthought the same, and added,\n\n\"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent\nwalker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really\nlooked almost wild.\"\n\n\"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very\nnonsensical to come at all! Why must _she_ be scampering about the\ncountry, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!\"\n\n\"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep\nin mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to\nhide it, not doing its office.\"\n\n\"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,\" said Bingley; \"but this was\nall lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably\nwell, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat\nquite escaped my notice.\"\n\n\"_You_ observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,\" said Miss Bingley; \"and I am\ninclined to think that you would not wish to see _your sister_ make such\nan exhibition.\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,\nabove her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by\nit? It seems to me to shew an abominable sort of conceited independence,\na most country town indifference to decorum.\"\n\n\"It shews an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,\" said\nBingley.\n\n\"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,\" observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper,\n\"that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine\neyes.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he replied; \"they were brightened by the exercise.\"--A\nshort pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again.\n\n\"I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet\ngirl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such\na father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no\nchance of it.\"\n\n\"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in\nMeryton.\"\n\n\"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.\"\n\n\"That is capital,\" added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.\n\n\"If they had uncles enough to fill _all_ Cheapside,\" cried Bingley, \"it\nwould not make them one jot less agreeable.\"\n\n\"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any\nconsideration in the world,\" replied Darcy.\n\nTo this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their\nhearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of\ntheir dear friend's vulgar relations.\n\nWith a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on\nleaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee.\nShe was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till\nlate in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and\nwhen it appeared to her rather right than pleasant that she should go\ndown stairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole\nparty at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting\nthem to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the\nexcuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay\nbelow with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.\n\n\"Do you prefer reading to cards?\" said he; \"that is rather singular.\"\n\n\"Miss Eliza Bennet,\" said Miss Bingley, \"despises cards. She is a great\nreader and has no pleasure in anything else.\"\n\n\"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,\" cried Elizabeth; \"I am\n_not_ a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.\"\n\n\"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,\" said Bingley; \"and\nI hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.\"\n\nElizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table\nwhere a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her\nothers; all that his library afforded.\n\n\"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own\ncredit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more\nthan I ever look into.\"\n\nElizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those\nin the room.\n\n\"I am astonished,\" said Miss Bingley, \"that my father should have left\nso small a collection of books.--What a delightful library you have at\nPemberley, Mr. Darcy!\"\n\n\"It ought to be good,\" he replied, \"it has been the work of many\ngenerations.\"\n\n\"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying\nbooks.\"\n\n\"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as\nthese.\"\n\n\"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of\nthat noble place. Charles, when you build _your_ house, I wish it may be\nhalf as delightful as Pemberley.\"\n\n\"I wish it may.\"\n\n\"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that\nneighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a\nfiner county in England than Derbyshire.\"\n\n\"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.\"\n\n\"I am talking of possibilities, Charles.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get\nPemberley by purchase than by imitation.\"\n\nElizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave her very little\nattention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near\nthe card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest\nsister, to observe the game.\n\n\"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?\" said Miss Bingley; \"will\nshe be as tall as I am?\"\n\n\"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or\nrather taller.\"\n\n\"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me\nso much. Such a countenance, such manners! and so extremely\naccomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is\nexquisite.\"\n\n\"It is amazing to me,\" said Bingley, \"how young ladies can have patience\nto be so very accomplished, as they all are.\"\n\n\"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover skreens and net\npurses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I\nnever heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being\ninformed that she was very accomplished.\"\n\n\"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,\" said Darcy, \"has\ntoo much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no\notherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a skreen. But I am very\nfar from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I\ncannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my\nacquaintance, that are really accomplished.\"\n\n\"Nor I, I am sure,\" said Miss Bingley.\n\n\"Then,\" observed Elizabeth, \"you must comprehend a great deal in your\nidea of an accomplished woman.\"\n\n\"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.\"\n\n\"Oh! certainly,\" cried his faithful assistant, \"no one can be really\nesteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met\nwith. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing,\ndancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all\nthis, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of\nwalking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word\nwill be but half deserved.\"\n\n\"All this she must possess,\" added Darcy, \"and to all this she must yet\nadd something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by\nextensive reading.\"\n\n\"I am no longer surprised at your knowing _only_ six accomplished women.\nI rather wonder now at your knowing _any_.\"\n\n\"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all\nthis?\"\n\n\"_I_ never saw such a woman. _I_ never saw such capacity, and taste, and\napplication, and elegance, as you describe, united.\"\n\nMrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her\nimplied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who\nanswered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with\nbitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all\nconversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the\nroom.\n\n\"Eliza Bennet,\" said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, \"is\none of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other\nsex, by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it\nsucceeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed,\n\"there is meanness in _all_ the arts which ladies sometimes condescend\nto employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is\ndespicable.\"\n\nMiss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to\ncontinue the subject.\n\nElizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and\nthat she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones's being sent for\nimmediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could\nbe of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most\neminent physicians. This, she would not hear of; but she was not so\nunwilling to comply with their brother's proposal; and it was settled\nthat Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet\nwere not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters\ndeclared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness,\nhowever, by duets after supper, while he could find no better relief to\nhis feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every\npossible attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nElizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the\nmorning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the\nenquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid,\nand some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his\nsisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a\nnote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her\nown judgment of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and\nits contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her\ntwo youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.\n\nHad she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been\nvery miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was\nnot alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her\nrestoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She\nwould not listen therefore to her daughter's proposal of being carried\nhome; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think\nit at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss\nBingley's appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all\nattended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes\nthat Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.\n\n\"Indeed I have, Sir,\" was her answer. \"She is a great deal too ill to be\nmoved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass\na little longer on your kindness.\"\n\n\"Removed!\" cried Bingley. \"It must not be thought of. My sister, I am\nsure, will not hear of her removal.\"\n\n\"You may depend upon it, Madam,\" said Miss Bingley, with cold civility,\n\"that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she\nremains with us.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.\n\n\"I am sure,\" she added, \"if it was not for such good friends I do not\nknow what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a\nvast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is\nalways the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest\ntemper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to\n_her_. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect\nover that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is\nequal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I\nhope, though you have but a short lease.\"\n\n\"Whatever I do is done in a hurry,\" replied he; \"and therefore if I\nshould resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five\nminutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"You begin to comprehend me, do you?\" cried he, turning towards her.\n\n\"Oh! yes--I understand you perfectly.\"\n\n\"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen\nthrough I am afraid is pitiful.\"\n\n\"That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep,\nintricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.\"\n\n\"Lizzy,\" cried her mother, \"remember where you are, and do not run on in\nthe wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.\"\n\n\"I did not know before,\" continued Bingley immediately, \"that you were a\nstudier of character. It must be an amusing study.\"\n\n\"Yes; but intricate characters are the _most_ amusing. They have at\nleast that advantage.\"\n\n\"The country,\" said Darcy, \"can in general supply but few subjects for\nsuch a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined\nand unvarying society.\"\n\n\"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be\nobserved in them for ever.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a\ncountry neighbourhood. \"I assure you there is quite as much of _that_\ngoing on in the country as in town.\"\n\nEvery body was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment,\nturned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete\nvictory over him, continued her triumph.\n\n\"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for\nmy part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal\npleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?\"\n\n\"When I am in the country,\" he replied, \"I never wish to leave it; and\nwhen I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their\nadvantages, and I can be equally happy in either.\"\n\n\"Aye--that is because you have the right disposition. But that\ngentleman,\" looking at Darcy, \"seemed to think the country was nothing\nat all.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,\" said Elizabeth, blushing for her\nmother. \"You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there were not\nsuch a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which\nyou must acknowledge to be true.\"\n\n\"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with\nmany people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few\nneighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.\"\n\nNothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his\ncountenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards\nMr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of\nsaying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if\nCharlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since _her_ coming away.\n\n\"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir\nWilliam is, Mr. Bingley--is not he? so much the man of fashion! so\ngenteel and so easy!--He has always something to say to every\nbody.--_That_ is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy\nthemselves very important and never open their mouths, quite mistake the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"Did Charlotte dine with you?\"\n\n\"No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince pies. For\nmy part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants that can do their own\nwork; _my_ daughters are brought up differently. But every body is to\njudge for themselves, and the Lucases are very good sort of girls, I\nassure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that _I_ think\nCharlotte so _very_ plain--but then she is our particular friend.\"\n\n\"She seems a very pleasant young woman,\" said Bingley.\n\n\"Oh! dear, yes;--but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself\nhas often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast\nof my own child, but to be sure, Jane--one does not often see any body\nbetter looking. It is what every body says. I do not trust my own\npartiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my\nbrother Gardiner's in town, so much in love with her, that my\nsister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away.\nBut however he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he\nwrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.\"\n\n\"And so ended his affection,\" said Elizabeth impatiently. \"There has\nbeen many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first\ndiscovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!\"\n\n\"I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,\" said Darcy.\n\n\"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is\nstrong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I\nam convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.\"\n\nDarcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth\ntremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to\nspeak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs.\nBennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to\nJane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was\nunaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be\ncivil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part\nindeed without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and\nsoon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of\nher daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to\neach other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that the\nyoungest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming\ninto the country to give a ball at Netherfield.\n\nLydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion\nand good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose\naffection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high\nanimal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the\nattentions of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners and her own\neasy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very\nequal therefore to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and\nabruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most\nshameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to this\nsudden attack was delightful to their mother's ear.\n\n\"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and when\nyour sister is recovered, you shall if you please name the very day of\nthe ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.\"\n\nLydia declared herself satisfied. \"Oh! yes--it would be much better to\nwait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter\nwould be at Meryton again. And when you have given _your_ ball,\" she\nadded, \"I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel\nForster it will be quite a shame if he does not.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned\ninstantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations' behaviour to the\nremarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however,\ncould not be prevailed on to join in their censure of _her_, in spite of\nall Miss Bingley's witticisms on _fine eyes_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss\nBingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who\ncontinued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined\ntheir party in the drawing-room. The loo table, however, did not appear.\nMr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching\nthe progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by\nmessages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and\nMrs. Hurst was observing their game.\n\nElizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in\nattending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual\ncommendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness\nof his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern\nwith which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was\nexactly in unison with her opinion of each.\n\n\"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!\"\n\nHe made no answer.\n\n\"You write uncommonly fast.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.\"\n\n\"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the\nyear! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!\"\n\n\"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.\"\n\n\"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.\"\n\n\"I have already told her so once, by your desire.\"\n\n\"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend\npens remarkably well.\"\n\n\"Thank you--but I always mend my own.\"\n\n\"How can you contrive to write so even?\"\n\nHe was silent.\n\n\"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp,\nand pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful\nlittle design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss\nGrantley's.\"\n\n\"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again?--At\npresent I have not room to do them justice.\"\n\n\"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you\nalways write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?\"\n\n\"They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me\nto determine.\"\n\n\"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with\nease, cannot write ill.\"\n\n\"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,\" cried her\nbrother--\"because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too much for\nwords of four syllables.--Do not you, Darcy?\"\n\n\"My style of writing is very different from yours.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Miss Bingley, \"Charles writes in the most careless way\nimaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.\"\n\n\"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them--by which\nmeans my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.\"\n\n\"Your humility, Mr. Bingley,\" said Elizabeth, \"must disarm reproof.\"\n\n\"Nothing is more deceitful,\" said Darcy, \"than the appearance of\nhumility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an\nindirect boast.\"\n\n\"And which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of modesty?\"\n\n\"The indirect boast;--for you are really proud of your defects in\nwriting, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of\nthought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think\nat least highly interesting. The power of doing any thing with\nquickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any\nattention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs.\nBennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield\nyou should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of\npanegyric, of compliment to yourself--and yet what is there so very\nlaudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business\nundone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried Bingley, \"this is too much, to remember at night all the\nfoolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I\nbelieved what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this\nmoment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless\nprecipitance merely to shew off before the ladies.\"\n\n\"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you\nwould be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as\ndependant on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were\nmounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay\ntill next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not\ngo--and, at another word, might stay a month.\"\n\n\"You have only proved by this,\" cried Elizabeth, \"that Mr. Bingley did\nnot do justice to his own disposition. You have shewn him off now much\nmore than he did himself.\"\n\n\"I am exceedingly gratified,\" said Bingley, \"by your converting what my\nfriend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am\nafraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means\nintend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a\ncircumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I\ncould.\"\n\n\"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention\nas atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?\"\n\n\"Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter, Darcy must speak for\nhimself.\"\n\n\"You expect me to account for opinions which you chuse to call mine, but\nwhich I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand\naccording to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that\nthe friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the\ndelay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one\nargument in favour of its propriety.\"\n\n\"To yield readily--easily--to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no merit\nwith you.\"\n\n\"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of\neither.\"\n\n\"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of\nfriendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make\none readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason\none into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have\nsupposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the\ncircumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour\nthereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend,\nwhere one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no\nvery great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying\nwith the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?\"\n\n\"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange\nwith rather more precision the degree of importance which is to\nappertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting\nbetween the parties?\"\n\n\"By all means,\" cried Bingley; \"let us hear all the particulars, not\nforgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more\nweight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure\nyou that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with\nmyself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not\nknow a more aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in\nparticular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening\nwhen he has nothing to do.\"\n\nMr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was\nrather offended; and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly\nresented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her\nbrother for talking such nonsense.\n\n\"I see your design, Bingley,\" said his friend.--\"You dislike an\nargument, and want to silence this.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss\nBennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very\nthankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.\"\n\n\"What you ask,\" said Elizabeth, \"is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr.\nDarcy had much better finish his letter.\"\n\nMr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.\n\nWhen that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth\nfor the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to\nthe piano-forte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead\nthe way, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she\nseated herself.\n\nMrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed\nElizabeth could not help observing as she turned over some music books\nthat lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed\non her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of\nadmiration to so great a man; and yet that he should look at her because\nhe disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine however\nat last, that she drew his notice because there was a something about\nher more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than\nin any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked\nhim too little to care for his approbation.\n\nAfter playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a\nlively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near\nElizabeth, said to her--\n\n\"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an\nopportunity of dancing a reel?\"\n\nShe smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some\nsurprise at her silence.\n\n\"Oh!\" said she, \"I heard you before; but I could not immediately\ndetermine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes,'\nthat you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always\ndelight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of\ntheir premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell\nyou, that I do not want to dance a reel at all--and now despise me if\nyou dare.\"\n\n\"Indeed I do not dare.\"\n\nElizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his\ngallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her\nmanner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy had\nnever been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really\nbelieved, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he\nshould be in some danger.\n\nMiss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great\nanxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane, received some\nassistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.\n\nShe often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of\ntheir supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.\n\n\"I hope,\" said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the\nnext day, \"you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this\ndesirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue;\nand if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after\nthe officers.--And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to\ncheck that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence,\nwhich your lady possesses.\"\n\n\"Have you any thing else to propose for my domestic felicity?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes.--Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be\nplaced in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle\nthe judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different\nlines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it\ntaken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?\"\n\n\"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their\ncolour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be\ncopied.\"\n\nAt that moment they were met from another walk, by Mrs. Hurst and\nElizabeth herself.\n\n\"I did not know that you intended to walk,\" said Miss Bingley, in some\nconfusion, lest they had been overheard.\n\n\"You used us abominably ill,\" answered Mrs. Hurst, \"in running away\nwithout telling us that you were coming out.\"\n\nThen taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk\nby herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness\nand immediately said,--\n\n\"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the\navenue.\"\n\nBut Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them,\nlaughingly answered,\n\n\"No, no; stay where you are.--You are charmingly group'd, and appear to\nuncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a\nfourth. Good bye.\"\n\nShe then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the hope of\nbeing at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered\nas to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nWhen the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister,\nand seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the\ndrawing-room; where she was welcomed by her two friends with many\nprofessions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable\nas they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared.\nTheir powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an\nentertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh\nat their acquaintance with spirit.\n\nBut when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object.\nMiss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had\nsomething to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed\nhimself directly to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst\nalso made her a slight bow, and said he was \"very glad;\" but diffuseness\nand warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and\nattention. The first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she\nshould suffer from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to\nthe other side of the fire-place, that she might be farther from the\ndoor. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to any one else.\nElizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great\ndelight.\n\nWhen tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the\ncard-table--but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr.\nDarcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open\npetition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the\nsilence of the whole party on the subject, seemed to justify her. Mr.\nHurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the\nsophas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same;\nand Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and\nrings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with Miss\nBennet.\n\nMiss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr.\nDarcy's progress through _his_ book, as in reading her own; and she was\nperpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She\ncould not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her\nquestion, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be\namused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the\nsecond volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, \"How pleasant it\nis to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no\nenjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a\nbook!--When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not\nan excellent library.\"\n\nNo one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and\ncast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement; when hearing\nher brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly\ntowards him and said,\n\n\"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at\nNetherfield?--I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult\nthe wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not\nsome among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a\npleasure.\"\n\n\"If you mean Darcy,\" cried her brother, \"he may go to bed, if he chuses,\nbefore it begins--but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and\nas soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my\ncards.\"\n\n\"I should like balls infinitely better,\" she replied, \"if they were\ncarried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably\ntedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much\nmore rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the\nday.\"\n\n\"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be\nnear so much like a ball.\"\n\nMiss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got up and walked about\nthe room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well;--but Darcy, at\nwhom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation\nof her feelings she resolved on one effort more; and, turning to\nElizabeth, said,\n\n\"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a\nturn about the room.--I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting\nso long in one attitude.\"\n\nElizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley\nsucceeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy looked\nup. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as\nElizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was\ndirectly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing,\nthat he could imagine but two motives for their chusing to walk up and\ndown the room together, with either of which motives his joining them\nwould interfere. \"What could he mean? she was dying to know what could\nbe his meaning\"--and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand\nhim?\n\n\"Not at all,\" was her answer; \"but depend upon it, he means to be severe\non us, and our surest way of disappointing him, will be to ask nothing\nabout it.\"\n\nMiss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in any\nthing, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two\nmotives.\n\n\"I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,\" said he, as soon\nas she allowed him to speak. \"You either chuse this method of passing\nthe evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret\naffairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures\nappear to the greatest advantage in walking;--if the first, I should be\ncompletely in your way;--and if the second, I can admire you much better\nas I sit by the fire.\"\n\n\"Oh! shocking!\" cried Miss Bingley. \"I never heard any thing so\nabominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?\"\n\n\"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,\" said Elizabeth. \"We\ncan all plague and punish one another. Teaze him--laugh at\nhim.--Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.\"\n\n\"But upon my honour I do _not_. I do assure you that my intimacy has not\nyet taught me _that_. Teaze calmness of temper and presence of mind! No,\nno--I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose\nourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr.\nDarcy may hug himself.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!\" cried Elizabeth. \"That is an\nuncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would\nbe a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a\nlaugh.\"\n\n\"Miss Bingley,\" said he, \"has given me credit for more than can be. The\nwisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions,\nmay be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a\njoke.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Elizabeth--\"there are such people, but I hope I am\nnot one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies\nand nonsense, whims and inconsistencies _do_ divert me, I own, and I\nlaugh at them whenever I can.--But these, I suppose, are precisely what\nyou are without.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of\nmy life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong\nunderstanding to ridicule.\"\n\n\"Such as vanity and pride.\"\n\n\"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride--where there is a real\nsuperiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.\"\n\nElizabeth turned away to hide a smile.\n\n\"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,\" said Miss\nBingley;--\"and pray what is the result?\"\n\n\"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it\nhimself without disguise.\"\n\n\"No\"--said Darcy, \"I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough,\nbut they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch\nfor.--It is I believe too little yielding--certainly too little for the\nconvenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of\nothers so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My\nfeelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper\nwould perhaps be called resentful.--My good opinion once lost is lost\nfor ever.\"\n\n\"_That_ is a failing indeed!\"--cried Elizabeth. \"Implacable resentment\n_is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well.--I\nreally cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me.\"\n\n\"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular\nevil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.\"\n\n\"And _your_ defect is a propensity to hate every body.\"\n\n\"And yours,\" he replied with a smile, \"is wilfully to misunderstand\nthem.\"\n\n\"Do let us have a little music,\"--cried Miss Bingley, tired of a\nconversation in which she had no share.--\"Louisa, you will not mind my\nwaking Mr. Hurst.\"\n\nHer sister made not the smallest objection, and the piano-forte was\nopened, and Darcy, after a few moments recollection, was not sorry for\nit. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nIn consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the\nnext morning to her mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for\nthem in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on\nher daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which\nwould exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive\nthem with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at\nleast not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs.\nBennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage\nbefore Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley\nand his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very\nwell.--Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively\nresolved--nor did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the\ncontrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long,\nshe urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at\nlength it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield\nthat morning should be mentioned, and the request made.\n\nThe communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was\nsaid of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on\nJane; and till the morrow, their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was\nthen sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike\nof one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.\n\nThe master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so\nsoon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be\nsafe for her--that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where\nshe felt herself to be right.\n\nTo Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence--Elizabeth had been at\nNetherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked--and Miss\nBingley was uncivil to _her_, and more teazing than usual to himself.\nHe wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration\nshould _now_ escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of\ninfluencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been\nsuggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight\nin confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke\nten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at\none time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most\nconscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.\n\nOn Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost\nall, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last\nvery rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted,\nafter assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to\nsee her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most\ntenderly, she even shook hands with the former.--Elizabeth took leave of\nthe whole party in the liveliest spirits.\n\nThey were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet\nwondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much\ntrouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again.--But their\nfather, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really\nglad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The\nevening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its\nanimation, and almost all its sense, by the absence of Jane and\nElizabeth.\n\nThey found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human\nnature; and had some new extracts to admire, and some new observations\nof thread-bare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had\ninformation for them of a different sort. Much had been done, and much\nhad been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of\nthe officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been\nflogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going\nto be married.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\n\"I hope, my dear,\" said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at\nbreakfast the next morning, \"that you have ordered a good dinner to-day,\nbecause I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.\"\n\n\"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming I am sure,\nunless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope _my_ dinners\nare good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.\"\n\n\"The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger.\" Mrs.\nBennet's eyes sparkled.--\"A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley\nI am sure. Why Jane--you never dropt a word of this; you sly thing!\nWell, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley.--But--good\nlord! how unlucky! there is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia,\nmy love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill, this moment.\"\n\n\"It is _not_ Mr. Bingley,\" said her husband; \"it is a person whom I\nnever saw in the whole course of my life.\"\n\nThis roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being\neagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once.\n\nAfter amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained.\n\"About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I\nanswered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring\nearly attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead,\nmay turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.\"\n\n\"Oh! my dear,\" cried his wife, \"I cannot bear to hear that mentioned.\nPray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing\nin the world, that your estate should be entailed away from your own\nchildren; and I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago\nto do something or other about it.\"\n\nJane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail.\nThey had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs.\nBennet was beyond the reach of reason; and she continued to rail\nbitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of\nfive daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about.\n\n\"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,\" said Mr. Bennet, \"and\nnothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn.\nBut if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little\nsoftened by his manner of expressing himself.\"\n\n\"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it was very impertinent of\nhim to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false\nfriends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father\ndid before him?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed, he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that\nhead, as you will hear.\"\n\n     _Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent,\n\n     15th October._\n\n     DEAR SIR,\n\n     The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured\n     father, always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the\n     misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the\n     breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing\n     lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good\n     terms with any one, with whom it had always pleased him to be at\n     variance.--\"There, Mrs. Bennet.\"--My mind however is now made up on\n     the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been\n     so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right\n     Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh,\n     whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable\n     rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to\n     demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship, and be\n     ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are\n     instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I\n     feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in\n     all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds\n     I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly\n     commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the\n     entail of Longbourn estate, will be kindly overlooked on your side,\n     and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I cannot be\n     otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your\n     amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to\n     assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends,--but\n     of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me\n     into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on\n     you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and\n     shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday\n     se'night following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as\n     Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a\n     Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the\n     duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to\n     your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,\n\n     WILLIAM COLLINS.\"\n\n\"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman,\"\nsaid Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. \"He seems to be a most\nconscientious and polite young man, upon my word; and I doubt not will\nprove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so\nindulgent as to let him come to us again.\"\n\n\"There is some sense in what he says about the girls however; and if he\nis disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to\ndiscourage him.\"\n\n\"Though it is difficult,\" said Jane, \"to guess in what way he can mean\nto make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his\ncredit.\"\n\nElizabeth was chiefly struck with his extraordinary deference for Lady\nCatherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying\nhis parishioners whenever it were required.\n\n\"He must be an oddity, I think,\" said she. \"I cannot make him\nout.--There is something very pompous in his style.--And what can he\nmean by apologizing for being next in the entail?--We cannot suppose he\nwould help it, if he could.--Can he be a sensible man, sir?\"\n\n\"No, my dear; I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the\nreverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his\nletter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him.\"\n\n\"In point of composition,\" said Mary, \"his letter does not seem\ndefective. The idea of the olive branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I\nthink it is well expressed.\"\n\nTo Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any\ndegree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should\ncome in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had\nreceived pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour. As for\ntheir mother, Mr. Collins's letter had done away much of her ill-will,\nand she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure, which\nastonished her husband and daughters.\n\nMr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great\npoliteness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but the\nladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need\nof encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall,\nheavy looking young man of five and twenty. His air was grave and\nstately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated\nbefore he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of\ndaughters, said he had heard much of their beauty, but that, in this\ninstance, fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did\nnot doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage.\nThis gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but\nMrs. Bennet, who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily,\n\n\"You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may\nprove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so\noddly.\"\n\n\"You allude perhaps to the entail of this estate.\"\n\n\"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you\nmust confess. Not that I mean to find fault with _you_, for such things\nI know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates\nwill go when once they come to be entailed.\"\n\n\"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins,--and\ncould say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing\nforward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come\nprepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps\nwhen we are better acquainted----\"\n\nHe was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each\nother. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The\nhall, the dining-room, and all its furniture were examined and praised;\nand his commendation of every thing would have touched Mrs. Bennet's\nheart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his\nown future property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired; and\nhe begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its\ncookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured\nhim with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good\ncook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged\npardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared\nherself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a\nquarter of an hour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nDuring dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants\nwere withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his\nguest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to\nshine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady\nCatherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his\ncomfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen\nbetter. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him\nto more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect\nhe protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a\nperson of rank--such affability and condescension, as he had himself\nexperienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to\napprove of both the discourses, which he had already had the honour of\npreaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings,\nand had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of\nquadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many\npeople he knew, but _he_ had never seen any thing but affability in her.\nShe had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she\nmade not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the\nneighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish occasionally for a week or\ntwo, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to\nmarry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had\nonce paid him a visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly\napproved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed\nto suggest some herself,--some shelves in the closets up stairs.\n\n\"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"and I\ndare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies\nin general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?\"\n\n\"The garden in which stands my humble abode, is separated only by a lane\nfrom Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.\"\n\n\"I think you said she was a widow, sir? has she any family?\"\n\n\"She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very\nextensive property.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, \"then she is better off than\nmany girls. And what sort of young lady is she? is she handsome?\"\n\n\"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says\nthat in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the\nhandsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks\nthe young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly\nconstitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many\naccomplishments, which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am\ninformed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still\nresides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends\nto drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.\"\n\n\"Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town;\nand by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived\nthe British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased\nwith the idea, and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to\noffer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to\nladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her\ncharming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most\nelevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by\nher.--These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and\nit is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to\npay.\"\n\n\"You judge very properly,\" said Mr. Bennet, \"and it is happy for you\nthat you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask\nwhether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the\nmoment, or are the result of previous study?\"\n\n\"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I\nsometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant\ncompliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to\ngive them as unstudied an air as possible.\"\n\nMr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd\nas he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment,\nmaintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance,\nand except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in\nhis pleasure.\n\nBy tea-time however the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to\ntake his guest into the drawing-room again, and when tea was over, glad\nto invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented,\nand a book was produced; but on beholding it, (for every thing announced\nit to be from a circulating library,) he started back, and begging\npardon, protested that he never read novels.--Kitty stared at him, and\nLydia exclaimed.--Other books were produced, and after some deliberation\nhe chose Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and\nbefore he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she\ninterrupted him with,\n\n\"Do you know, mama, that my uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard,\nand if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so\nherself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more\nabout it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town.\"\n\nLydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but Mr.\nCollins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said,\n\n\"I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books\nof a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes\nme, I confess;--for certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to\nthem as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.\"\n\nThen turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at\nbackgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted\nvery wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. Mrs.\nBennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia's\ninterruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would\nresume his book; but Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his\nyoung cousin no ill will, and should never resent her behaviour as any\naffront, seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared\nfor backgammon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nMr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had\nbeen but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part of\nhis life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and\nmiserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he\nhad merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful\nacquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up, had\ngiven him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good\ndeal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in\nretirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected\nprosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de\nBourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he\nfelt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness,\nmingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a\nclergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of\npride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.\n\nHaving now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to\nmarry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had\na wife in view, as he meant to chuse one of the daughters, if he found\nthem as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report.\nThis was his plan of amends--of atonement--for inheriting their father's\nestate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and\nsuitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own\npart.\n\nHis plan did not vary on seeing them.--Miss Bennet's lovely face\nconfirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what\nwas due to seniority; and for the first evening _she_ was his settled\nchoice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter\nof an hour's tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a\nconversation beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally\nto the avowal of his hopes, that a mistress for it might be found at\nLongbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general\nencouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on.--\"As to\nher _younger_ daughters she could not take upon her to say--she could\nnot positively answer--but she did not _know_ of any prepossession;--her\n_eldest_ daughter, she must just mention--she felt it incumbent on her\nto hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.\"\n\nMr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth--and it was soon\ndone--done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally\nnext to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.\n\nMrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have\ntwo daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of\nthe day before, was now high in her good graces.\n\nLydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister\nexcept Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them,\nat the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him,\nand have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed\nhim after breakfast, and there he would continue, nominally engaged with\none of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr.\nBennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such\ndoings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been\nalways sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told\nElizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room in the\nhouse, he was used to be free from them there; his civility, therefore,\nwas most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their\nwalk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker\nthan a reader, was extremely well pleased to close his large book, and\ngo.\n\nIn pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his\ncousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of\nthe younger ones was then no longer to be gained by _him_. Their eyes\nwere immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers,\nand nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin\nin a shop window, could recal them.\n\nBut the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom\nthey had never seen before, of most gentleman-like appearance, walking\nwith an officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very\nMr. Denny, concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire,\nand he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air,\nall wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined if\npossible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretence of\nwanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained\nthe pavement when the two gentlemen turning back had reached the same\nspot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to\nintroduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day\nbefore from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in\ntheir corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted\nonly regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was\ngreatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine\ncountenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction\nwas followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation--a\nreadiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the\nwhole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably,\nwhen the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were\nseen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group,\nthe two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual\ncivilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the\nprincipal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on\npurpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and\nwas beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they\nwere suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth\nhappening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other,\nwas all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour,\none looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments,\ntouched his hat--a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.\nWhat could be the meaning of it?--It was impossible to imagine; it was\nimpossible not to long to know.\n\nIn another minute Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what\npassed, took leave and rode on with his friend.\n\nMr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of\nMr. Philips's house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's\npressing entreaties that they would come in, and even in spite of Mrs.\nPhilips' throwing up the parlour window, and loudly seconding the\ninvitation.\n\nMrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two eldest, from\ntheir recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly\nexpressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own\ncarriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if\nshe had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shop boy in the street, who had\ntold her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield\nbecause the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed\ntowards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with\nher very best politeness, which he returned with as much more,\napologising for his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with\nher, which he could not help flattering himself however might be\njustified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to\nher notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good\nbreeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to\nby exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she\ncould only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had\nbrought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's\ncommission in the ----shire. She had been watching him the last hour,\nshe said, as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr. Wickham\nappeared Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation,\nbut unluckily no one passed the windows now except a few of the\nofficers, who in comparison with the stranger, were become \"stupid,\ndisagreeable fellows.\" Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the\nnext day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr.\nWickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn\nwould come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips\nprotested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery\ntickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such\ndelights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr.\nCollins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured\nwith unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.\n\nAs they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass\nbetween the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either or\nboth, had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such\nbehaviour than her sister.\n\nMr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs.\nPhilips's manners and politeness. He protested that except Lady\nCatherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for\nshe had not only received him with the utmost civility, but had even\npointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although\nutterly unknown to her before. Something he supposed might be attributed\nto his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much\nattention in the whole course of his life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nAs no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their\naunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for\na single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach\nconveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the\ngirls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,\nthat Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in\nthe house.\n\nWhen this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr.\nCollins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much\nstruck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he\nmight almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour\nat Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much\ngratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosings\nwas, and who was its proprietor, when she had listened to the\ndescription of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found\nthat the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all\nthe force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison\nwith the housekeeper's room.\n\nIn describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion,\nwith occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the\nimprovements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the\ngentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive\nlistener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she\nheard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as\nsoon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin,\nand who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine\ntheir own indifferent imitations of china on the mantle-piece, the\ninterval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last however. The\ngentlemen did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room,\nElizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking\nof him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The\nofficers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable,\ngentleman-like set, and the best of them were of the present party; but\nMr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and\nwalk, as _they_ were superior to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips,\nbreathing port wine, who followed them into the room.\n\nMr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was\nturned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated\nhimself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into\nconversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, and on the\nprobability of a rainy season, made her feel that the commonest,\ndullest, most thread-bare topic might be rendered interesting by the\nskill of the speaker.\n\nWith such rivals for the notice of the fair, as Mr. Wickham and the\nofficers, Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insignificance; to the\nyoung ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a\nkind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was, by her watchfulness, most\nabundantly supplied with coffee and muffin.\n\nWhen the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging her\nin return, by sitting down to whist.\n\n\"I know little of the game, at present,\" said he, \"but I shall be glad\nto improve myself, for in my situation of life----\" Mrs. Philips was\nvery thankful for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.\n\nMr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he\nreceived at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there\nseemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a most\ndetermined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets,\nshe soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets\nand exclaiming after prizes, to have attention for any one in\nparticular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was\ntherefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to\nhear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to\nbe told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not\neven mention that gentleman. Her curiosity however was unexpectedly\nrelieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far\nNetherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in\nan hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.\n\n\"About a month,\" said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject\ndrop, added, \"He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Wickham;--\"his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten\nthousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of\ngiving you certain information on that head than myself--for I have been\nconnected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.\"\n\nElizabeth could not but look surprised.\n\n\"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after\nseeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting\nyesterday.--Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?\"\n\n\"As much as I ever wish to be,\" cried Elizabeth warmly,--\"I have spent\nfour days in the same house with him, and I think him very\ndisagreeable.\"\n\n\"I have no right to give _my_ opinion,\" said Wickham, \"as to his being\nagreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him\ntoo long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for _me_ to\nbe impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general\nastonish--and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly\nanywhere else.--Here you are in your own family.\"\n\n\"Upon my word I say no more _here_ than I might say in any house in the\nneighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in\nHertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not find\nhim more favourably spoken of by any one.\"\n\n\"I cannot pretend to be sorry,\" said Wickham, after a short\ninterruption, \"that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond\ntheir deserts; but with _him_ I believe it does not often happen. The\nworld is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his\nhigh and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chuses to be seen.\"\n\n\"I should take him, even on _my_ slight acquaintance, to be an\nill-tempered man.\" Wickham only shook his head.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, \"whether he is\nlikely to be in this country much longer.\"\n\n\"I do not at all know; but I _heard_ nothing of his going away when I\nwas at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will\nnot be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.\"\n\n\"Oh! no--it is not for _me_ to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If _he_\nwishes to avoid seeing _me_, he must go. We are not on friendly terms,\nand it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for\navoiding _him_ but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of\nvery great ill usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is.\nHis father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men\nthat ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be\nin company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a\nthousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been\nscandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him any thing and every\nthing, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory\nof his father.\"\n\nElizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with\nall her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented farther inquiry.\n\nMr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the\nneighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he\nhad yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle but\nvery intelligible gallantry.\n\n\"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,\" he added,\n\"which was my chief inducement to enter the ----shire. I knew it to be a\nmost respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me\nfarther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great\nattentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them.\nSociety, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and\nmy spirits will not bear solitude. I _must_ have employment and society.\nA military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have\nnow made it eligible. The church _ought_ to have been my profession--I\nwas brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in\npossession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we\nwere speaking of just now.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes--the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best\nliving in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me.\nI cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply,\nand thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given\nelsewhere.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Elizabeth; \"but how could _that_ be?--How could\nhis will be disregarded?--Why did not you seek legal redress?\"\n\n\"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to\ngive me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the\nintention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it as a merely\nconditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim\nto it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing.\nCertain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I\nwas of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no\nless certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done\nany thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I\nmay perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion _of_ him, and _to_ him, too\nfreely. I can recal nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very\ndifferent sort of men, and that he hates me.\"\n\n\"This is quite shocking!--He deserves to be publicly disgraced.\"\n\n\"Some time or other he _will_ be--but it shall not be by _me_. Till I\ncan forget his father, I can never defy or expose _him_.\"\n\nElizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than\never as he expressed them.\n\n\"But what,\" said she, after a pause, \"can have been his motive?--what\ncan have induced him to behave so cruelly?\"\n\n\"A thorough, determined dislike of me--a dislike which I cannot but\nattribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me\nless, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon\nattachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had not\na temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort of\npreference which was often given me.\"\n\n\"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this--though I have never liked\nhim, I had not thought so very ill of him--I had supposed him to be\ndespising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of\ndescending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as\nthis!\"\n\nAfter a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, \"I _do_ remember\nhis boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his\nresentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must\nbe dreadful.\"\n\n\"I will not trust myself on the subject,\" replied Wickham, \"_I_ can\nhardly be just to him.\"\n\nElizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, \"To\ntreat in such a manner, the god-son, the friend, the favourite of his\nfather!\"--She could have added, \"A young man too, like _you_, whose very\ncountenance may vouch for your being amiable\"--but she contented\nherself with \"And one, too, who had probably been his own companion from\nchildhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest\nmanner!\"\n\n\"We were born in the same parish, within the same park, the greatest\npart of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house,\nsharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. _My_\nfather began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Philips,\nappears to do so much credit to--but he gave up every thing to be of use\nto the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of the\nPemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most\nintimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to\nbe under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendance,\nand when immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a\nvoluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to\nbe as much a debt of gratitude to _him_, as of affection to myself.\"\n\n\"How strange!\" cried Elizabeth. \"How abominable!--I wonder that the very\npride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you!--If from no better\nmotive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest,--for\ndishonesty I must call it.\"\n\n\"It _is_ wonderful,\"--replied Wickham,--\"for almost all his actions may\nbe traced to pride;--and pride has often been his best friend. It has\nconnected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none\nof us consistent; and in his behaviour to me, there were stronger\nimpulses even than pride.\"\n\n\"Can such abominable pride as his, have ever done him good?\"\n\n\"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous,--to give his\nmoney freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve\nthe poor. Family pride, and _filial_ pride, for he is very proud of what\nhis father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to\ndegenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the\nPemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also _brotherly_ pride,\nwhich with _some_ brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful\nguardian of his sister; and you will hear him generally cried up as the\nmost attentive and best of brothers.\"\n\n\"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?\"\n\nHe shook his head.--\"I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain\nto speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother,--very,\nvery proud.--As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and\nextremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her\namusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about\nfifteen or sixteen, and I understand highly accomplished. Since her\nfather's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her,\nand superintends her education.\"\n\nAfter many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not\nhelp reverting once more to the first, and saying,\n\n\"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley,\nwho seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable,\nbe in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other?--Do you\nknow Mr. Bingley?\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\n\"He is a sweet tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr.\nDarcy is.\"\n\n\"Probably not;--but Mr. Darcy can please where he chuses. He does not\nwant abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth\nhis while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a\nvery different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride\nnever deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just,\nsincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable,--allowing\nsomething for fortune and figure.\"\n\nThe whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round\nthe other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin\nElizabeth and Mrs. Philips.--The usual inquiries as to his success were\nmade by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point;\nbut when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured\nher with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance,\nthat he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not\nmake herself uneasy.\n\n\"I know very well, madam,\" said he, \"that when persons sit down to a\ncard table, they must take their chance of these things,--and happily I\nam not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There\nare undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady\nCatherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding\nlittle matters.\"\n\nMr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for\na few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation\nwere very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.\n\n\"Lady Catherine de Bourgh,\" she replied, \"has very lately given him a\nliving. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her\nnotice, but he certainly has not known her long.\"\n\n\"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy\nwere sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.\"\n\n\"No, indeed, I did not.--I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's\nconnections. I never heard of her existence till the day before\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is\nbelieved that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.\"\n\nThis information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss\nBingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her\naffection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already\nself-destined to another.\n\n\"Mr. Collins,\" said she, \"speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her\ndaughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship,\nI suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his\npatroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.\"\n\n\"I believe her to be both in a great degree,\" replied Wickham; \"I have\nnot seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked\nher, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the\nreputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe\nshe derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from\nher authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who\nchuses that every one connected with him should have an understanding of\nthe first class.\"\n\nElizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and\nthey continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper put\nan end to cards; and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr.\nWickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of\nMrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to every\nbody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done\ngracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could\nthink of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all\nthe way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name as\nthey went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia\ntalked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the\nfish she had won, and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and\nMrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses\nat whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing\nthat he crouded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage\nbefore the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nElizabeth related to Jane the next day, what had passed between Mr.\nWickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern;--she\nknew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr.\nBingley's regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the\nveracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham.--The\npossibility of his having really endured such unkindness, was enough to\ninterest all her tender feelings; and nothing therefore remained to be\ndone, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and\nthrow into the account of accident or mistake, whatever could not be\notherwise explained.\n\n\"They have both,\" said she, \"been deceived, I dare say, in some way or\nother, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps\nmisrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to\nconjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them,\nwithout actual blame on either side.\"\n\n\"Very true, indeed;--and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in\nbehalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the\nbusiness?--Do clear _them_ too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of\nsomebody.\"\n\n\"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of my\nopinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light\nit places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a\nmanner,--one, whom his father had promised to provide for.--It is\nimpossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his\ncharacter, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so\nexcessively deceived in him? oh! no.\"\n\n\"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than\nthat Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me\nlast night; names, facts, every thing mentioned without ceremony.--If it\nbe not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his\nlooks.\"\n\n\"It is difficult indeed--it is distressing.--One does not know what to\nthink.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon;--one knows exactly what to think.\"\n\nBut Jane could think with certainty on only one point,--that Mr.\nBingley, if he _had been_ imposed on, would have much to suffer when the\naffair became public.\n\nThe two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this\nconversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom\nthey had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their\npersonal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield, which was\nfixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see\ntheir dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and\nrepeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their\nseparation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention;\navoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth,\nand nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from\ntheir seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and\nhurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.\n\nThe prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every\nfemale of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in\ncompliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by\nreceiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a\nceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the\nsociety of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and\nElizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.\nWickham, and of seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's\nlooks and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia,\ndepended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though\nthey each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr.\nWickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and\na ball was at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family\nthat she had no disinclination for it.\n\n\"While I can have my mornings to myself,\" said she, \"it is enough.--I\nthink it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements.\nSociety has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those who\nconsider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for every\nbody.\"\n\nElizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion, that though she did\nnot often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking\nhim whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and if he\ndid, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's\namusement; and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no\nscruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke\neither from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to\ndance.\n\n\"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you,\" said he, \"that a ball of\nthis kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can\nhave any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself\nthat I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins\nin the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting\nyours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially,--a\npreference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right\ncause, and not to any disrespect for her.\"\n\nElizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being\nengaged by Wickham for those very dances:--and to have Mr. Collins\ninstead! her liveliness had been never worse timed. There was no help\nfor it however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own was per force\ndelayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as\ngood a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his\ngallantry, from the idea it suggested of something more.--It now first\nstruck her, that _she_ was selected from among her sisters as worthy of\nbeing the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a\nquadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors.\nThe idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing\ncivilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a\ncompliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than\ngratified herself, by this effect of her charms, it was not long before\nher mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage\nwas exceedingly agreeable to _her_. Elizabeth however did not chuse to\ntake the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the\nconsequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and\ntill he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.\n\nIf there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the\nyounger Miss Bennets would have been in a pitiable state at this time,\nfor from the day of the invitation, to the day of the ball, there was\nsuch a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton once. No\naunt, no officers, no news could be sought after;--the very shoe-roses\nfor Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found some\ntrial of her patience in weather, which totally suspended the\nimprovement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than\na dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday and\nMonday, endurable to Kitty and Lydia.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nTill Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in\nvain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a\ndoubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of\nmeeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that\nmight not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than\nusual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all\nthat remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than\nmight be won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the\ndreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's\npleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the officers; and though this\nwas not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was\npronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and\nwho told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business\nthe day before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant\nsmile,\n\n\"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if\nhe had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.\"\n\nThis part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by\nElizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for\nWickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, every feeling\nof displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate\ndisappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to\nthe polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to\nmake.--Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to\nWickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and\nturned away with a degree of ill humour, which she could not wholly\nsurmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality\nprovoked her.\n\nBut Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect\nof her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her\nspirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had\nnot seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to\nthe oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular\nnotice. The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress;\nthey were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,\napologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being\naware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable\npartner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from\nhim was ecstacy.\n\nShe danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of\nWickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances\nwere over she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with\nher, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took\nher so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without\nknowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again\nimmediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of\nmind; Charlotte tried to console her.\n\n\"I dare say you will find him very agreeable.\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid!--_That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all!--To\nfind a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!--Do not wish me\nsuch an evil.\"\n\nWhen the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her\nhand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper not to be a\nsimpleton and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant\nin the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no\nanswer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which\nshe was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and\nreading in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it.\nThey stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to\nimagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at\nfirst was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would\nbe the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made\nsome slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent.\nAfter a pause of some minutes she addressed him a second time with\n\n\"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.--_I_ talked about\nthe dance, and _you_ ought to make some kind of remark on the size of\nthe room, or the number of couples.\"\n\nHe smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be\nsaid.\n\n\"Very well.--That reply will do for the present.--Perhaps by and bye I\nmay observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public\nones.--But _now_ we may be silent.\"\n\n\"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?\"\n\n\"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be\nentirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of\n_some_, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the\ntrouble of saying as little as possible.\"\n\n\"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you\nimagine that you are gratifying mine?\"\n\n\"Both,\" replied Elizabeth archly; \"for I have always seen a great\nsimilarity in the turn of our minds.--We are each of an unsocial,\ntaciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say\nsomething that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to\nposterity with all the eclat of a proverb.\"\n\n\"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,\"\nsaid he. \"How near it may be to _mine_, I cannot pretend to say.--_You_\nthink it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"I must not decide on my own performance.\"\n\nHe made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down\nthe dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often\nwalk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist\nthe temptation, added, \"When you met us there the other day, we had just\nbeen forming a new acquaintance.\"\n\nThe effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his\nfeatures, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself\nfor her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a\nconstrained manner said,\n\n\"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his\n_making_ friends--whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them,\nis less certain.\"\n\n\"He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship,\" replied Elizabeth\nwith emphasis, \"and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all\nhis life.\"\n\nDarcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At\nthat moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass\nthrough the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr.\nDarcy he stopt with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his\ndancing and his partner.\n\n\"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very\nsuperior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the\nfirst circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not\ndisgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated,\nespecially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, (glancing\nat her sister and Bingley,) shall take place. What congratulations will\nthen flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:--but let me not interrupt you,\nSir.--You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching\nconverse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.\"\n\nThe latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir\nWilliam's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his\neyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and\nJane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly,\nhe turned to his partner, and said,\n\n\"Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.\"\n\n\"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have\ninterrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for\nthemselves.--We have tried two or three subjects already without\nsuccess, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"What think you of books?\" said he, smiling.\n\n\"Books--Oh! no.--I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same\nfeelings.\"\n\n\"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be\nno want of subject.--We may compare our different opinions.\"\n\n\"No--I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of\nsomething else.\"\n\n\"The _present_ always occupies you in such scenes--does it?\" said he,\nwith a look of doubt.\n\n\"Yes, always,\" she replied, without knowing what she said, for her\nthoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared\nby her suddenly exclaiming, \"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy,\nthat you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was\nunappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being\ncreated_.\"\n\n\"I am,\" said he, with a firm voice.\n\n\"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?\"\n\n\"I hope not.\"\n\n\"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion,\nto be secure of judging properly at first.\"\n\n\"May I ask to what these questions tend?\"\n\n\"Merely to the illustration of _your_ character,\" said she, endeavouring\nto shake off her gravity. \"I am trying to make it out.\"\n\n\"And what is your success?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I do not get on at all. I hear such different\naccounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.\"\n\n\"I can readily believe,\" answered he gravely, \"that report may vary\ngreatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were\nnot to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to\nfear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.\"\n\n\"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another\nopportunity.\"\n\n\"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,\" he coldly replied.\nShe said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in\nsilence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for\nin Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her,\nwhich soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against\nanother.\n\nThey had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with\nan expression of civil disdain thus accosted her,\n\n\"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George\nWickham!--Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a\nthousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you,\namong his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the\nlate Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend,\nnot to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr.\nDarcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he\nhas been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has\ntreated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the\nparticulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to\nblame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that\nthough my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his\ninvitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had\ntaken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all, is a\nmost insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it.\nI pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt;\nbut really considering his descent, one could not expect much better.\"\n\n\"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,\" said\nElizabeth angrily; \"for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse\nthan of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of _that_, I can\nassure you, he informed me himself.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer.\n\"Excuse my interference.--It was kindly meant.\"\n\n\"Insolent girl!\" said Elizabeth to herself.--\"You are much mistaken if\nyou expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see\nnothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr.\nDarcy.\" She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make\ninquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of\nsuch sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently\nmarked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the\nevening.--Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment\nsolicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and every thing\nelse gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for\nhappiness.\n\n\"I want to know,\" said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her\nsister's, \"what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have\nbeen too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person; in which case\nyou may be sure of my pardon.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Jane, \"I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing\nsatisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his\nhistory, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have\nprincipally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct,\nthe probity and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that\nMr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has\nreceived; and I am sorry to say that by his account as well as his\nsister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am\nafraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's\nregard.\"\n\n\"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?\"\n\n\"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.\"\n\n\"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am\nperfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?\"\n\n\"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard\nthem from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to\nhim _conditionally_ only.\"\n\n\"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity,\" said Elizabeth warmly;\n\"but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr.\nBingley's defence of his friend was a very able one I dare say, but\nsince he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt\nthe rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of\nboth gentlemen as I did before.\"\n\nShe then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on\nwhich there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with\ndelight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of\nBingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence\nin it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew\nto Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last\npartner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them and\ntold her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to\nmake a most important discovery.\n\n\"I have found out,\" said he, \"by a singular accident, that there is now\nin the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the\ngentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of\nthis house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother\nLady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would\nhave thought of my meeting with--perhaps--a nephew of Lady Catherine de\nBourgh in this assembly!--I am most thankful that the discovery is made\nin time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do,\nand trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total\nignorance of the connection must plead my apology.\"\n\n\"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?\"\n\n\"Indeed I am. I shall intreat his pardon for not having done it earlier.\nI believe him to be Lady Catherine's _nephew_. It will be in my power to\nassure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'night.\"\n\nElizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme; assuring him\nthat Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as\nan impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it\nwas not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either\nside, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in\nconsequence, to begin the acquaintance.--Mr. Collins listened to her\nwith the determined air of following his own inclination, and when she\nceased speaking, replied thus,\n\n\"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your\nexcellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your\nunderstanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference\nbetween the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those\nwhich regulate the clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider\nthe clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank\nin the kingdom--provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the\nsame time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates\nof my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look\non as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your\nadvice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though\nin the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and\nhabitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like\nyourself.\" And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose\nreception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at\nbeing so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with\na solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if\nhearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words \"apology,\"\n\"Hunsford,\" and \"Lady Catherine de Bourgh.\"--It vexed her to see him\nexpose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained\nwonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, replied\nwith an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not\ndiscouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed\nabundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the\nend of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr.\nCollins then returned to Elizabeth.\n\n\"I have no reason, I assure you,\" said he, \"to be dissatisfied with my\nreception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered\nme with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying,\nthat he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be\ncertain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very\nhandsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.\"\n\nAs Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned\nher attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley, and the\ntrain of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to,\nmade her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in\nthat very house in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection\ncould bestow; and she felt capable under such circumstances, of\nendeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts\nshe plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to\nventure near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to\nsupper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which\nplaced them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find\nthat her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely,\nopenly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be\nsoon married to Mr. Bingley.--It was an animating subject, and Mrs.\nBennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of\nthe match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living\nbut three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation;\nand then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of\nJane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as\nshe could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger\ndaughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of\nother rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be\nable to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that\nshe might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was\nnecessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on\nsuch occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less likely than Mrs.\nBennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of her life. She\nconcluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally\nfortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no\nchance of it.\n\nIn vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's\nwords, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible\nwhisper; for to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the\nchief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her\nmother only scolded her for being nonsensical.\n\n\"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am\nsure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say\nnothing _he_ may not like to hear.\"\n\n\"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower.--What advantage can it be to you\nto offend Mr. Darcy?--You will never recommend yourself to his friend by\nso doing.\"\n\nNothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother\nwould talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed\nand blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently\nglancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what\nshe dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was\nconvinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression\nof his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and\nsteady gravity.\n\nAt length however Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who\nhad been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no\nlikelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken.\nElizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of\ntranquillity; for when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she\nhad the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty,\npreparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent\nentreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of\ncomplaisance,--but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an\nopportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song.\nElizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations; and she\nwatched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience\nwhich was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving\namongst the thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be\nprevailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute\nbegan another. Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display;\nher voice was weak, and her manner affected.--Elizabeth was in agonies.\nShe looked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly\ntalking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making\nsigns of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued however\nimpenetrably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his\ninterference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint,\nand when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud,\n\n\"That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough.\nLet the other young ladies have time to exhibit.\"\n\nMary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and\nElizabeth sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid\nher anxiety had done no good.--Others of the party were now applied to.\n\n\"If I,\" said Mr. Collins, \"were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I\nshould have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an\nair; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly\ncompatible with the profession of a clergyman.--I do not mean however to\nassert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to\nmusic, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The\nrector of a parish has much to do.--In the first place, he must make\nsuch an agreement for tythes as may be beneficial to himself and not\noffensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time\nthat remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care\nand improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making\nas comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance\nthat he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every\nbody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot\nacquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should\nomit an occasion of testifying his respect towards any body connected\nwith the family.\" And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech,\nwhich had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.--Many\nstared.--Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet\nhimself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having\nspoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that\nhe was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.\n\nTo Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an agreement to\nexpose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would\nhave been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or\nfiner success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister\nthat some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his\nfeelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he\nmust have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should\nhave such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations was bad enough, and\nshe could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman, or\nthe insolent smiles of the ladies, were more intolerable.\n\nThe rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teazed by\nMr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though he\ncould not prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her\npower to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with\nsomebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.\nHe assured her that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it;\nthat his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to\nher, and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her\nthe whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed\nher greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and\ngood-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation to herself.\n\nShe was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther notice;\nthough often standing within a very short distance of her, quite\ndisengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the\nprobable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in\nit.\n\nThe Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart; and by a\nmanoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet had to wait for their carriages a quarter of\nan hour after every body else was gone, which gave them time to see how\nheartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her\nsister scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue, and\nwere evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed\nevery attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing, threw a\nlanguor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the\nlong speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his\nsisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and\npoliteness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said\nnothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene.\nMr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the\nrest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a\nsilence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too\nmuch fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of \"Lord,\nhow tired I am!\" accompanied by a violent yawn.\n\nWhen at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly\ncivil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn; and\naddressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy\nhe would make them, by eating a family dinner with them at any time,\nwithout the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful\npleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of\nwaiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was obliged to\ngo the next day for a short time.\n\nMrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house under the\ndelightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of\nsettlements, new carriages and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly\nsee her daughter settled at Netherfield, in the course of three or four\nmonths. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought\nwith equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure.\nElizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the\nman and the match were quite good enough for _her_, the worth of each\nwas eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nThe next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his\ndeclaration in form. Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as\nhis leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having\nno feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the\nmoment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the\nobservances which he supposed a regular part of the business. On finding\nMrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon\nafter breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words,\n\n\"May I hope, Madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth,\nwhen I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the\ncourse of this morning?\"\n\nBefore Elizabeth had time for any thing but a blush of surprise, Mrs.\nBennet instantly answered,\n\n\"Oh dear!--Yes--certainly.--I am sure Lizzy will be very happy--I am\nsure she can have no objection.--Come, Kitty, I want you up stairs.\" And\ngathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth\ncalled out,\n\n\"Dear Ma'am, do not go.--I beg you will not go.--Mr. Collins must excuse\nme.--He can have nothing to say to me that any body need not hear. I am\ngoing away myself.\"\n\n\"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy.--I desire you will stay where you are.\"--And\nupon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about\nto escape, she added, \"Lizzy, I _insist_ upon your staying and hearing\nMr. Collins.\"\n\nElizabeth would not oppose such an injunction--and a moment's\nconsideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to get it\nover as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again, and tried\nto conceal by incessant employment the feelings which were divided\nbetween distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as\nsoon as they were gone Mr. Collins began.\n\n\"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from\ndoing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You\nwould have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_ been this little\nunwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected\nmother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport\nof my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to\ndissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as\nsoon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my\nfuture life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this\nsubject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for\nmarrying--and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of\nselecting a wife, as I certainly did.\"\n\nThe idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away\nwith by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not\nuse the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther, and\nhe continued:\n\n\"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for\nevery clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example\nof matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add\nvery greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I ought to have\nmentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation\nof the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.\nTwice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too!) on this\nsubject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left\nHunsford--between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was\narranging Miss de Bourgh's foot-stool, that she said, 'Mr. Collins, you\nmust marry. A clergyman like you must marry.--Chuse properly, chuse a\ngentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let her be an active,\nuseful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small\nincome go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as\nyou can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.' Allow me, by the\nway, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and\nkindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the\nadvantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond any\nthing I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be\nacceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect\nwhich her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general\nintention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views\nwere directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I\nassure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that\nbeing, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured\nfather, (who, however, may live many years longer,) I could not satisfy\nmyself without resolving to chuse a wife from among his daughters, that\nthe loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy\nevent takes place--which, however, as I have already said, may not be\nfor several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I\nflatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing\nremains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the\nviolence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and\nshall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well\naware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds\nin the 4 per cents. which will not be yours till after your mother's\ndecease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head,\ntherefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that\nno ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.\"\n\nIt was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.\n\n\"You are too hasty, Sir,\" she cried. \"You forget that I have made no\nanswer. Let me do it without farther loss of time. Accept my thanks for\nthe compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of\nyour proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline\nthem.\"\n\n\"I am not now to learn,\" replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the\nhand, \"that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the\nman whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their\nfavour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a\nthird time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just\nsaid, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, Sir,\" cried Elizabeth, \"your hope is rather an\nextraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not\none of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so\ndaring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second\ntime. I am perfectly serious in my refusal.--You could not make _me_\nhappy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who\nwould make _you_ so.--Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I\nam persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the\nsituation.\"\n\n\"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so,\" said Mr. Collins\nvery gravely--\"but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all\ndisapprove of you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of\nseeing her again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty,\neconomy, and other amiable qualifications.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must\ngive me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of\nbelieving what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by\nrefusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise.\nIn making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your\nfeelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn\nestate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be\nconsidered, therefore, as finally settled.\" And rising as she thus\nspoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus\naddressed her,\n\n\"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I\nshall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given\nme; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I\nknow it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the\nfirst application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to\nencourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the\nfemale character.\"\n\n\"Really, Mr. Collins,\" cried Elizabeth with some warmth, \"you puzzle me\nexceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form\nof encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as\nmay convince you of its being one.\"\n\n\"You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your\nrefusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for\nbelieving it are briefly these:--It does not appear to me that my hand\nis unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would\nbe any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections\nwith the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are\ncircumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into farther\nconsideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no\nmeans certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your\nportion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the\neffects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must\ntherefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I\nshall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by\nsuspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.\"\n\n\"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind\nof elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would\nrather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you\nagain and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but\nto accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect\nforbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant\nfemale intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the\ntruth from her heart.\"\n\n\"You are uniformly charming!\" cried he, with an air of awkward\ngallantry; \"and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express\nauthority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of\nbeing acceptable.\"\n\nTo such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make no\nreply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, if he\npersisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering\nencouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered\nin such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could\nnot be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nMr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his\nsuccessful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule\nto watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the\ndoor and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she\nentered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself in\nwarm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins\nreceived and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then\nproceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result\nof which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the\nrefusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow\nfrom her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.\n\nThis information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet;--she would have been\nglad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage\nhim by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not to believe\nit, and could not help saying so.\n\n\"But depend upon it, Mr. Collins,\" she added, \"that Lizzy shall be\nbrought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is\na very headstrong foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but\nI will _make_ her know it.\"\n\n\"Pardon me for interrupting you, Madam,\" cried Mr. Collins; \"but if she\nis really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would\naltogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who\nnaturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she\nactually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to\nforce her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of\ntemper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.\"\n\n\"Sir, you quite misunderstand me,\" said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. \"Lizzy is\nonly headstrong in such matters as these. In every thing else she is as\ngood natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and\nwe shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure.\"\n\nShe would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her\nhusband, called out as she entered the library,\n\n\"Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar.\nYou must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will\nnot have him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and\nnot have _her_.\"\n\nMr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them\non her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by\nher communication.\n\n\"I have not the pleasure of understanding you,\" said he, when she had\nfinished her speech. \"Of what are you talking?\"\n\n\"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins,\nand Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy.\"\n\n\"And what am I to do on the occasion?--It seems an hopeless business.\"\n\n\"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her\nmarrying him.\"\n\n\"Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the\nlibrary.\n\n\"Come here, child,\" cried her father as she appeared. \"I have sent for\nyou on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made\nyou an offer of marriage. Is it true?\" Elizabeth replied that it was.\n\"Very well--and this offer of marriage you have refused?\"\n\n\"I have, Sir.\"\n\n\"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your\naccepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?\"\n\n\"Yes, or I will never see her again.\"\n\n\"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must\nbe a stranger to one of your parents.--Your mother will never see you\nagain if you do _not_ marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again\nif you _do_.\"\n\nElizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning;\nbut Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the\naffair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.\n\n\"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me\nto _insist_ upon her marrying him.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" replied her husband, \"I have two small favours to request.\nFirst, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the\npresent occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the\nlibrary to myself as soon as may be.\"\n\nNot yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did\nMrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again;\ncoaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in\nher interest, but Jane with all possible mildness declined\ninterfering;--and Elizabeth sometimes with real earnestness and\nsometimes with playful gaiety replied to her attacks. Though her manner\nvaried however, her determination never did.\n\nMr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed.\nHe thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motive his cousin\ncould refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other\nway. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her\ndeserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.\n\nWhile the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend\nthe day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to\nher, cried in a half whisper, \"I am glad you are come, for there is such\nfun here!--What do you think has happened this morning?--Mr. Collins has\nmade an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him.\"\n\nCharlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty,\nwho came to tell the same news, and no sooner had they entered the\nbreakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on\nthe subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating\nher to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her\nfamily. \"Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas,\" she added in a melancholy tone,\n\"for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly used,\nnobody feels for my poor nerves.\"\n\nCharlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.\n\n\"Aye, there she comes,\" continued Mrs. Bennet, \"looking as unconcerned\nas may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided\nshe can have her own way.--But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take\nit into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way,\nyou will never get a husband at all--and I am sure I do not know who is\nto maintain you when your father is dead.--_I_ shall not be able to keep\nyou--and so I warn you.--I have done with you from this very day.--I\ntold you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you\nagain, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in\ntalking to undutiful children.--Not that I have much pleasure indeed in\ntalking to any body. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints\ncan have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I\nsuffer!--But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never\npitied.\"\n\nHer daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any\nattempt to reason with or sooth her would only increase the irritation.\nShe talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them till\nthey were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered with an air more stately\nthan usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls,\n\n\"Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and\nlet Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together.\"\n\nElizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but\nLydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte,\ndetained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after\nherself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little\ncuriosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending\nnot to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet thus began the projected\nconversation.--\"Oh! Mr. Collins!\"--\n\n\"My dear Madam,\" replied he, \"let us be for ever silent on this point.\nFar be it from me,\" he presently continued in a voice that marked his\ndispleasure, \"to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to\ninevitable evils is the duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young man\nwho has been so fortunate as I have been in early preferment; and I\ntrust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my\npositive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand; for I\nhave often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the\nblessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation.\nYou will not, I hope, consider me as shewing any disrespect to your\nfamily, my dear Madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your\ndaughter's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the\ncompliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf.\nMy conduct may I fear be objectionable in having accepted my dismission\nfrom your daughter's lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to\nerror. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object\nhas been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due\nconsideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my _manner_\nhas been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nThe discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and\nElizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily\nattending it, and occasionally from some peevish allusion of her mother.\nAs for the gentleman himself, _his_ feelings were chiefly expressed, not\nby embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by\nstiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to\nher, and the assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of\nhimself, were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose\ncivility in listening to him, was a seasonable relief to them all, and\nespecially to her friend.\n\nThe morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet's ill humour or ill\nhealth. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth\nhad hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did\nnot appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on\nSaturday, and to Saturday he still meant to stay.\n\nAfter breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr. Wickham\nwere returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball.\nHe joined them on their entering the town and attended them to their\naunt's, where his regret and vexation, and the concern of every body was\nwell talked over.--To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged\nthat the necessity of his absence _had_ been self imposed.\n\n\"I found,\" said he, \"as the time drew near, that I had better not meet\nMr. Darcy;--that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so\nmany hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes\nmight arise unpleasant to more than myself.\"\n\nShe highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full\ndiscussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly\nbestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with\nthem to Longbourn, and during the walk, he particularly attended to her.\nHis accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all the\ncompliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an\noccasion of introducing him to her father and mother.\n\nSoon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came\nfrom Netherfield, and was opened immediately. The envelope contained a\nsheet of elegant, little, hot pressed paper, well covered with a lady's\nfair, flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as\nshe read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages.\nJane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to\njoin with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but\nElizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject which drew off her attention\neven from Wickham; and no sooner had he and his companion taken leave,\nthan a glance from Jane invited her to follow her up stairs. When they\nhad gained their own room, Jane taking out the letter, said,\n\n\"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains, has surprised me a\ngood deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are\non their way to town; and without any intention of coming back again.\nYou shall hear what she says.\"\n\nShe then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information\nof their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly,\nand of their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor street, where Mr.\nHurst had a house. The next was in these words. \"I do not pretend to\nregret any thing I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my\ndearest friend; but we will hope at some future period, to enjoy many\nreturns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in the mean\nwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most\nunreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.\" To these high\nflown expressions, Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of\ndistrust; and though the suddenness of their removal surprised her, she\nsaw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed that their\nabsence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being there; and as\nto the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must soon\ncease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.\n\n\"It is unlucky,\" said she, after a short pause, \"that you should not be\nable to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not\nhope that the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks\nforward, may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful\nintercourse you have known as friends, will be renewed with yet greater\nsatisfaction as sisters?--Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by\nthem.\"\n\n\"Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into\nHertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you--\n\n\"When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which\ntook him to London, might be concluded in three or four days, but as we\nare certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when\nCharles gets to town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have\ndetermined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend\nhis vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintance are\nalready there for the winter; I wish I could hear that you, my dearest\nfriend, had any intention of making one in the croud, but of that I\ndespair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in\nthe gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux\nwill be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three, of\nwhom we shall deprive you.\"\n\n\"It is evident by this,\" added Jane, \"that he comes back no more this\nwinter.\"\n\n\"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean he _should_.\"\n\n\"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing.--He is his own master.\nBut you do not know _all_. I _will_ read you the passage which\nparticularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from _you_.\" \"Mr. Darcy\nis impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, _we_ are\nscarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana\nDarcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the\naffection she inspires in Louisa and myself, is heightened into\nsomething still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of\nher being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before\nmentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the\ncountry without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them\nunreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have\nfrequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her\nrelations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister's\npartiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most\ncapable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to\nfavour an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest\nJane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness\nof so many?\"\n\n\"What think you of _this_ sentence, my dear Lizzy?\"--said Jane as she\nfinished it. \"Is it not clear enough?--Does it not expressly declare\nthat Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she\nis perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that if she\nsuspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to\nput me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?\"\n\n\"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different.--Will you hear it?\"\n\n\"Most willingly.\"\n\n\"You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is\nin love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to\ntown in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he\ndoes not care about you.\"\n\nJane shook her head.\n\n\"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me.--No one who has ever seen you\ntogether, can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley I am sure cannot. She is\nnot such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy\nfor herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is\nthis. We are not rich enough, or grand enough for them; and she is the\nmore anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that\nwhen there has been _one_ intermarriage, she may have less trouble in\nachieving a second; in which there is certainly some ingenuity, and I\ndare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But,\nmy dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley\ntells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest\ndegree less sensible of _your_ merit than when he took leave of you on\nTuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that instead of\nbeing in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend.\"\n\n\"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,\" replied Jane, \"your\nrepresentation of all this, might make me quite easy. But I know the\nfoundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any\none; and all that I can hope in this case is, that she is deceived\nherself.\"\n\n\"That is right.--You could not have started a more happy idea, since you\nwill not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived by all means.\nYou have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in\naccepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry\nelsewhere?\"\n\n\"You must decide for yourself,\" said Elizabeth, \"and if upon mature\ndeliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is\nmore than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by\nall means to refuse him.\"\n\n\"How can you talk so?\"--said Jane faintly smiling,--\"You must know that\nthough I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could\nnot hesitate.\"\n\n\"I did not think you would;--and that being the case, I cannot consider\nyour situation with much compassion.\"\n\n\"But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be\nrequired. A thousand things may arise in six months!\"\n\nThe idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost\ncontempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's\ninterested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those\nwishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man\nso totally independent of every one.\n\nShe represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on\nthe subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect.\nJane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope,\nthough the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that\nBingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.\n\nThey agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the\nfamily, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct;\nbut even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern,\nand she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen\nto go away, just as they were all getting so intimate together. After\nlamenting it however at some length, she had the consolation of thinking\nthat Mr. Bingley would be soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn,\nand the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration that, though\nhe had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have\ntwo full courses.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nThe Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the\nchief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins.\nElizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. \"It keeps him in good\nhumour,\" said she, \"and I am more obliged to you than I can express.\"\nCharlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and\nthat it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was\nvery amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth\nhad any conception of;--its object was nothing less, than to secure her\nfrom any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards\nherself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances were so\nfavourable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost\nsure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon.\nBut here, she did injustice to the fire and independence of his\ncharacter, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next\nmorning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw\nhimself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins,\nfrom a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to\nconjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known\ntill its success could be known likewise; for though feeling almost\nsecure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging,\nhe was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His\nreception however was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived\nhim from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly\nset out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared\nto hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.\n\nIn as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, every\nthing was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they\nentered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was\nto make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be\nwaved for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his\nhappiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature, must\nguard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its\ncontinuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and\ndisinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that\nestablishment were gained.\n\nSir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent;\nand it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present\ncircumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom\nthey could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were\nexceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more\ninterest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer\nMr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided\nopinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the\nLongbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife\nshould make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family in short\nwere properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes\nof _coming out_ a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have\ndone; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's\ndying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had\ngained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were\nin general satisfactory. Mr. Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor\nagreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be\nimaginary. But still he would be her husband.--Without thinking highly\neither of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it\nwas the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small\nfortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their\npleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now\nobtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been\nhandsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable\ncircumstance in the business, was the surprise it must occasion to\nElizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other\nperson. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though\nher resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such\ndisapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and\ntherefore charged Mr. Collins when he returned to Longbourn to dinner,\nto drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise\nof secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept\nwithout difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence, burst\nforth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some\ningenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great\nself-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.\n\nAs he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the\nfamily, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved\nfor the night; and Mrs. Bennet with great politeness and cordiality said\nhow happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his\nother engagements might allow him to visit them.\n\n\"My dear Madam,\" he replied, \"this invitation is particularly\ngratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you\nmay be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as\npossible.\"\n\nThey were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for\nso speedy a return, immediately said,\n\n\"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my\ngood sir?--You had better neglect your relations, than run the risk of\noffending your patroness.\"\n\n\"My dear sir,\" replied Mr. Collins, \"I am particularly obliged to you\nfor this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so\nmaterial a step without her ladyship's concurrence.\"\n\n\"You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk any thing rather than her\ndispleasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us\nagain, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home,\nand be satisfied that _we_ shall take no offence.\"\n\n\"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such\naffectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive\nfrom me a letter of thanks for this, as well as for every other mark of\nyour regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins,\nthough my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall\nnow take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting\nmy cousin Elizabeth.\"\n\nWith proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally\nsurprised to find that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished\nto understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of\nher younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him.\nShe rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a\nsolidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no\nmeans so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and\nimprove himself by such an example as her's, he might become a very\nagreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this\nkind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a\nprivate conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.\n\nThe possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love with her\nfriend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but\nthat Charlotte could encourage him, seemed almost as far from\npossibility as that she could encourage him herself, and her\nastonishment was consequently so great as to overcome at first the\nbounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out,\n\n\"Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte,--impossible!\"\n\nThe steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her\nstory, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a\nreproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon\nregained her composure, and calmly replied,\n\n\"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza?--Do you think it incredible\nthat Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion,\nbecause he was not so happy as to succeed with you?\"\n\nBut Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort\nfor it, was able to assure her with tolerable firmness that the prospect\nof their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished\nher all imaginable happiness.\n\n\"I see what you are feeling,\" replied Charlotte,--\"you must be\nsurprised, very much surprised,--so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to\nmarry you. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you\nwill be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic you know. I\nnever was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's\ncharacter, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my\nchance of happiness with him is as fair, as most people can boast on\nentering the marriage state.\"\n\nElizabeth quietly answered \"Undoubtedly;\"--and after an awkward pause,\nthey returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much\nlonger, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It\nwas a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so\nunsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two offers\nof marriage within three days, was nothing in comparison of his being\nnow accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony\nwas not exactly like her own, but she could not have supposed it\npossible that when called into action, she would have sacrificed every\nbetter feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins,\nwas a most humiliating picture!--And to the pang of a friend disgracing\nherself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction\nthat it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot\nshe had chosen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nElizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what\nshe had heard, and doubting whether she were authorised to mention it,\nwhen Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter to\nannounce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them,\nand much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the\nhouses, he unfolded the matter,--to an audience not merely wondering,\nbut incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than\npoliteness, protested he must be entirely mistaken, and Lydia, always\nunguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,\n\n\"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story?--Do not you know\nthat Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?\"\n\nNothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne\nwithout anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breeding carried\nhim through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the\ntruth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the\nmost forbearing courtesy.\n\nElizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant\na situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by\nmentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and\nendeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters,\nby the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she\nwas readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the\nhappiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character\nof Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.\n\nMrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while\nSir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings\nfound a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving\nthe whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins\nhad been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy\ntogether; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two\ninferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole; one, that\nElizabeth was the real cause of all the mischief; and the other, that\nshe herself had been barbarously used by them all; and on these two\npoints she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could\nconsole and nothing appease her.--Nor did that day wear out her\nresentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without\nscolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William\nor Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she\ncould at all forgive their daughter.\n\nMr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such\nas he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for\nit gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had\nbeen used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and\nmore foolish than his daughter!\n\nJane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said\nless of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness;\nnor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and\nLydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a\nclergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news\nto spread at Meryton.\n\nLady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on\nMrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she\ncalled at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was,\nthough Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been\nenough to drive happiness away.\n\nBetween Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them\nmutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no\nreal confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her\ndisappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her\nsister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could\nnever be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as\nBingley had now been gone a week, and nothing was heard of his return.\n\nJane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting\nthe days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised\nletter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their\nfather, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a\ntwelvemonth's abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging\nhis conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many\nrapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection\nof their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was\nmerely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready\nto close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, whither\nhe hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine,\nhe added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take\nplace as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable\nargument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him\nthe happiest of men.\n\nMr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of\npleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary she was as much disposed to\ncomplain of it as her husband.--It was very strange that he should come\nto Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient\nand exceedingly troublesome.--She hated having visitors in the house\nwhile her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the\nmost disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they\ngave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued\nabsence.\n\nNeither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after\nday passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the\nreport which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to\nNetherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs.\nBennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous\nfalsehood.\n\nEven Elizabeth began to fear--not that Bingley was indifferent--but that\nhis sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she\nwas to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and so\ndishonourable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its\nfrequently recurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters\nand of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss\nDarcy and the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared, for\nthe strength of his attachment.\n\nAs for Jane, _her_ anxiety under this suspence was, of course, more\npainful than Elizabeth's; but whatever she felt she was desirous of\nconcealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject\nwas never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an\nhour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her\nimpatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he\ndid not come back, she should think herself very ill used. It needed all\nJane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable\ntranquillity.\n\nMr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his\nreception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his\nfirst introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention;\nand luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them\nfrom a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by\nhim at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time\nto make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.\n\nMrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of any\nthing concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill humour, and\nwherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of\nMiss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she\nregarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see\nthem she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and\nwhenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that\nthey were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself\nand her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She\ncomplained bitterly of all this to her husband.\n\n\"Indeed, Mr. Bennet,\" said she, \"it is very hard to think that Charlotte\nLucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to\nmake way for _her_, and live to see her take my place in it!\"\n\n\"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for\nbetter things. Let us flatter ourselves that _I_ may be the survivor.\"\n\nThis was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and, therefore, instead of\nmaking any answer, she went on as before,\n\n\"I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was\nnot for the entail I should not mind it.\"\n\n\"What should not you mind?\"\n\n\"I should not mind any thing at all.\"\n\n\"Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such\ninsensibility.\"\n\n\"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any thing about the entail.\nHow any one could have the conscience to entail away an estate from\none's own daughters I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr.\nCollins too!--Why should _he_ have it more than anybody else?\"\n\n\"I leave it to yourself to determine,\" said Mr. Bennet.\n\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A VICARAGE HOUSE.]\n\n\n\n\nPRIDE AND PREJUDICE:\n\nA Novel.\n\nIn Three Volumes.\n\nBy the Author of \"Sense and Sensibility.\"\n\nVOL. II.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon:\nPrinted for T. Egerton,\nMilitary Library, Whitehall.\n1813.\n\n\n\n\nPRIDE & PREJUDICE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nMiss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first\nsentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for\nthe winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had\ntime to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left\nthe country.\n\nHope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of\nthe letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the\nwriter, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied\nthe chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline\nboasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict\nthe accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former\nletter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being an\ninmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures, some plans of\nthe latter with regard to new furniture.\n\nElizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this,\nheard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern\nfor her sister, and resentment against all the others. To Caroline's\nassertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no\ncredit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she\nhad ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she\ncould not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness\nof temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave\nof his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice his own happiness to\nthe caprice of their inclinations. Had his own happiness, however, been\nthe only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in what\never manner he thought best; but her sister's was involved in it, as she\nthought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on\nwhich reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She\ncould think of nothing else, and yet whether Bingley's regard had really\ndied away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he\nhad been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his\nobservation; whichever were the case, though her opinion of him must be\nmaterially affected by the difference, her sister's situation remained\nthe same, her peace equally wounded.\n\nA day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to\nElizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a\nlonger irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could\nnot help saying,\n\n\"Oh! that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no\nidea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I\nwill not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall\nall be as we were before.\"\n\nElizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said\nnothing.\n\n\"You doubt me,\" cried Jane, slightly colouring; \"indeed you have no\nreason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my\nacquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear,\nand nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not _that_ pain. A\nlittle time therefore.--I shall certainly try to get the better.\"\n\nWith a stronger voice she soon added, \"I have this comfort immediately,\nthat it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it\nhas done no harm to any one but myself.\"\n\n\"My dear Jane!\" exclaimed Elizabeth, \"you are too good. Your sweetness\nand disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to\nyou. I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you\ndeserve.\"\n\nMiss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back\nthe praise on her sister's warm affection.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Elizabeth, \"this is not fair. _You_ wish to think all the\nworld respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of any body. _I_ only\nwant to think _you_ perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be\nafraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your\nprivilege of universal good will. You need not. There are few people\nwhom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see\nof the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms\nmy belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the\nlittle dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit\nor sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention;\nthe other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccountable! in every view it\nis unaccountable!\"\n\n\"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will\nruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of\nsituation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins's respectability, and\nCharlotte's prudent, steady character. Remember that she is one of a\nlarge family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be\nready to believe, for every body's sake, that she may feel something\nlike regard and esteem for our cousin.\"\n\n\"To oblige you, I would try to believe almost any thing, but no one else\ncould be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded that\nCharlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her\nunderstanding, than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is\na conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well\nas I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who marries\nhim, cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her,\nthough it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one\nindividual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor\nendeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and\ninsensibility of danger, security for happiness.\"\n\n\"I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,\" replied\nJane, \"and I hope you will be convinced of it, by seeing them happy\ntogether. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You\nmentioned _two_ instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I intreat\nyou, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking _that person_ to blame, and\nsaying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy\nourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man\nto be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but\nour own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than\nit does.\"\n\n\"And men take care that they should.\"\n\n\"If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea\nof there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine.\"\n\n\"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design,\"\nsaid Elizabeth; \"but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others\nunhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness,\nwant of attention to other people's feelings, and want of resolution,\nwill do the business.\"\n\n\"And do you impute it to either of those?\"\n\n\"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what\nI think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can.\"\n\n\"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.\"\n\n\"Yes, in conjunction with his friend.\"\n\n\"I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can\nonly wish his happiness, and if he is attached to me, no other woman can\nsecure it.\"\n\n\"Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his\nhappiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they\nmay wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great\nconnections, and pride.\"\n\n\"Beyond a doubt, they _do_ wish him to chuse Miss Darcy,\" replied Jane;\n\"but this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have\nknown her much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love\nher better. But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely\nthey should have opposed their brother's. What sister would think\nherself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very\nobjectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try\nto part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an\naffection, you make every body acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most\nunhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been\nmistaken--or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in comparison of\nwhat I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it\nin the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.\"\n\nElizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley's\nname was scarcely ever mentioned between them.\n\nMrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no\nmore, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account\nfor it clearly, there seemed little chance of her ever considering it\nwith less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what\nshe did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely\nthe effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw\nher no more; but though the probability of the statement was admitted at\nthe time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best\ncomfort was, that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer.\n\nMr. Bennet treated the matter differently. \"So, Lizzy,\" said he one day,\n\"your sister is crossed in love I find. I congratulate her. Next to\nbeing married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then.\nIt is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among\nher companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be\nlong outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough at\nMeryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham\nbe _your_ man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not\nall expect Jane's good fortune.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Mr. Bennet, \"but it is a comfort to think that, whatever of\nthat kind may befal you, you have an affectionate mother who will always\nmake the most of it.\"\n\nMr. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the gloom,\nwhich the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the Longbourn\nfamily. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now\nadded that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already\nheard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him,\nwas now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed; and every body was\npleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they\nhad known any thing of the matter.\n\nMiss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any\nextenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of\nHertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for\nallowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes--but by everybody else\nMr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nAfter a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr.\nCollins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of\nSaturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated on his\nside, by preparations for the reception of his bride, as he had reason\nto hope, that shortly after his next return into Hertfordshire, the day\nwould be fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave\nof his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before; wished\nhis fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised their father\nanother letter of thanks.\n\nOn the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her\nbrother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at\nLongbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentleman-like man, greatly\nsuperior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield\nladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by\ntrade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well\nbred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than\nMrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant\nwoman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the\ntwo eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a very particular\nregard. They had frequently been staying with her in town.\n\nThe first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on her arrival, was to\ndistribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was\ndone, she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen.\nMrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They\nhad all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her\ngirls had been on the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing\nin it.\n\n\"I do not blame Jane,\" she continued, \"for Jane would have got Mr.\nBingley, if she could. But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! it is very hard to think\nthat she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it\nbeen for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room,\nand she refused him. The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have\na daughter married before I have, and that Longbourn estate is just as\nmuch entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed,\nsister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of\nthem, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted\nso in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of themselves\nbefore anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the\ngreatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of\nlong sleeves.\"\n\nMrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before, in\nthe course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with her, made her\nsister a slight answer, and in compassion to her nieces turned the\nconversation.\n\nWhen alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. \"It\nseems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane,\" said she. \"I am\nsorry it went off. But these things happen so often! A young man, such\nas you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl\nfor a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets\nher, that these sort of inconstancies are very frequent.\"\n\n\"An excellent consolation in its way,\" said Elizabeth, \"but it will not\ndo for _us_. We do not suffer by _accident_. It does not often happen\nthat the interference of friends will persuade a young man of\nindependent fortune to think no more of a girl, whom he was violently in\nlove with only a few days before.\"\n\n\"But that expression of 'violently in love' is so hackneyed, so\ndoubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is as\noften applied to feelings which arise from an half-hour's acquaintance,\nas to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how _violent was_ Mr. Bingley's\nlove?\"\n\n\"I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing quite\ninattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time\nthey met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he\noffended two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance, and I\nspoke to him twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be\nfiner symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!--of that kind of love which I suppose him to have felt. Poor\nJane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposition, she may not get\nover it immediately. It had better have happened to _you_, Lizzy; you\nwould have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she\nwould be prevailed on to go back with us? Change of scene might be of\nservice--and perhaps a little relief from home, may be as useful as\nanything.\"\n\nElizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded\nof her sister's ready acquiescence.\n\n\"I hope,\" added Mrs. Gardiner, \"that no consideration with regard to\nthis young man will influence her. We live in so different a part of\ntown, all our connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go\nout so little, that it is very improbable they should meet at all,\nunless he really comes to see her.\"\n\n\"And _that_ is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody of his\nfriend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such a\npart of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may\nperhaps have _heard_ of such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would\nhardly think a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its\nimpurities, were he once to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley\nnever stirs without him.\"\n\n\"So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane\ncorrespond with the sister? _She_ will not be able to help calling.\"\n\n\"She will drop the acquaintance entirely.\"\n\nBut in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this\npoint, as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley's being\nwithheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject which\nconvinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it entirely\nhopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that\nhis affection might be re-animated, and the influence of his friends\nsuccessfully combated by the more natural influence of Jane's\nattractions.\n\nMiss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure; and the\nBingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the time, than as she\nhoped that, by Caroline's not living in the same house with her brother,\nshe might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of\nseeing him.\n\nThe Gardiners staid a week at Longbourn; and what with the Philipses,\nthe Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its\nengagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment\nof her brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family\ndinner. When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always\nmade part of it, of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and\non these occasions, Mrs. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's\nwarm commendation of him, narrowly observed them both. Without supposing\nthem, from what she saw, to be very seriously in love, their preference\nof each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy; and she\nresolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left\nHertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging such\nan attachment.\n\nTo Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure,\nunconnected with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago,\nbefore her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very part\nof Derbyshire, to which he belonged. They had, therefore, many\nacquaintance in common; and, though Wickham had been little there since\nthe death of Darcy's father, five years before, it was yet in his power\nto give her fresher intelligence of her former friends, than she had\nbeen in the way of procuring.\n\nMrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Darcy by\ncharacter perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible subject\nof discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberley, with the\nminute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her\ntribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she was\ndelighting both him and herself. On being made acquainted with the\npresent Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to remember something of\nthat gentleman's reputed disposition when quite a lad, which might agree\nwith it, and was confident at last, that she recollected having heard\nMr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured\nboy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nMrs. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on\nthe first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after\nhonestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:\n\n\"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you\nare warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking\nopenly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve\nyourself, or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of\nfortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against\n_him_; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he\nought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is--you\nmust not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all\nexpect you to use it. Your father would depend on _your_ resolution and\ngood conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.\"\n\n\"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of\nmyself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I\ncan prevent it.\"\n\n\"Elizabeth, you are not serious now.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with\nMr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison,\nthe most agreeable man I ever saw--and if he becomes really attached to\nme--I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence\nof it.--Oh! _that_ abominable Mr. Darcy!--My father's opinion of me does\nme the greatest honour; and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My\nfather, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I\nshould be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but\nsince we see every day that where there is affection, young people are\nseldom withheld by immediate want of fortune, from entering into\nengagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many\nof my fellow creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it\nwould be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not\nto be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first\nobject. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short,\nI will do my best.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it will be as well, if you discourage his coming here so very\noften. At least, you should not _remind_ your Mother of inviting him.\"\n\n\"As I did the other day,\" said Elizabeth, with a conscious smile; \"very\ntrue, it will be wise in me to refrain from _that_. But do not imagine\nthat he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been\nso frequently invited this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the\nnecessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my\nhonour, I will try to do what I think to be wisest; and now, I hope you\nare satisfied.\"\n\nHer aunt assured her that she was; and Elizabeth having thanked her for\nthe kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice\nbeing given on such a point, without being resented.\n\nMr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted\nby the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases,\nhis arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was\nnow fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think\nit inevitable, and even repeatedly to say in an ill-natured tone that\nshe \"_wished_ they might be happy.\" Thursday was to be the wedding day,\nand on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose\nto take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother's ungracious and\nreluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her\nout of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charlotte said,\n\n\"I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.\"\n\n\"_That_ you certainly shall.\"\n\n\"And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?\"\n\n\"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.\"\n\n\"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to\ncome to Hunsford.\"\n\nElizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the\nvisit.\n\n\"My father and Maria are to come to me in March,\" added Charlotte, \"and\nI hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be\nas welcome to me as either of them.\"\n\nThe wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from\nthe church door, and every body had as much to say or to hear on the\nsubject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and their\ncorrespondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been; that it\nshould be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never\naddress her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over,\nand, though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the\nsake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte's first letters\nwere received with a good deal of eagerness; there could not but be\ncuriosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would\nlike Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself to\nbe; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte\nexpressed herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She\nwrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing\nwhich she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and\nroads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most\nfriendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and\nRosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait\nfor her own visit there, to know the rest.\n\nJane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their\nsafe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it\nwould be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.\n\nHer impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience\ngenerally is. Jane had been a week in town, without either seeing or\nhearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that\nher last letter to her friend from Longbourn, had by some accident been\nlost.\n\n\"My aunt,\" she continued, \"is going to-morrow into that part of the\ntown, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor-street.\"\n\nShe wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley.\n\"I did not think Caroline in spirits,\" were her words, \"but she was very\nglad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming\nto London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her.\nI enquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much\nengaged with Mr. Darcy, that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that\nMiss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was\nnot long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall\nsoon see them here.\"\n\nElizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her, that\naccident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's being in town.\n\nFour weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to\npersuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be\nblind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every morning\nfor a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the\nvisitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more,\nthe alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no\nlonger. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister, will\nprove what she felt.\n\n     \"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in\n     her better judgment, at my expence, when I confess myself to have\n     been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But, my\n     dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do not think me\n     obstinate if I still assert, that, considering what her behaviour\n     was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at\n     all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but\n     if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should\n     be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday;\n     and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the mean time. When\n     she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it;\n     she made a slight, formal, apology, for not calling before, said\n     not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so\n     altered a creature, that when she went away, I was perfectly\n     resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I\n     cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as\n     she did; I can safely say, that every advance to intimacy began on\n     her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been\n     acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her\n     brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself farther; and\n     though _we_ know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she\n     feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and so\n     deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may\n     feel on his behalf, is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder,\n     however, at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at\n     all cared about me, we must have met long, long ago. He knows of my\n     being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; and\n     yet it should seem by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to\n     persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot\n     understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should\n     be almost tempted to say, that there is a strong appearance of\n     duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful\n     thought, and think only of what will make me happy, your affection,\n     and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear\n     from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never\n     returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not\n     with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely\n     glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at\n     Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am\n     sure you will be very comfortable there.\n\n     \"Your's, &c.\"\n\nThis letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as she\nconsidered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least.\nAll expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not\neven wish for any renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every\nreview of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible\nadvantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr.\nDarcy's sister, as, by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly\nregret what he had thrown away.\n\nMrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise\nconcerning that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth had\nsuch to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to\nherself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over,\nhe was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to\nsee it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain.\nHer heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied\nwith believing that _she_ would have been his only choice, had fortune\npermitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most\nremarkable charm of the young lady, to whom he was now rendering himself\nagreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in his case than\nin Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence.\nNothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and while able to\nsuppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was\nready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very\nsincerely wish him happy.\n\nAll this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the\ncircumstances, she thus went on:--\"I am now convinced, my dear aunt,\nthat I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that\npure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name,\nand wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial\ntowards _him_; they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find\nout that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think\nher a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My\nwatchfulness has been effectual; and though I should certainly be a more\ninteresting object to all my acquaintance, were I distractedly in love\nwith him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance.\nImportance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take\nhis defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways\nof the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that\nhandsome young men must have something to live on, as well as the\nplain.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nWith no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise\ndiversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and\nsometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take\nElizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of\ngoing thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan,\nand she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure\nas well as greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire of seeing\nCharlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was\nnovelty in the scheme, and as, with such a mother and such\nuncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change\nwas not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give her\na peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, she would have\nbeen very sorry for any delay. Every thing, however, went on smoothly,\nand was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch. She was\nto accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement of\nspending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became\nperfect as plan could be.\n\nThe only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her,\nand who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going, that he\ntold her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her letter.\n\nThe farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on\nhis side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that\nElizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the\nfirst to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner\nof bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what\nshe was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their\nopinion of her--their opinion of every body--would always coincide,\nthere was a solicitude, an interest which she felt must ever attach her\nto him with a most sincere regard; and she parted from him convinced,\nthat whether married or single, he must always be her model of the\namiable and pleasing.\n\nHer fellow-travellers the next day, were not of a kind to make her think\nhim less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good\nhumoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that\ncould be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight\nas the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had\nknown Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing new of the\nwonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn\nout like his information.\n\nIt was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early\nas to be in Gracechurch-street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner's\ndoor, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when\nthey entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth,\nlooking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and\nlovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls,\nwhose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them to\nwait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen her\nfor a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and\nkindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and\nshopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.\n\nElizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first subject was her\nsister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to\nher minute enquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her\nspirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to\nhope, that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the\nparticulars also of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch-street, and\nrepeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and\nherself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the\nacquaintance.\n\nMrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and\ncomplimented her on bearing it so well.\n\n\"But, my dear Elizabeth,\" she added, \"what sort of girl is Miss King? I\nshould be sorry to think our friend mercenary.\"\n\n\"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs,\nbetween the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end,\nand avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me,\nbecause it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a\ngirl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is\nmercenary.\"\n\n\"If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know\nwhat to think.\"\n\n\"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.\"\n\n\"But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's\ndeath made her mistress of this fortune.\"\n\n\"No--why should he? If it was not allowable for him to gain _my_\naffections, because I had no money, what occasion could there be for\nmaking love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally\npoor?\"\n\n\"But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her, so\nsoon after this event.\"\n\n\"A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant\ndecorums which other people may observe. If _she_ does not object to it,\nwhy should _we_?\"\n\n\"_Her_ not objecting, does not justify _him_. It only shews her being\ndeficient in something herself--sense or feeling.\"\n\n\"Well,\" cried Elizabeth, \"have it as you choose. _He_ shall be\nmercenary, and _she_ shall be foolish.\"\n\n\"No, Lizzy, that is what I do _not_ choose. I should be sorry, you know,\nto think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.\"\n\n\"Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in\nDerbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not\nmuch better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow\nwhere I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has\nneither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones\nworth knowing, after all.\"\n\n\"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.\"\n\nBefore they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the\nunexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in\na tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.\n\n\"We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,\" said Mrs.\nGardiner, \"but perhaps to the Lakes.\"\n\nNo scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her\nacceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. \"My dear, dear\naunt,\" she rapturously cried, \"what delight! what felicity! You give me\nfresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men\nto rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And\nwhen we _do_ return, it shall not be like other travellers, without\nbeing able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We _will_ know where\nwe have gone--we _will_ recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains,\nand rivers, shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when\nwe attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling\nabout its relative situation. Let _our_ first effusions be less\ninsupportable than those of the generality of travellers.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nEvery object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to\nElizabeth; and her spirits were in a state for enjoyment; for she had\nseen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health,\nand the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight.\n\nWhen they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in\nsearch of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view.\nThe paling of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth\nsmiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.\n\nAt length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the road,\nthe house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge, every\nthing declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at\nthe door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate, which led by a\nshort gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole\nparty. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the\nsight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest\npleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming, when\nshe found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her\ncousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility\nwas just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate\nto hear and satisfy his enquiries after all her family. They were then,\nwith no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance,\ntaken into the house; and as soon as they were in the parlour, he\nwelcomed them a second time with ostentatious formality to his humble\nabode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.\n\nElizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help\nfancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect\nand its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if\nwishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though\nevery thing seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him\nby any sigh of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend\nthat she could have so cheerful an air, with such a companion. When Mr.\nCollins said any thing of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed,\nwhich certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on\nCharlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general\nCharlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every\narticle of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to\ngive an account of their journey and of all that had happened in London,\nMr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large\nand well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself.\nTo work in his garden was one of his most respectable pleasures; and\nElizabeth admired the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked\nof the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as\nmuch as possible. Here, leading the way through every walk and cross\nwalk, and scarcely allowing them an interval to utter the praises he\nasked for, every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left\nbeauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every direction,\nand could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But\nof all the views which his garden, or which the country, or the kingdom\ncould boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings,\nafforded by an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly\nopposite the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well\nsituated on rising ground.\n\nFrom his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows,\nbut the ladies not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white\nfrost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte\ntook her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased,\nprobably, to have the opportunity of shewing it without her husband's\nhelp. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and every\nthing was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of\nwhich Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be\nforgotten, there was really a great air of comfort throughout, and by\nCharlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often\nforgotten.\n\nShe had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It\nwas spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining\nin, observed,\n\n\"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine\nde Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will\nbe delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I\ndoubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when\nservice is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will\ninclude you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she\nhonours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is\ncharming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to\nwalk home. Her ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I\n_should_ say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for she has several.\"\n\n\"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,\" added\nCharlotte, \"and a most attentive neighbour.\"\n\n\"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of\nwoman whom one cannot regard with too much deference.\"\n\nThe evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and\ntelling again what had been already written; and when it closed,\nElizabeth in the solitude of her chamber had to meditate upon\nCharlotte's degree of contentment, to understand her address in guiding,\nand composure in bearing with her husband, and to acknowledge that it\nwas all done very well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would\npass, the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious\ninterruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse with\nRosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all.\n\nAbout the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready\nfor a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in\nconfusion; and after listening a moment, she heard somebody running up\nstairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened the\ndoor, and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with\nagitation, cried out,\n\n\"Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for\nthere is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make\nhaste, and come down this moment.\"\n\nElizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more,\nand down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in quest\nof this wonder; it was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the\ngarden gate.\n\n\"And is this all?\" cried Elizabeth. \"I expected at least that the pigs\nwere got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her\ndaughter!\"\n\n\"La! my dear,\" said Maria quite shocked at the mistake, \"it is not Lady\nCatherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The\nother is Miss De Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little\ncreature. Who would have thought she could be so thin and small!\"\n\n\"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind.\nWhy does she not come in?\"\n\n\"Oh! Charlotte says, she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours\nwhen Miss De Bourgh comes in.\"\n\n\"I like her appearance,\" said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. \"She\nlooks sickly and cross.--Yes, she will do for him very well. She will\nmake him a very proper wife.\"\n\nMr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in\nconversation with the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's high\ndiversion, was stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the\ngreatness before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss De Bourgh\nlooked that way.\n\nAt length there was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on, and\nthe others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two\ngirls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which\nCharlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked\nto dine at Rosings the next day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nMr. Collins's triumph in consequence of this invitation was complete.\nThe power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering\nvisitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his\nwife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of\ndoing it should be given so soon, was such an instance of Lady\nCatherine's condescension as he knew not how to admire enough.\n\n\"I confess,\" said he, \"that I should not have been at all surprised by\nher Ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at\nRosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it\nwould happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who\ncould have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there\n(an invitation moreover including the whole party) so immediately after\nyour arrival!\"\n\n\"I am the less surprised at what has happened,\" replied Sir William,\n\"from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which\nmy situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the Court, such\ninstances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.\"\n\nScarcely any thing was talked of the whole day or next morning, but\ntheir visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in\nwhat they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many\nservants, and so splendid a dinner might not wholly overpower them.\n\nWhen the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth,\n\n\"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady\nCatherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which\nbecomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on\nwhatever of your clothes is superior to the rest, there is no occasion\nfor any thing more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for\nbeing simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank\npreserved.\"\n\nWhile they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different\ndoors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much\nobjected to be kept waiting for her dinner.--Such formidable accounts of\nher Ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas,\nwho had been little used to company, and she looked forward to her\nintroduction at Rosings, with as much apprehension, as her father had\ndone to his presentation at St. James's.\n\nAs the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile\nacross the park.--Every park has its beauty and its prospects; and\nElizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such\nraptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but\nslightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the\nhouse, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally\ncost Sir Lewis De Bourgh.\n\nWhen they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every\nmoment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly\ncalm.--Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of\nLady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or\nmiraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money and rank, she\nthought she could witness without trepidation.\n\nFrom the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a\nrapturous air, the fine proportion and finished ornaments, they followed\nthe servants through an anti-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine,\nher daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting.--Her Ladyship, with great\ncondescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had settled it\nwith her husband that the office of introduction should be her's, it was\nperformed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks\nwhich he would have thought necessary.\n\nIn spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely\nawed, by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage\nenough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word;\nand his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge\nof her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself\nquite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her\ncomposedly.--Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with\nstrongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air\nwas not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them, such as to\nmake her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered\nformidable by silence; but whatever she said, was spoken in so\nauthoritative a tone, as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr.\nWickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation of the\nday altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had\nrepresented.\n\nWhen, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment\nshe soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the\ndaughter, she could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment, at her\nbeing so thin, and so small. There was neither in figure nor face, any\nlikeness between the ladies. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly; her\nfeatures, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very\nlittle, except in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance\nthere was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening\nto what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before\nher eyes.\n\nAfter sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows,\nto admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point out its\nbeauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much\nbetter worth looking at in the summer.\n\nThe dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants,\nand all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he\nhad likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by\nher ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish\nnothing greater.--He carved, and ate, and praised with delighted\nalacrity; and every dish was commended, first by him, and then by Sir\nWilliam, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son in law\nsaid, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear.\nBut Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and\ngave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved\na novelty to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth\nwas ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated\nbetween Charlotte and Miss De Bourgh--the former of whom was engaged in\nlistening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all\ndinner time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little\nMiss De Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing she\nwere indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the\ngentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.\n\nWhen the ladies returned to the drawing-room, there was little to be\ndone but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any\nintermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every\nsubject in so decisive a manner as proved that she was not used to have\nher judgment controverted. She enquired into Charlotte's domestic\nconcerns familiarly and minutely, and gave her a great deal of advice,\nas to the management of them all; told her how every thing ought to be\nregulated in so small a family as her's, and instructed her as to the\ncare of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing was\nbeneath this great Lady's attention, which could furnish her with an\noccasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse with\nMrs. Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and\nElizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew\nthe least, and who she observed to Mrs. Collins, was a very genteel,\npretty kind of girl. She asked her at different times, how many sisters\nshe had, whether they were older or younger than herself, whether any of\nthem were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they\nhad been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what had been her\nmother's maiden name?--Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her\nquestions, but answered them very composedly.--Lady Catherine then\nobserved,\n\n\"Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your\nsake,\" turning to Charlotte, \"I am glad of it; but otherwise I see no\noccasion for entailing estates from the female line.--It was not thought\nnecessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family.--Do you play and sing, Miss\nBennet?\"\n\n\"A little.\"\n\n\"Oh! then--some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our\ninstrument is a capital one, probably superior to----You shall try it\nsome day.--Do your sisters play and sing?\"\n\n\"One of them does.\"\n\n\"Why did not you all learn?--You ought all to have learned. The Miss\nWebbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as\nyour's.--Do you draw?\"\n\n\"No, not at all.\"\n\n\"What, none of you?\"\n\n\"Not one.\"\n\n\"That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother\nshould have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.\"\n\n\"My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London.\"\n\n\"Has your governess left you?\"\n\n\"We never had any governess.\"\n\n\"No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home\nwithout a governess!--I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must\nhave been quite a slave to your education.\"\n\nElizabeth could hardly help smiling, as she assured her that had not\nbeen the case.\n\n\"Then, who taught you? who attended to you? Without a governess you must\nhave been neglected.\"\n\n\"Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as\nwished to learn, never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to\nread, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be\nidle, certainly might.\"\n\n\"Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent, and if I had\nknown your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage\none. I always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady\nand regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is\nwonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that\nway. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces\nof Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means; and\nit was but the other day, that I recommended another young person, who\nwas merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are quite\ndelighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfe's\ncalling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. 'Lady\nCatherine,' said she, 'you have given me a treasure.' Are any of your\nyounger sisters out, Miss Bennet?\"\n\n\"Yes, Ma'am, all.\"\n\n\"All!--What, all five out at once? Very odd!--And you only the\nsecond.--The younger ones out before the elder are married!--Your\nyounger sisters must be very young?\"\n\n\"Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps _she_ is full young to be much\nin company. But really, Ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon\nyounger sisters, that they should not have their share of society and\namusement because the elder may not have the means or inclination to\nmarry early.--The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of\nyouth, as the first. And to be kept back on _such_ a motive!--I think it\nwould not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of\nmind.\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" said her Ladyship, \"you give your opinion very\ndecidedly for so young a person.--Pray, what is your age?\"\n\n\"With three younger sisters grown up,\" replied Elizabeth smiling, \"your\nLadyship can hardly expect me to own it.\"\n\nLady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer;\nand Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever\ndared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.\n\n\"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure,--therefore you need not\nconceal your age.\"\n\n\"I am not one and twenty.\"\n\nWhen the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card tables\nwere placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat\ndown to quadrille; and as Miss De Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the\ntwo girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her\nparty. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was\nuttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson\nexpressed her fears of Miss De Bourgh's being too hot or too cold, or\nhaving too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the\nother table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking--stating the mistakes\nof the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins\nwas employed in agreeing to every thing her Ladyship said, thanking her\nfor every fish he won, and apologising if he thought he won too many.\nSir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes\nand noble names.\n\nWhen Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose,\nthe tables were broke up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins,\ngratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered\nround the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were\nto have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the\narrival of the coach, and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr.\nCollins's side, and as many bows on Sir William's, they departed. As\nsoon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her\ncousin, to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which,\nfor Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than it really was. But\nher commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means\nsatisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her Ladyship's\npraise into his own hands.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nSir William staid only a week at Hunsford; but his visit was long enough\nto convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of\nher possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not often met\nwith. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings\nto driving him out in his gig, and shewing him the country; but when he\nwent away, the whole family returned to their usual employments, and\nElizabeth was thankful to find that they did not see more of her cousin\nby the alteration, for the chief of the time between breakfast and\ndinner was now passed by him either at work in the garden, or in reading\nand writing, and looking out of window in his own book room, which\nfronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards.\nElizabeth at first had rather wondered that Charlotte should not prefer\nthe dining-parlour for common use; it was a better sized room, and had a\npleasanter aspect; but she soon saw that her friend had an excellent\nreason for what she did, for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been\nmuch less in his own apartment, had they sat in one equally lively; and\nshe gave Charlotte credit for the arrangement.\n\nFrom the drawing-room they could distinguish nothing in the lane, and\nwere indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went\nalong, and how often especially Miss De Bourgh drove by in her phaeton,\nwhich he never failed coming to inform them of, though it happened\nalmost every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage, and had\na few minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever\nprevailed on to get out.\n\nVery few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and\nnot many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise;\nand till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings\nto be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many\nhours. Now and then, they were honoured with a call from her Ladyship,\nand nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room during\nthese visits. She examined into their employments, looked at their work,\nand advised them to do it differently; found fault with the arrangement\nof the furniture, or detected the housemaid in negligence; and if she\naccepted any refreshment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding\nout that Mrs. Collins's joints of meat were too large for her family.\n\nElizabeth soon perceived that though this great lady was not in the\ncommission of the peace for the county, she was a most active magistrate\nin her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by\nMr. Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be\nquarrelsome, discontented or too poor, she sallied forth into the\nvillage to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold\nthem into harmony and plenty.\n\nThe entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week;\nand, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one card\ntable in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of\nthe first. Their other engagements were few; as the style of living of\nthe neighbourhood in general, was beyond the Collinses' reach. This\nhowever was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time\ncomfortably enough; there were half hours of pleasant conversation with\nCharlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year, that she\nhad often great enjoyment out of doors. Her favourite walk, and where\nshe frequently went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine, was\nalong the open grove which edged that side of the park, where there was\na nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value but herself, and\nwhere she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity.\n\nIn this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away.\nEaster was approaching, and the week preceding it, was to bring an\naddition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be\nimportant. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival, that Mr. Darcy\nwas expected there in the course of a few weeks, and though there were\nnot many of her acquaintance whom she did not prefer, his coming would\nfurnish one comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties, and\nshe might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designs on him\nwere, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently destined\nby Lady Catherine; who talked of his coming with the greatest\nsatisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and\nseemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by\nMiss Lucas and herself.\n\nHis arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking\nthe whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane,\nin order to have the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow\nas the carriage turned into the Park, hurried home with the great\nintelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his\nrespects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for\nMr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of\nhis uncle, Lord ---- and to the great surprise of all the party, when\nMr. Collins returned the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen\nthem from her husband's room, crossing the road, and immediately running\ninto the other, told the girls what an honour they might expect, adding,\n\n\"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would\nnever have come so soon to wait upon me.\"\n\nElizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment,\nbefore their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly\nafterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam,\nwho led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and\naddress most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been\nused to look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments, with his usual\nreserve, to Mrs. Collins; and whatever might be his feelings towards her\nfriend, met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely\ncurtseyed to him, without saying a word.\n\nColonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the\nreadiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but\nhis cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and\ngarden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to any body.\nAt length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to enquire of\nElizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual\nway, and after a moment's pause, added,\n\n\"My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never\nhappened to see her there?\"\n\nShe was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see\nwhether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between the\nBingleys and Jane; and she thought he looked a little confused as he\nanswered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The\nsubject was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went\naway.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nColonel Fitzwilliam's manners were very much admired at the parsonage,\nand the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasure of\ntheir engagements at Rosings. It was some days, however, before they\nreceived any invitation thither, for while there were visitors in the\nhouse, they could not be necessary; and it was not till Easter-day,\nalmost a week after the gentlemen's arrival, that they were honoured by\nsuch an attention, and then they were merely asked on leaving church to\ncome there in the evening. For the last week they had seen very little\nof either Lady Catherine or her daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam had called\nat the parsonage more than once during the time, but Mr. Darcy they had\nonly seen at church.\n\nThe invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour they joined\nthe party in Lady Catherine's drawing-room. Her ladyship received them\ncivilly, but it was plain that their company was by no means so\nacceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact,\nalmost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy,\nmuch more than to any other person in the room.\n\nColonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; any thing was a\nwelcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins's pretty friend had\nmoreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himself by her, and\ntalked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying\nat home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so\nwell entertained in that room before; and they conversed with so much\nspirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself, as\nwell as of Mr. Darcy. _His_ eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned\ntowards them with a look of curiosity; and that her ladyship after a\nwhile shared the feeling, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not\nscruple to call out,\n\n\"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking\nof? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.\"\n\n\"We are speaking of music, Madam,\" said he, when no longer able to avoid\na reply.\n\n\"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I\nmust have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music.\nThere are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment\nof music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I\nshould have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health\nhad allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed\ndelightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?\"\n\nMr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's proficiency.\n\n\"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her,\" said Lady\nCatherine; \"and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel,\nif she does not practise a great deal.\"\n\n\"I assure you, Madam,\" he replied, \"that she does not need such advice.\nShe practises very constantly.\"\n\n\"So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write\nto her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often\ntell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired,\nwithout constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that\nshe will never play really well, unless she practises more; and though\nMrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often\ntold her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano-forte in\nMrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that\npart of the house.\"\n\nMr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's ill breeding, and made\nno answer.\n\nWhen coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having\npromised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He\ndrew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then\ntalked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from\nher, and moving with his usual deliberation towards the piano-forte,\nstationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer's\ncountenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first\nconvenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said,\n\n\"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear\nme? But I will not be alarmed though your sister _does_ play so well.\nThere is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at\nthe will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to\nintimidate me.\"\n\n\"I shall not say that you are mistaken,\" he replied, \"because you could\nnot really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I\nhave had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you\nfind great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact\nare not your own.\"\n\nElizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to\nColonel Fitzwilliam, \"Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of\nme, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky\nin meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a\npart of the world, where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree\nof credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention\nall that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire--and, give me\nleave to say, very impolitic too--for it is provoking me to retaliate,\nand such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear.\"\n\n\"I am not afraid of you,\" said he, smilingly.\n\n\"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,\" cried Colonel\nFitzwilliam. \"I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.\"\n\n\"You shall hear then--but prepare yourself for something very dreadful.\nThe first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know,\nwas at a ball--and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced\nonly four dances! I am sorry to pain you--but so it was. He danced only\nfour dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge,\nmore than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr.\nDarcy, you cannot deny the fact.\"\n\n\"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly\nbeyond my own party.\"\n\n\"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball room. Well, Colonel\nFitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Darcy, \"I should have judged better, had I sought an\nintroduction, but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers.\"\n\n\"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?\" said Elizabeth, still\naddressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. \"Shall we ask him why a man of sense and\neducation, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend\nhimself to strangers?\"\n\n\"I can answer your question,\" said Fitzwilliam, \"without applying to\nhim. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.\"\n\n\"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,\" said Darcy,\n\"of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot\ncatch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their\nconcerns, as I often see done.\"\n\n\"My fingers,\" said Elizabeth, \"do not move over this instrument in the\nmasterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same\nforce or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I\nhave always supposed it to be my own fault--because I would not take the\ntrouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe _my_ fingers as\ncapable as any other woman's of superior execution.\"\n\nDarcy smiled and said, \"You are perfectly right. You have employed your\ntime much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you, can\nthink any thing wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.\"\n\nHere they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know\nwhat they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again.\nLady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said\nto Darcy,\n\n\"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practised more, and\ncould have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion\nof fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne would have\nbeen a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.\"\n\nElizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his\ncousin's praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other could she\ndiscern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss\nDe Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might have\nbeen just as likely to marry _her_, had she been his relation.\n\nLady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's performance, mixing\nwith them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received\nthem with all the forbearance of civility; and at the request of the\ngentlemen remained at the instrument till her Ladyship's carriage was\nready to take them all home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nElizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane,\nwhile Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village,\nwhen she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a\nvisitor. As she had heard no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be\nLady Catherine, and under that apprehension was putting away her\nhalf-finished letter that she might escape all impertinent questions,\nwhen the door opened, and to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr.\nDarcy only, entered the room.\n\nHe seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and apologised for his\nintrusion, by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies to\nbe within.\n\nThey then sat down, and when her enquiries after Rosings were made,\nseemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely\nnecessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergence\nrecollecting _when_ she had seen him last in Hertfordshire, and feeling\ncurious to know what he would say on the subject of their hasty\ndeparture, she observed,\n\n\"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!\nIt must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you\nall after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day\nbefore. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London.\"\n\n\"Perfectly so--I thank you.\"\n\nShe found that she was to receive no other answer--and, after a short\npause, added,\n\n\"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever\nreturning to Netherfield again?\"\n\n\"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend\nvery little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is\nat a time of life when friends and engagements are continually\nincreasing.\"\n\n\"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the\nneighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we\nmight possibly get a settled family there. But perhaps Mr. Bingley did\nnot take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as\nfor his own, and we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same\nprinciple.\"\n\n\"I should not be surprised,\" said Darcy, \"if he were to give it up, as\nsoon as any eligible purchase offers.\"\n\nElizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his\nfriend; and, having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave the\ntrouble of finding a subject to him.\n\nHe took the hint, and soon began with, \"This seems a very comfortable\nhouse. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr.\nCollins first came to Hunsford.\"\n\n\"I believe she did--and I am sure she could not have bestowed her\nkindness on a more grateful object.\"\n\n\"Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of\nthe very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made\nhim happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding--though\nI am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest\nthing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a\nprudential light, it is certainly a very good match for her.\"\n\n\"It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a\ndistance of her own family and friends.\"\n\n\"An easy distance do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.\"\n\n\"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's\njourney. Yes, I call it a _very_ easy distance.\"\n\n\"I should never have considered the distance as one of the _advantages_\nof the match,\" cried Elizabeth. \"I should never have said Mrs. Collins\nwas settled _near_ her family.\"\n\n\"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Any thing beyond\nthe very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.\"\n\nAs he spoke there was a sort of smile, which Elizabeth fancied she\nunderstood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and\nNetherfield, and she blushed as she answered,\n\n\"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her\nfamily. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many\nvarying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expence of\ntravelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the\ncase _here_. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not\nsuch a one as will allow of frequent journeys--and I am persuaded my\nfriend would not call herself _near_ her family under less than _half_\nthe present distance.\"\n\nMr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, \"_You_ cannot\nhave a right to such very strong local attachment. _You_ cannot have\nbeen always at Longbourn.\"\n\nElizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of\nfeeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and,\nglancing over it, said, in a colder voice,\n\n\"Are you pleased with Kent?\"\n\nA short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side\ncalm and concise--and soon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotte\nand her sister, just returned from their walk. The tête-à-tête surprised\nthem. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding\non Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying\nmuch to any body, went away.\n\n\"What can be the meaning of this!\" said Charlotte, as soon as he was\ngone. \"My dear Eliza he must be in love with you, or he would never have\ncalled on us in this familiar way.\"\n\nBut when Elizabeth told of his silence, it did not seem very likely,\neven to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after various\nconjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit to proceed from\nthe difficulty of finding any thing to do, which was the more probable\nfrom the time of year. All field sports were over. Within doors there\nwas Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard table, but gentlemen cannot be\nalways within doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the\npleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the\ntwo cousins found a temptation from this period of walking thither\nalmost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes\nseparately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their\naunt. It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he\nhad pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended\nhim still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in\nbeing with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her, of her\nformer favourite George Wickham; and though, in comparing them, she saw\nthere was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners,\nshe believed he might have the best informed mind.\n\nBut why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult\nto understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there\nten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it\nseemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice--a sacrifice to\npropriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really\nanimated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel\nFitzwilliam's occasionally laughing at his stupidity, proved that he was\ngenerally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told\nher; and as she would have liked to believe this change the effect of\nlove, and the object of that love, her friend Eliza, she sat herself\nseriously to work to find it out.--She watched him whenever they were at\nRosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He\ncertainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that\nlook was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often\ndoubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it\nseemed nothing but absence of mind.\n\nShe had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his\nbeing partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs.\nCollins did not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of\nraising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her\nopinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would\nvanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.\n\nIn her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying\nColonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the pleasantest man; he\ncertainly admired her, and his situation in life was most eligible; but,\nto counterbalance these advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage\nin the church, and his cousin could have none at all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nMore than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park, unexpectedly\nmeet Mr. Darcy.--She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that\nshould bring him where no one else was brought; and to prevent its ever\nhappening again, took care to inform him at first, that it was a\nfavourite haunt of hers.--How it could occur a second time therefore was\nvery odd!--Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful\nill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not\nmerely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he\nactually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never\nsaid a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of\nlistening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre\nthat he was asking some odd unconnected questions--about her pleasure in\nbeing at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr.\nand Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her\nnot perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever\nshe came into Kent again she would be staying _there_ too. His words\nseemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts?\nShe supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion to what\nmight arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was\nquite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the\nParsonage.\n\nShe was engaged one day as she walked, in re-perusing Jane's last\nletter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not\nwritten in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy,\nshe saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting\naway the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said,\n\n\"I did not know before that you ever walked this way.\"\n\n\"I have been making the tour of the Park,\" he replied, \"as I generally\ndo every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are\nyou going much farther?\"\n\n\"No, I should have turned in a moment.\"\n\nAnd accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage\ntogether.\n\n\"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?\" said she.\n\n\"Yes--if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He\narranges the business just as he pleases.\"\n\n\"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least\ngreat pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know any body who seems\nmore to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.\"\n\n\"He likes to have his own way very well,\" replied Colonel Fitzwilliam.\n\"But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than\nmany others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak\nfeelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and\ndependence.\"\n\n\"In my opinion, the younger son of an Earl can know very little of\neither. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and\ndependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going\nwherever you chose, or procuring any thing you had a fancy for?\"\n\n\"These are home questions--and perhaps I cannot say that I have\nexperienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater\nweight, I may suffer from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry\nwhere they like.\"\n\n\"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often\ndo.\"\n\n\"Our habits of expence make us too dependant, and there are not many in\nmy rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to\nmoney.\"\n\n\"Is this,\" thought Elizabeth, \"meant for me?\" and she coloured at the\nidea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, \"And pray, what is\nthe usual price of an Earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is\nvery sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.\"\n\nHe answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt\na silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed,\nshe soon afterwards said,\n\n\"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of\nhaving somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a\nlasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps his sister does as well\nfor the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he\nlikes with her.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Colonel Fitzwilliam, \"that is an advantage which he must\ndivide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.\"\n\n\"Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your\ncharge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age, are sometimes a\nlittle difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she\nmay like to have her own way.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and the manner\nin which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to\ngive them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other\ngot pretty near the truth. She directly replied,\n\n\"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and I dare\nsay she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a\nvery great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and\nMiss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them.\"\n\n\"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentleman-like\nman--he is a great friend of Darcy's.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" said Elizabeth drily--\"Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr.\nBingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.\"\n\n\"Care of him!--Yes, I really believe Darcy _does_ take care of him in\nthose points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in\nour journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to\nhim. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that\nBingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.\"\n\n\"What is it you mean?\"\n\n\"It is a circumstance which Darcy of course would not wish to be\ngenerally known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family,\nit would be an unpleasant thing.\"\n\n\"You may depend upon my not mentioning it.\"\n\n\"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be\nBingley. What he told me was merely this; that he congratulated himself\non having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most\nimprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other\nparticulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him\nthe kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from\nknowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.\"\n\n\"Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?\"\n\n\"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the\nlady.\"\n\n\"And what arts did he use to separate them?\"\n\n\"He did not talk to me of his own arts,\" said Fitzwilliam smiling. \"He\nonly told me, what I have now told you.\"\n\nElizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with\nindignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she\nwas so thoughtful.\n\n\"I am thinking of what you have been telling me,\" said she. \"Your\ncousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?\"\n\n\"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?\"\n\n\"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of\nhis friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to\ndetermine and direct in what manner that friend was to be happy.\" \"But,\"\nshe continued, recollecting herself, \"as we know none of the\nparticulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed\nthat there was much affection in the case.\"\n\n\"That is not an unnatural surmise,\" said Fitzwilliam, \"but it is\nlessening the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly.\"\n\nThis was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of\nMr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer; and,\ntherefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent\nmatters till they reached the parsonage. There, shut into her own room,\nas soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption\nof all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other\npeople could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There\ncould not exist in the world _two_ men, over whom Mr. Darcy could have\nsuch boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures\ntaken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she\nhad always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and\narrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him,\n_he_ was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause of all that\nJane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a\nwhile every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart\nin the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have\ninflicted.\n\n\"There were some very strong objections against the lady,\" were Colonel\nFitzwilliam's words, and these strong objections probably were, her\nhaving one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in\nbusiness in London.\n\n\"To Jane herself,\" she exclaimed, \"there could be no possibility of\nobjection. All loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding\nexcellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could\nany thing be urged against my father, who, though with some\npeculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain,\nand respectability which he will probably never reach.\" When she thought\nof her mother indeed, her confidence gave way a little, but she would\nnot allow that any objections _there_ had material weight with Mr.\nDarcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from\nthe want of importance in his friend's connections, than from their want\nof sense; and she was quite decided at last, that he had been partly\ngoverned by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of\nretaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.\n\nThe agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a\nheadache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to\nher unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her\ncousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins,\nseeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go, and as much\nas possible prevented her husband from pressing her, but Mr. Collins\ncould not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather\ndispleased by her staying at home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nWhen they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as\nmuch as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the\nexamination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her\nbeing in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any\nrevival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering.\nBut in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that\ncheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style, and which,\nproceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself, and kindly\ndisposed towards every one, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth\nnoticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an\nattention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's\nshameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a\nkeener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation to\nthink that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next,\nand a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be\nwith Jane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her\nspirits, by all that affection could do.\n\nShe could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent, without remembering that\nhis cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear\nthat he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not\nmean to be unhappy about him.\n\nWhile settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the\ndoor bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its\nbeing Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in\nthe evening, and might now come to enquire particularly after her. But\nthis idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently\naffected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the\nroom. In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her\nhealth, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better.\nShe answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and\nthen getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said\nnot a word. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an\nagitated manner, and thus began,\n\n\"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be\nrepressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love\nyou.\"\n\nElizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured,\ndoubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement,\nand the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her,\nimmediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides\nthose of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the\nsubject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority--of\nits being a degradation--of the family obstacles which judgment had\nalways opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed\ndue to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to\nrecommend his suit.\n\nIn spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to\nthe compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did\nnot vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to\nreceive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost\nall compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to\nanswer him with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with\nrepresenting to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of\nall his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with\nexpressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of\nhis hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of\na favourable answer. He _spoke_ of apprehension and anxiety, but his\ncountenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only\nexasperate farther, and when he ceased, the colour rose into her\ncheeks, and she said,\n\n\"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to\nexpress a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however\nunequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be\nfelt, and if I could _feel_ gratitude, I would now thank you. But I\ncannot--I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly\nbestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any\none. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of\nshort duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the\nacknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming\nit after this explanation.\"\n\nMr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his eyes fixed\non her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than\nsurprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of\nhis mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the\nappearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed\nhimself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings\ndreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,\n\n\"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I\nmight, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little _endeavour_ at\ncivility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.\"\n\n\"I might as well enquire,\" replied she, \"why with so evident a design of\noffending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me\nagainst your will, against your reason, and even against your character?\nWas not this some excuse for incivility, if I _was_ uncivil? But I have\nother provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided\nagainst you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been\nfavourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept\nthe man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the\nhappiness of a most beloved sister?\"\n\nAs she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion\nwas short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she\ncontinued.\n\n\"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can\nexcuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted _there_. You dare not,\nyou cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means\nof dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the\nworld for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for\ndisappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest\nkind.\"\n\nShe paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening\nwith an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.\nHe even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.\n\n\"Can you deny that you have done it?\" she repeated.\n\nWith assumed tranquillity he then replied, \"I have no wish of denying\nthat I did every thing in my power to separate my friend from your\nsister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards _him_ I have been\nkinder than towards myself.\"\n\nElizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection,\nbut its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.\n\n\"But it is not merely this affair,\" she continued, \"on which my dislike\nis founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was\ndecided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received\nmany months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to\nsay? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?\nor under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?\"\n\n\"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,\" said Darcy in\na less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.\n\n\"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an\ninterest in him?\"\n\n\"His misfortunes!\" repeated Darcy contemptuously; \"yes, his misfortunes\nhave been great indeed.\"\n\n\"And of your infliction,\" cried Elizabeth with energy. \"You have reduced\nhim to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have\nwithheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for\nhim. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence\nwhich was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and\nyet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and\nridicule.\"\n\n\"And this,\" cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room,\n\"is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I\nthank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this\ncalculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,\" added he, stopping in his\nwalk, and turning towards her, \"these offences might have been\noverlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the\nscruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These\nbitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy\nconcealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being\nimpelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by\nreflection, by every thing. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.\nNor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just.\nCould you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?\nTo congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life\nis so decidedly beneath my own?\"\n\nElizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to\nthe utmost to speak with composure when she said,\n\n\"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your\ndeclaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the\nconcern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a\nmore gentleman-like manner.\"\n\nShe saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued,\n\n\"You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way\nthat would have tempted me to accept it.\"\n\nAgain his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an\nexpression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on.\n\n\"From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my\nacquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest\nbelief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the\nfeelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of\ndisapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a\ndislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the\nlast man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.\"\n\n\"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your\nfeelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.\nForgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best\nwishes for your health and happiness.\"\n\nAnd with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him\nthe next moment open the front door and quit the house.\n\nThe tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to\nsupport herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for half an\nhour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was\nincreased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of\nmarriage from Mr. Darcy! that he should have been in love with her for\nso many months! so much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all\nthe objections which had made him prevent his friend's marrying her\nsister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his own case,\nwas almost incredible! it was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously\nso strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable pride, his\nshameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane, his\nunpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he could not justify it,\nand the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his\ncruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame the\npity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited.\n\nShe continued in very agitating reflections till the sound of Lady\nCatherine's carriage made her feel how unequal she was to encounter\nCharlotte's observation, and hurried her away to her room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nElizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations\nwhich had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the\nsurprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of any thing\nelse, and totally indisposed for employment, she resolved soon after\nbreakfast to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding\ndirectly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's\nsometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park,\nshe turned up the lane, which led her farther from the turnpike road.\nThe park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed\none of the gates into the ground.\n\nAfter walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was\ntempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and\nlook into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent, had\nmade a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the\nverdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk,\nwhen she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which\nedged the park; he was moving that way; and fearful of its being Mr.\nDarcy, she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced, was now\nnear enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced\nher name. She had turned away, but on hearing herself called, though in\na voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the\ngate. He had by that time reached it also, and holding out a letter,\nwhich she instinctively took, said with a look of haughty composure, \"I\nhave been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.\nWill you do me the honour of reading that letter?\"--And then, with a\nslight bow, turned again into the plantation, and was soon out of\nsight.\n\nWith no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity,\nElizabeth opened the letter, and to her still increasing wonder,\nperceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter paper, written\nquite through, in a very close hand.--The envelope itself was likewise\nfull.--Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated\nfrom Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning, and was as follows:--\n\n     \"Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the\n     apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments,\n     or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to\n     you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling\n     myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both,\n     cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation,\n     and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been\n     spared, had not my character required it to be written and read.\n     You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your\n     attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I\n     demand it of your justice.\n\n     \"Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal\n     magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned\n     was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached\n     Mr. Bingley from your sister,--and the other, that I had, in\n     defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity,\n     ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted the prospects of Mr.\n     Wickham.--Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of\n     my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who\n     had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who\n     had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity,\n     to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could\n     be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison.--But\n     from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally\n     bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in\n     future secured, when the following account of my actions and their\n     motives has been read.--If, in the explanation of them which is\n     due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which\n     may be offensive to your's, I can only say that I am sorry.--The\n     necessity must be obeyed--and farther apology would be absurd.--I\n     had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with\n     others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister, to any other\n     young woman in the country.--But it was not till the evening of the\n     dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a\n     serious attachment.--I had often seen him in love before.--At that\n     ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made\n     acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that\n     Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general\n     expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event,\n     of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I\n     observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then\n     perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had\n     ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched.--Her look and\n     manners were open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but without any\n     symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the\n     evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with\n     pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of\n     sentiment.--If _you_ have not been mistaken here, _I_ must have\n     been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make\n     the latter probable.--If it be so, if I have been misled by such\n     error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been\n     unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity\n     of your sister's countenance and air was such, as might have given\n     the most acute observer, a conviction that, however amiable her\n     temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched.--That I was\n     desirous of believing her indifferent is certain,--but I will\n     venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually\n     influenced by my hopes or fears.--I did not believe her to be\n     indifferent because I wished it;--I believed it on impartial\n     conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason.--My objections to\n     the marriage were not merely those, which I last night acknowledged\n     to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside, in my\n     own case; the want of connection could not be so great an evil to\n     my friend as to me.--But there were other causes of\n     repugnance;--causes which, though still existing, and existing to\n     an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to\n     forget, because they were not immediately before me.--These causes\n     must be stated, though briefly.--The situation of your mother's\n     family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that\n     total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed\n     by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by\n     your father.--Pardon me.--It pains me to offend you. But amidst\n     your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your\n     displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you\n     consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to\n     avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally\n     bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to\n     the sense and disposition of both.--I will only say farther, that\n     from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was\n     confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me\n     before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy\n     connection.--He left Netherfield for London, on the day following,\n     as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon\n     returning.--The part which I acted, is now to be explained.--His\n     sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our\n     coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible\n     that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly\n     resolved on joining him directly in London.--We accordingly\n     went--and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to\n     my friend, the certain evils of such a choice.--I described, and\n     enforced them earnestly.--But, however this remonstrance might have\n     staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it\n     would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been\n     seconded by the assurance which I hesitated not in giving, of your\n     sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his\n     affection with sincere, if not with equal regard.--But Bingley has\n     great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment\n     than on his own.--To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived\n     himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against\n     returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given,\n     was scarcely the work of a moment.--I cannot blame myself for\n     having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the\n     whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is\n     that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to\n     conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as\n     it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant\n     of it.--That they might have met without ill consequence, is\n     perhaps probable;--but his regard did not appear to me enough\n     extinguished for him to see her without some danger.--Perhaps this\n     concealment, this disguise, was beneath me.--It is done, however,\n     and it was done for the best.--On this subject I have nothing more\n     to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's\n     feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which\n     governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have\n     not yet learnt to condemn them.--With respect to that other, more\n     weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only\n     refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my\n     family. Of what he has _particularly_ accused me I am ignorant; but\n     of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one\n     witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very\n     respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the\n     Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his\n     trust, naturally inclined my father to be of service to him, and on\n     George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore\n     liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and\n     afterwards at Cambridge;--most important assistance, as his own\n     father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have\n     been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not\n     only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always\n     engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the\n     church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it.\n     As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think\n     of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities--the\n     want of principle which he was careful to guard from the knowledge\n     of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man\n     of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of\n     seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have.\n     Here again I shall give you pain--to what degree you only can tell.\n     But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a\n     suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his\n     real character. It adds even another motive. My excellent father\n     died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to\n     the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it\n     to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his\n     profession might allow, and if he took orders, desired that a\n     valuable family living might be his as soon as soon as it became\n     vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own\n     father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these\n     events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally\n     resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it\n     unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary\n     advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be\n     benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law,\n     and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would\n     be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than\n     believed him to be sincere; but at any rate, was perfectly ready to\n     accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a\n     clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all\n     claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could\n     ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three\n     thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I\n     thought too ill of him, to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his\n     society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his\n     studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all\n     restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For\n     about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the\n     incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied\n     to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he\n     assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were\n     exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study,\n     and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would\n     present him to the living in question--of which he trusted there\n     could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other\n     person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered\n     father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to\n     comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it.\n     His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his\n     circumstances--and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me\n     to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every\n     appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not. But\n     last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I\n     must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget\n     myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce\n     me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no\n     doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my\n     junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel\n     Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from\n     school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last\n     summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate;\n     and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there\n     proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs.\n     Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by\n     her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana,\n     whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his\n     kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe\n     herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but\n     fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her\n     imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to\n     herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the\n     intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea\n     of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as\n     a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt\n     and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings\n     prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left\n     the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from\n     her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my\n     sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot\n     help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me, was a\n     strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.\n     This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we\n     have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject\n     it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty\n     towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of\n     falsehood he has imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to\n     be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing\n     concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and\n     suspicion certainly not in your inclination. You may possibly\n     wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then\n     master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed.\n     For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more\n     particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our\n     near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of\n     the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted\n     with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of\n     _me_ should make _my_ assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented\n     by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may\n     be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find\n     some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course\n     of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.\n\n     \"FITZWILLIAM DARCY.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nIf Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to\ncontain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of\nits contents. But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerly\nshe went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited.\nHer feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did\nshe first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power;\nand steadfastly was she persuaded that he could have no explanation to\ngive, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong\nprejudice against every thing he might say, she began his account of\nwhat had happened at Netherfield. She read, with an eagerness which\nhardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing\nwhat the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the\nsense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's\ninsensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account of\nthe real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have\nany wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had\ndone which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It\nwas all pride and insolence.\n\nBut when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, when\nshe read with somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events, which,\nif true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which\nbore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings\nwere yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.\nAstonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished\nto discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, \"This must be false!\nThis cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!\"--and when she had\ngone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing any thing of the\nlast page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not\nregard it, that she would never look in it again.\n\nIn this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on\nnothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter\nwas unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she\nagain began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and\ncommanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.\nThe account of his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactly\nwhat he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy,\nthough she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his\nown words. So far each recital confirmed the other: but when she came to\nthe will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living\nwas fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was\nimpossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the\nother; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did\nnot err. But when she read, and re-read with the closest attention, the\nparticulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions\nto the living, of his receiving in lieu, so considerable a sum as three\nthousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the\nletter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be\nimpartiality--deliberated on the probability of each statement--but with\nlittle success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read on.\nBut every line proved more clearly that the affair, which she had\nbelieved it impossible that any contrivance could so represent, as to\nrender Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a\nturn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.\n\nThe extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay to\nMr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could\nbring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his\nentrance into the ----shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the\npersuasion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town,\nhad there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life,\nnothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to\nhis real character, had information been in her power, she had never\nfelt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner, had\nestablished him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to\nrecollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of\nintegrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr.\nDarcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those\ncasual errors, under which she would endeavour to class, what Mr. Darcy\nhad described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no\nsuch recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before\nher, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more\nsubstantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and\nthe regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After\npausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to\nread. But, alas! the story which followed of his designs on Miss Darcy,\nreceived some confirmation from what had passed between Colonel\nFitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she was\nreferred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam\nhimself--from whom she had previously received the information of his\nnear concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no\nreason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to\nhim, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and\nat length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never\nhave hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his\ncousin's corroboration.\n\nShe perfectly remembered every thing that had passed in conversation\nbetween Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Philips's.\nMany of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was _now_\nstruck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and\nwondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting\nhimself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions\nwith his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear\nof seeing Mr. Darcy--that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that\n_he_ should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball\nthe very next week. She remembered also, that till the Netherfield\nfamily had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but\nherself; but that after their removal, it had been every where\ndiscussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr.\nDarcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for the\nfather, would always prevent his exposing the son.\n\nHow differently did every thing now appear in which he was concerned!\nHis attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and\nhatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer\nthe moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing.\nHis behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had\neither been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying\nhis vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most\nincautiously shewn. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter\nand fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not\nbut allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago\nasserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive as\nwere his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their\nacquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much\ntogether, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways, seen any thing\nthat betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust--any thing that spoke him\nof irreligious or immoral habits. That among his own connections he was\nesteemed and valued--that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a\nbrother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of\nhis sister as to prove him capable of _some_ amiable feeling. That had\nhis actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of\nevery thing right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and\nthat friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man\nas Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.\n\nShe grew absolutely ashamed of herself.--Of neither Darcy nor Wickham\ncould she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial,\nprejudiced, absurd.\n\n\"How despicably have I acted!\" she cried.--\"I, who have prided myself on\nmy discernment!--I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have\noften disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my\nvanity, in useless or blameable distrust.--How humiliating is this\ndiscovery!--Yet, how just a humiliation!--Had I been in love, I could\nnot have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my\nfolly.--Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect\nof the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted\nprepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were\nconcerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself.\"\n\nFrom herself to Jane--from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line\nwhich soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanation\n_there_, had appeared very insufficient; and she read it again. Widely\ndifferent was the effect of a second perusal.--How could she deny that\ncredit to his assertions, in one instance, which she had been obliged to\ngive in the other?--He declared himself to have been totally\nunsuspicious of her sister's attachment;--and she could not help\nremembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.--Neither could she\ndeny the justice of his description of Jane.--She felt that Jane's\nfeelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a\nconstant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great\nsensibility.\n\nWhen she came to that part of the letter in which her family were\nmentioned, in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense\nof shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly\nfor denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded, as\nhaving passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first\ndisapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind\nthan on hers.\n\nThe compliment to herself and her sister, was not unfelt. It soothed,\nbut it could not console her for the contempt which had been thus\nself-attracted by the rest of her family;--and as she considered that\nJane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest\nrelations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt\nby such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing she\nhad ever known before.\n\nAfter wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every\nvariety of thought; re-considering events, determining probabilities,\nand reconciling herself as well as she could, to a change so sudden and\nso important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her\nat length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of\nappearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such\nreflections as must make her unfit for conversation.\n\nShe was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each\ncalled during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes to take\nleave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least\nan hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her\ntill she could be found.--Elizabeth could but just _affect_ concern in\nmissing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no\nlonger an object. She could think only of her letter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nThe two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning; and Mr. Collins having\nbeen in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was\nable to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very\ngood health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the\nmelancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then\nhastened to console Lady Catherine, and her daughter; and on his return,\nbrought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her Ladyship,\nimporting that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of\nhaving them all to dine with her.\n\nElizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting, that had\nshe chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her, as her\nfuture niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her\nladyship's indignation would have been. \"What would she have said?--how\nwould she have behaved?\" were questions with which she amused herself.\n\nTheir first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party.--\"I assure\nyou, I feel it exceedingly,\" said Lady Catherine; \"I believe nobody\nfeels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly\nattached to these young men; and know them to be so much attached to\nme!--They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear\ncolonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy\nseemed to feel it most acutely, more I think than last year. His\nattachment to Rosings, certainly increases.\"\n\nMr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which\nwere kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.\n\nLady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of\nspirits, and immediately accounting for it herself, by supposing that\nshe did not like to go home again so soon, she added,\n\n\"But if that is the case, you must write to your mother to beg that you\nmay stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your\ncompany, I am sure.\"\n\n\"I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,\" replied\nElizabeth, \"but it is not in my power to accept it.--I must be in town\nnext Saturday.\"\n\n\"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected\nyou to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There\ncan be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly\nspare you for another fortnight.\"\n\n\"But my father cannot.--He wrote last week to hurry my return.\"\n\n\"Oh! your father of course may spare you, if your mother can.--Daughters\nare never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will stay\nanother _month_ complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as\nfar as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; and as\nDawson does not object to the Barouche box, there will be very good room\nfor one of you--and indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I\nshould not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large.\"\n\n\"You are all kindness, Madam; but I believe we must abide by our\noriginal plan.\"\n\nLady Catherine seemed resigned.\n\n\"Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. You know I always\nspeak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling\npost by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive to send\nsomebody. I have the greatest dislike in the world to that sort of\nthing.--Young women should always be properly guarded and attended,\naccording to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to\nRamsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two men servants go\nwith her.--Miss Darcy, the daughter of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady\nAnne, could not have appeared with propriety in a different manner.--I\nam excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with\nthe young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to mention\nit; for it would really be discreditable to _you_ to let them go alone.\"\n\n\"My uncle is to send a servant for us.\"\n\n\"Oh!--Your uncle!--He keeps a man-servant, does he?--I am very glad you\nhave somebody who thinks of those things. Where shall you change\nhorses?--Oh! Bromley, of course.--If you mention my name at the Bell,\nyou will be attended to.\"\n\nLady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey,\nand as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary,\nwhich Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a mind so\noccupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be\nreserved for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it\nas the greatest relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk,\nin which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant\nrecollections.\n\nMr. Darcy's letter, she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She\nstudied every sentence: and her feelings towards its writer were at\ntimes widely different. When she remembered the style of his address,\nshe was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly\nshe had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against\nherself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion.\nHis attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but she\ncould not approve him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or\nfeel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. In her own past\nbehaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret; and in\nthe unhappy defects of her family a subject of yet heavier chagrin.\nThey were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at\nthem, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his\nyoungest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right\nherself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently\nunited with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine\nand Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother's indulgence,\nwhat chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited,\nirritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance, had been always\naffronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would\nscarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While\nthere was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while\nMeryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there for\never.\n\nAnxiety on Jane's behalf, was another prevailing concern, and Mr.\nDarcy's explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good\nopinion, heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was\nproved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame,\nunless any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his\nfriend. How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation so\ndesirable in every respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for\nhappiness, Jane had been deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her own\nfamily!\n\nWhen to these recollections was added the developement of Wickham's\ncharacter, it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had\nseldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it\nalmost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.\n\nTheir engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the last week of\nher stay, as they had been at first. The very last evening was spent\nthere; and her Ladyship again enquired minutely into the particulars of\ntheir journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing,\nand was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right\nway, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the\nwork of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.\n\nWhen they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them\na good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year;\nand Miss De Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her\nhand to both.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nOn Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few\nminutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of\npaying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.\n\n\"I know not, Miss Elizabeth,\" said he, \"whether Mrs. Collins has yet\nexpressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us, but I am very\ncertain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for\nit. The favour of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We know\nhow little there is to tempt any one to our humble abode. Our plain\nmanner of living, our small rooms, and few domestics, and the little we\nsee of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like\nyourself; but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension,\nand that we have done every thing in our power to prevent your spending\nyour time unpleasantly.\"\n\nElizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had\nspent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with\nCharlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make _her_\nfeel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified; and with a more smiling\nsolemnity replied,\n\n\"It gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that you have passed your\ntime not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most\nfortunately having it in our power to introduce you to very superior\nsociety, and from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of\nvarying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that\nyour Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation\nwith regard to Lady Catherine's family is indeed the sort of\nextraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on\nwhat a footing we are. You see how continually we are engaged there. In\ntruth I must acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this humble\nparsonage, I should not think any one abiding in it an object of\ncompassion, while they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.\"\n\nWords were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was\nobliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility\nand truth in a few short sentences.\n\n\"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into\nHertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will\nbe able to do so. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs. Collins you\nhave been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear\nthat your friend has drawn an unfortunate--but on this point it will be\nas well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth,\nthat I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in\nmarriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of\nthinking. There is in every thing a most remarkable resemblance of\ncharacter and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each\nother.\"\n\nElizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness where that was\nthe case, and with equal sincerity could add that she firmly believed\nand rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry, however, to\nhave the recital of them interrupted by the entrance of the lady from\nwhom they sprung. Poor Charlotte!--it was melancholy to leave her to\nsuch society!--But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and though\nevidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did not seem to\nask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her\npoultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their\ncharms.\n\nAt length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels\nplaced within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate\nparting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by\nMr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden, he was commissioning\nher with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks\nfor the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his\ncompliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her\nin, Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being closed, when\nhe suddenly reminded them, with some consternation, that they had\nhitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies of Rosings.\n\n\"But,\" he added, \"you will of course wish to have your humble respects\ndelivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you\nwhile you have been here.\"\n\nElizabeth made no objection;--the door was then allowed to be shut, and\nthe carriage drove off.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" cried Maria, after a few minutes silence, \"it seems but\na day or two since we first came!--and yet how many things have\nhappened!\"\n\n\"A great many indeed,\" said her companion with a sigh.\n\n\"We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there\ntwice!--How much I shall have to tell!\"\n\nElizabeth privately added, \"And how much I shall have to conceal.\"\n\nTheir journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm; and\nwithin four hours of their leaving Hunsford, they reached Mr. Gardiner's\nhouse, where they were to remain a few days.\n\nJane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her\nspirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt\nhad reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at\nLongbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.\n\nIt was not without an effort meanwhile that she could wait even for\nLongbourn, before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy's proposals. To know\nthat she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish\nJane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever of her own\nvanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was such a temptation\nto openness as nothing could have conquered, but the state of indecision\nin which she remained, as to the extent of what she should communicate;\nand her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hurried into\nrepeating something of Bingley, which might only grieve her sister\nfarther.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nIt was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out\ntogether from Gracechurch-street, for the town of ---- in Hertfordshire;\nand, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was\nto meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's\npunctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room up\nstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily\nemployed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on\nguard, and dressing a sallad and cucumber.\n\nAfter welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set\nout with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming,\n\"Is not this nice? is not this an agreeable surprise?\"\n\n\"And we mean to treat you all,\" added Lydia; \"but you must lend us the\nmoney, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.\" Then shewing\nher purchases: \"Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it\nis very pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall\npull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any\nbetter.\"\n\nAnd when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect\nunconcern, \"Oh! but there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and\nwhen I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I\nthink it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what\none wears this summer, after the ----shire have left Meryton, and they\nare going in a fortnight.\"\n\n\"Are they indeed?\" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.\n\n\"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want papa to\ntake us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme,\nand I dare say would hardly cost any thing at all. Mamma would like to\ngo too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall\nhave!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" thought Elizabeth, \"_that_ would be a delightful scheme, indeed,\nand completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole\ncampful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor\nregiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton.\"\n\n\"Now I have got some news for you,\" said Lydia, as they sat down to\ntable. \"What do you think? It is excellent news, capital news, and about\na certain person that we all like.\"\n\nJane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told that he\nneed not stay. Lydia laughed, and said,\n\n\"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the\nwaiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse\nthings said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad\nhe is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for\nmy news: it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is not it?\nThere is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's for you! She\nis gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe.\"\n\n\"And Mary King is safe!\" added Elizabeth; \"safe from a connection\nimprudent as to fortune.\"\n\n\"She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.\"\n\n\"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,\" said Jane.\n\n\"I am sure there is not on _his_. I will answer for it he never cared\nthree straws about her. Who _could_ about such a nasty little freckled\nthing?\"\n\nElizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such\ncoarseness of _expression_ herself, the coarseness of the _sentiment_\nwas little other than her own breast had formerly harboured and fancied\nliberal!\n\nAs soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was\nordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their\nboxes, workbags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's and\nLydia's purchases, were seated in it.\n\n\"How nicely we are crammed in!\" cried Lydia. \"I am glad I bought my\nbonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now\nlet us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way\nhome. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all,\nsince you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any\nflirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband\nbefore you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare.\nShe is almost three and twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be of not\nbeing married before three and twenty! My aunt Philips wants you so to\nget husbands, you can't think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr.\nCollins; but _I_ do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord!\nhow I should like to be married before any of you; and then I would\nchaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece\nof fun the other day at Colonel Forster's. Kitty and me were to spend\nthe day there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the\nevening; (by the bye, Mrs. Forster and me are _such_ friends!) and so\nshe asked the two Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen\nwas forced to come by herself; and then, what do you think we did? We\ndressed up Chamberlayne in woman's clothes, on purpose to pass for a\nlady,--only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Col. and Mrs.\nForster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow\none of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny,\nand Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they\ndid not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs.\nForster. I thought I should have died. And _that_ made the men suspect\nsomething, and then they soon found out what was the matter.\"\n\nWith such kind of histories of their parties and good jokes, did Lydia,\nassisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her\ncompanions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she\ncould, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's name.\n\nTheir reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane\nin undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet\nsay voluntarily to Elizabeth,\n\n\"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.\"\n\nTheir party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases\ncame to meet Maria and hear the news: and various were the subjects\nwhich occupied them; lady Lucas was enquiring of Maria across the table,\nafter the welfare and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was\ndoubly engaged, on one hand collecting an account of the present\nfashions from Jane, who sat some way below her, and on the other,\nretailing them all to the younger Miss Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice\nrather louder than any other person's, was enumerating the various\npleasures of the morning to any body who would hear her.\n\n\"Oh! Mary,\" said she, \"I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun!\nas we went along, Kitty and me drew up all the blinds, and pretended\nthere was nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if\nKitty had not been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we\nbehaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest\ncold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have\ntreated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought\nwe never should have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter.\nAnd then we were so merry all the way home! we talked and laughed so\nloud, that any body might have heard us ten miles off!\"\n\nTo this, Mary very gravely replied, \"Far be it from me, my dear sister,\nto depreciate such pleasures. They would doubtless be congenial with\nthe generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms\nfor _me_. I should infinitely prefer a book.\"\n\nBut of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom listened to any\nbody for more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at all.\n\nIn the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk to\nMeryton and see how every body went on; but Elizabeth steadily opposed\nthe scheme. It should not be said, that the Miss Bennets could not be at\nhome half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was\nanother reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Wickham again,\nand was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to _her_,\nof the regiment's approaching removal, was indeed beyond expression. In\na fortnight they were to go, and once gone, she hoped there could be\nnothing more to plague her on his account.\n\nShe had not been many hours at home, before she found that the Brighton\nscheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under\nfrequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw directly that her\nfather had not the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers were\nat the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often\ndisheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nElizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no\nlonger be overcome; and at length resolving to suppress every particular\nin which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be surprised,\nshe related to her the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr.\nDarcy and herself.\n\nMiss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly\npartiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly\nnatural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was\nsorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so\nlittle suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the\nunhappiness which her sister's refusal must have given him.\n\n\"His being so sure of succeeding, was wrong,\" said she; \"and certainly\nought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his\ndisappointment.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, \"I am heartily sorry for him; but he has\nother feelings which will probably soon drive away his regard for me.\nYou do not blame me, however, for refusing him?\"\n\n\"Blame you! Oh, no.\"\n\n\"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham.\"\n\n\"No--I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.\"\n\n\"But you _will_ know it, when I have told you what happened the very\nnext day.\"\n\nShe then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far\nas they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane!\nwho would willingly have gone through the world without believing that\nso much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here\ncollected in one individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though\ngrateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery.\nMost earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and\nseek to clear one, without involving the other.\n\n\"This will not do,\" said Elizabeth. \"You never will be able to make both\nof them good for any thing. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied\nwith only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just\nenough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting\nabout pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr.\nDarcy's, but you shall do as you chuse.\"\n\nIt was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.\n\n\"I do not know when I have been more shocked,\" said she. \"Wickham so\nvery bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! dear Lizzy, only\nconsider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the\nknowledge of your ill opinion too! and having to relate such a thing of\nhis sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it\nso.\"\n\n\"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so\nfull of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am\ngrowing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion\nmakes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will\nbe as light as a feather.\"\n\n\"Poor Wickham; there is such an expression of goodness in his\ncountenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner.\"\n\n\"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those\ntwo young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the\nappearance of it.\"\n\n\"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the _appearance_ of it as you\nused to do.\"\n\n\"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike\nto him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an\nopening for wit to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually\nabusive without saying any thing just; but one cannot be always laughing\nat a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.\"\n\n\"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat\nthe matter as you do now.\"\n\n\"Indeed I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was very\nuncomfortable, I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to, of what I\nfelt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and\nvain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!\"\n\n\"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions\nin speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they _do_ appear wholly\nundeserved.\"\n\n\"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness, is a most\nnatural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is\none point, on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I\nought, or ought not to make our acquaintance in general understand\nWickham's character.\"\n\nMiss Bennet paused a little and then replied, \"Surely there can be no\noccasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?\"\n\n\"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to\nmake his communication public. On the contrary every particular relative\nto his sister, was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and\nif I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who\nwill believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent,\nthat it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton, to\nattempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham\nwill soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anybody here,\nwhat he really is. Sometime hence it will be all found out, and then we\nmay laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will\nsay nothing about it.\"\n\n\"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for\never. He is now perhaps sorry for what he has done, and anxious to\nre-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.\"\n\nThe tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation. She had\ngot rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight,\nand was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might wish\nto talk again of either. But there was still something lurking behind,\nof which prudence forbad the disclosure. She dared not relate the other\nhalf of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she\nhad been valued by his friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could\npartake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect\nunderstanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off this\nlast incumbrance of mystery. \"And then,\" said she, \"if that very\nimprobable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell\nwhat Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The\nliberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!\"\n\nShe was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real\nstate of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a\nvery tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself in\nlove before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from\nher age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often\nboast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to\nevery other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the\nfeelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those\nregrets, which must have been injurious to her own health and their\ntranquillity.\n\n\"Well, Lizzy,\" said Mrs. Bennet one day, \"what is your opinion _now_ of\nthis sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak\nof it again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I\ncannot find out that Jane saw any thing of him in London. Well, he is a\nvery undeserving young man--and I do not suppose there is the least\nchance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his\ncoming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have enquired of every\nbody too, who is likely to know.\"\n\n\"I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more.\"\n\n\"Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I\nshall always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was\nher, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure\nJane will die of a broken heart, and then he will be sorry for what he\nhas done.\"\n\nBut as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation,\nshe made no answer.\n\n\"Well, Lizzy,\" continued her mother soon afterwards, \"and so the\nCollinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it\nwill last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an\nexcellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother,\nshe is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in _their_\nhousekeeping, I dare say.\"\n\n\"No, nothing at all.\"\n\n\"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. _They_ will\ntake care not to outrun their income. _They_ will never be distressed\nfor money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often\ntalk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it\nquite as their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.\"\n\n\"It was a subject which they could not mention before me.\"\n\n\"No. It would have been strange if they had. But I make no doubt, they\noften talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an\nestate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. _I_ should be\nashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nThe first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was\nthe last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in\nthe neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost\nuniversal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink,\nand sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very\nfrequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and\nLydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such\nhard-heartedness in any of the family.\n\n\"Good Heaven! What is to become of us! What are we to do!\" would they\noften exclaim in the bitterness of woe. \"How can you be smiling so,\nLizzy?\"\n\nTheir affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what\nshe had herself endured on a similar occasion, five and twenty years\nago.\n\n\"I am sure,\" said she, \"I cried for two days together when Colonel\nMillar's regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart.\"\n\n\"I am sure I shall break _mine_,\" said Lydia.\n\n\"If one could but go to Brighton!\" observed Mrs. Bennet.\n\n\"Oh, yes!--if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so\ndisagreeable.\"\n\n\"A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever.\"\n\n\"And my aunt Philips is sure it would do _me_ a great deal of good,\"\nadded Kitty.\n\nSuch were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through\nLongbourn-house. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense\nof pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's\nobjections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his\ninterference in the views of his friend.\n\nBut the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she\nreceived an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the Colonel of the\nregiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a\nvery young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour\nand good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of\ntheir _three_ months' acquaintance they had been intimate _two_.\n\nThe rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster,\nthe delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely\nto be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew\nabout the house in restless ecstacy, calling for every one's\ncongratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever;\nwhilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate\nin terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.\n\n\"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask _me_ as well as Lydia,\"\nsaid she, \"though I am _not_ her particular friend. I have just as much\nright to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.\"\n\nIn vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make\nher resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from\nexciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she\nconsidered it as the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense\nfor the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it\nknown, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her\ngo. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general\nbehaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of\nsuch a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more\nimprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must\nbe greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said,\n\n\"Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public\nplace or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little\nexpense or inconvenience to her family as under the present\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"If you were aware,\" said Elizabeth, \"of the very great disadvantage to\nus all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and\nimprudent manner; nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you\nwould judge differently in the affair.\"\n\n\"Already arisen!\" repeated Mr. Bennet. \"What, has she frightened away\nsome of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such\nsqueamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity,\nare not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of the pitiful fellows\nwho have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly.\"\n\n\"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not\nof peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our\nimportance, our respectability in the world, must be affected by the\nwild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark\nLydia's character. Excuse me--for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear\nfather, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and\nof teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of\nher life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character\nwill be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt\nthat ever made herself and her family ridiculous. A flirt too, in the\nworst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond\nyouth and a tolerable person; and from the ignorance and emptiness of\nher mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal\ncontempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty\nis also comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain,\nignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrouled! Oh! my dear father, can you\nsuppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever\nthey are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the\ndisgrace?\"\n\nMr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject; and\naffectionately taking her hand, said in reply,\n\n\"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known,\nyou must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less\nadvantage for having a couple of--or I may say, three very silly\nsisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to\nBrighton. Let her go then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will\nkeep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an\nobject of prey to any body. At Brighton she will be of less importance\neven as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find\nwomen better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being\nthere may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow\nmany degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest\nof her life.\"\n\nWith this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion\ncontinued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not\nin her nature, however, to increase her vexations, by dwelling on them.\nShe was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over\nunavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her\ndisposition.\n\nHad Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her\nfather, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their\nunited volubility. In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised\nevery possibility of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of\nfancy, the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers. She\nsaw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at\npresent unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp; its tents\nstretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young\nand the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and to complete the view, she\nsaw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six\nofficers at once.\n\nHad she known that her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and\nsuch realities as these, what would have been her sensations? They could\nhave been understood only by her mother, who might have felt nearly the\nsame. Lydia's going to Brighton was all that consoled her for the\nmelancholy conviction of her husband's never intending to go there\nhimself.\n\nBut they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures\ncontinued with little intermission to the very day of Lydia's leaving\nhome.\n\nElizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. Having been\nfrequently in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty\nwell over; the agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had even\nlearnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted her,\nan affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present\nbehaviour to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure,\nfor the inclination he soon testified of renewing those attentions which\nhad marked the early part of their acquaintance, could only serve, after\nwhat had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern for him in\nfinding herself thus selected as the object of such idle and frivolous\ngallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the\nreproof contained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever\ncause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified\nand her preference secured at any time by their renewal.\n\nOn the very last day of the regiment's remaining in Meryton, he dined\nwith others of the officers at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth\ndisposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making some\nenquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she\nmentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three\nweeks at Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.\n\nHe looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's\nrecollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen\nhim often; and after observing that he was a very gentleman-like man,\nasked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour.\nWith an air of indifference he soon afterwards added, \"How long did you\nsay that he was at Rosings?\"\n\n\"Nearly three weeks.\"\n\n\"And you saw him frequently?\"\n\n\"Yes, almost every day.\"\n\n\"His manners are very different from his cousin's.\"\n\n\"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" cried Wickham with a look which did not escape her. \"And pray\nmay I ask?\" but checking himself, he added in a gayer tone, \"Is it in\naddress that he improves? Has he deigned to add ought of civility to his\nordinary style? for I dare not hope,\" he continued in a lower and more\nserious tone, \"that he is improved in essentials.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said Elizabeth. \"In essentials, I believe, he is very much\nwhat he ever was.\"\n\nWhile she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to\nrejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a\nsomething in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive\nand anxious attention, while she added,\n\n\"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that\neither his mind or manners were in a state of improvement, but that from\nknowing him better, his disposition was better understood.\"\n\nWickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated\nlook; for a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking off his\nembarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of\naccents,\n\n\"You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily\ncomprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume\neven the _appearance_ of what is right. His pride, in that direction,\nmay be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter\nhim from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that\nthe sort of cautiousness, to which you, I imagine, have been alluding,\nis merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and\njudgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her, has always operated, I\nknow, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his\nwish of forwarding the match with Miss De Bourgh, which I am certain he\nhas very much at heart.\"\n\nElizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a\nslight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on\nthe old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humour to indulge\nhim. The rest of the evening passed with the _appearance_, on his side,\nof usual cheerfulness, but with no farther attempt to distinguish\nElizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a\nmutual desire of never meeting again.\n\nWhen the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton,\nfrom whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation\nbetween her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the\nonly one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs.\nBennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter,\nand impressive in her injunctions that she would not miss the\nopportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible; advice, which there\nwas every reason to believe would be attended to; and in the clamorous\nhappiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus\nof her sisters were uttered without being heard.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nHad Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could\nnot have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic\ncomfort. Her father captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance\nof good humour, which youth and beauty generally give, had married a\nwoman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in\ntheir marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,\nesteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his views of\ndomestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a\ndisposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own\nimprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often\nconsole the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of\nthe country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal\nenjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as\nher ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not\nthe sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his\nwife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true\nphilosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.\n\nElizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her\nfather's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but\nrespecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of\nherself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to\nbanish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation\nand decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own\nchildren, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so\nstrongly as now, the disadvantages which must attend the children of so\nunsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils\narising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents which rightly\nused, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters,\neven if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.\n\nWhen Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she found little\nother cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties\nabroad were less varied than before; and at home she had a mother and\nsister whose constant repinings at the dulness of every thing around\nthem, threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty\nmight in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the disturbers\nof her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition\ngreater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her\nfolly and assurance, by a situation of such double danger as a watering\nplace and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she found, what has been\nsometimes found before, that an event to which she had looked forward\nwith impatient desire, did not in taking place, bring all the\nsatisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary to\nname some other period for the commencement of actual felicity; to have\nsome other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by\nagain enjoying the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the\npresent, and prepare for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes\nwas now the object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation\nfor all the uncomfortable hours, which the discontentedness of her\nmother and Kitty made inevitable; and could she have included Jane in\nthe scheme, every part of it would have been perfect.\n\n\"But it is fortunate,\" thought she, \"that I have something to wish for.\nWere the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain.\nBut here, by carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my\nsister's absence, I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of\npleasure realized. A scheme of which every part promises delight, can\nnever be successful; and general disappointment is only warded off by\nthe defence of some little peculiar vexation.\"\n\nWhen Lydia went away, she promised to write very often and very minutely\nto her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and\nalways very short. Those to her mother, contained little else, than that\nthey were just returned from the library, where such and such officers\nhad attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as\nmade her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which\nshe would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave off in a\nviolent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going to the\ncamp;--and from her correspondence with her sister, there was still less\nto be learnt--for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were much\ntoo full of lines under the words to be made public.\n\nAfter the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good\nhumour and cheerfulness began to re-appear at Longbourn. Everything wore\na happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter came\nback again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet\nwas restored to her usual querulous serenity, and by the middle of June\nKitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without\ntears; an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope, that by\nthe following Christmas, she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to\nmention an officer above once a day, unless by some cruel and malicious\narrangement at the war-office, another regiment should be quartered in\nMeryton.\n\nThe time fixed for the beginning of their Northern tour was now fast\napproaching; and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter\narrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and\ncurtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from\nsetting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again\nwithin a month; and as that left too short a period for them to go so\nfar, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with\nthe leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up\nthe Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour; and, according to the\npresent plan, were to go no farther northward than Derbyshire. In that\ncounty, there was enough to be seen, to occupy the chief of their three\nweeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The\ntown where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where\nthey were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of\nher curiosity, as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth,\nDovedale, or the Peak.\n\nElizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on seeing\nthe Lakes; and still thought there might have been time enough. But it\nwas her business to be satisfied--and certainly her temper to be happy;\nand all was soon right again.\n\nWith the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas connected. It was\nimpossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its\nowner. \"But surely,\" said she, \"I may enter his county with impunity,\nand rob it of a few petrified spars without his perceiving me.\"\n\nThe period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass away\nbefore her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr. and\nMrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at length appear at\nLongbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two\nyounger boys, were to be left under the particular care of their cousin\nJane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense and\nsweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every\nway--teaching them, playing with them, and loving them.\n\nThe Gardiners staid only one night at Longbourn, and set off the next\nmorning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One\nenjoyment was certain--that of suitableness as companions; a\nsuitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear\ninconveniences--cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure--and affection\nand intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were\ndisappointments abroad.\n\nIt is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire,\nnor of any of the remarkable places through which their route thither\nlay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenelworth, Birmingham, &c. are\nsufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present\nconcern. To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's\nformer residence, and where she had lately learned that some\nacquaintance still remained, they bent their steps, after having seen\nall the principal wonders of the country; and within five miles of\nLambton, Elizabeth found from her aunt, that Pemberley was situated. It\nwas not in their direct road, nor more than a mile or two out of it. In\ntalking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an\ninclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his\nwillingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.\n\n\"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have heard so\nmuch?\" said her aunt. \"A place too, with which so many of your\nacquaintance are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you\nknow.\"\n\nElizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at\nPemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She\nmust own that she was tired of great houses; after going over so many,\nshe really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.\n\nMrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. \"If it were merely a fine house\nrichly furnished,\" said she, \"I should not care about it myself; but the\ngrounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the\ncountry.\"\n\nElizabeth said no more--but her mind could not acquiesce. The\npossibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly\noccurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea; and\nthought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt, than to run\nsuch a risk. But against this, there were objections; and she finally\nresolved that it could be the last resource, if her private enquiries as\nto the absence of the family, were unfavourably answered.\n\nAccordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid\nwhether Pemberley were not a very fine place, what was the name of its\nproprietor, and with no little alarm, whether the family were down for\nthe summer. A most welcome negative followed the last question--and her\nalarms being now removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of\ncuriosity to see the house herself; and when the subject was revived the\nnext morning, and she was again applied to, could readily answer, and\nwith a proper air of indifference, that she had not really any dislike\nto the scheme.\n\nTo Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.\n\n\nEND OF THE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: MATLOCK]\n\n\n\n\nPRIDE AND PREJUDICE:\n\nA Novel.\n\nIn Three Volumes.\n\nBy the Author of \"Sense and Sensibility.\"\n\nVOL. III.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon:\nPrinted for T. Egerton,\nMilitary Library, Whitehall.\n1813.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: DOVE-DALE]\n\n\n\n\nPRIDE & PREJUDICE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nElizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of\nPemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned\nin at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.\n\nThe park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They\nentered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through\na beautiful wood, stretching over a wide extent.\n\nElizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired\nevery remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for\nhalf a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable\neminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by\nPemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which\nthe road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone\nbuilding, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high\nwoody hills;--and in front, a stream of some natural importance was\nswelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks\nwere neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She\nhad never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural\nbeauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were\nall of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt, that\nto be mistress of Pemberley might be something!\n\nThey descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door; and,\nwhile examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehensions of\nmeeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been\nmistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the\nhall; and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to\nwonder at her being where she was.\n\nThe housekeeper came; a respectable-looking, elderly woman, much less\nfine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They\nfollowed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned\nroom, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went\nto a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from\nwhich they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the\ndistance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was\ngood; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered\non its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace\nit, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were\ntaking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to\nbe seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable\nto the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration\nof his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of\nsplendor, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.\n\n\"And of this place,\" thought she, \"I might have been mistress! With\nthese rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of\nviewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and\nwelcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt.--But no,\"--recollecting\nherself,--\"that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost\nto me: I should not have been allowed to invite them.\"\n\nThis was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something like regret.\n\nShe longed to enquire of the housekeeper, whether her master were really\nabsent, but had not courage for it. At length, however, the question was\nasked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds\nreplied, that he was, adding, \"but we expect him to-morrow, with a\nlarge party of friends.\" How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own\njourney had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!\n\nHer aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached, and saw\nthe likeness of Mr. Wickham suspended, amongst several other miniatures,\nover the mantle-piece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it.\nThe housekeeper came forward, and told them it was the picture of a\nyoung gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been\nbrought up by him at his own expence.--\"He is now gone into the army,\"\nshe added, \"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.\"\n\nMrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not\nreturn it.\n\n\"And that,\" said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures,\n\"is my master--and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the\nother--about eight years ago.\"\n\n\"I have heard much of your master's fine person,\" said Mrs. Gardiner,\nlooking at the picture; \"it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell\nus whether it is like or not.\"\n\nMrs. Reynolds's respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this\nintimation of her knowing her master.\n\n\"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?\"\n\nElizabeth coloured, and said--\"A little.\"\n\n\"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, Ma'am?\"\n\n\"Yes, very handsome.\"\n\n\"I am sure _I_ know none so handsome; but in the gallery up stairs you\nwill see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late\nmaster's favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to\nbe then. He was very fond of them.\"\n\nThis accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.\n\nMrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn\nwhen she was only eight years old.\n\n\"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?\" said Mr. Gardiner.\n\n\"Oh! yes--the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so\naccomplished!--She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a\nnew instrument just come down for her--a present from my master; she\ncomes here to-morrow with him.\"\n\nMr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant, encouraged her\ncommunicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs. Reynolds, either\nfrom pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her\nmaster and his sister.\n\n\"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?\"\n\n\"Not so much as I could wish, Sir; but I dare say he may spend half his\ntime here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.\"\n\n\"Except,\" thought Elizabeth, \"when she goes to Ramsgate.\"\n\n\"If your master would marry, you might see more of him.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir; but I do not know when _that_ will be. I do not know who is\ngood enough for him.\"\n\nMr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, \"It is\nvery much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.\"\n\n\"I say no more than the truth, and what every body will say that knows\nhim,\" replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far;\nand she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added,\n\"I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him\never since he was four years old.\"\n\nThis was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to her\nideas. That he was not a good-tempered man, had been her firmest\nopinion. Her keenest attention was awakened; she longed to hear more,\nand was grateful to her uncle for saying,\n\n\"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in\nhaving such a master.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir, I know I am. If I was to go through the world, I could not\nmeet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are\ngood-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he\nwas always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted, boy in the\nworld.\"\n\nElizabeth almost stared at her.--\"Can this be Mr. Darcy!\" thought she.\n\n\"His father was an excellent man,\" said Mrs. Gardiner.\n\n\"Yes, Ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him--just\nas affable to the poor.\"\n\nElizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs.\nReynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subject\nof the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the\nfurniture, in vain. Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family\nprejudice, to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her\nmaster, soon led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his\nmany merits, as they proceeded together up the great staircase.\n\n\"He is the best landlord, and the best master,\" said she, \"that ever\nlived. Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think of nothing but\nthemselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will\ngive him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never\nsaw any thing of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle\naway like other young men.\"\n\n\"In what an amiable light does this place him!\" thought Elizabeth.\n\n\"This fine account of him,\" whispered her aunt, as they walked, \"is not\nquite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we might be deceived.\"\n\n\"That is not very likely; our authority was too good.\"\n\nOn reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shewn into a very\npretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and\nlightness than the apartments below; and were informed that it was but\njust done, to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the\nroom, when last at Pemberley.\n\n\"He is certainly a good brother,\" said Elizabeth, as she walked towards\none of the windows.\n\nMrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight, when she should enter\nthe room. \"And this is always the way with him,\" she added.--\"Whatever\ncan give his sister any pleasure, is sure to be done in a moment. There\nis nothing he would not do for her.\"\n\nThe picture gallery, and two or three of the principal bed-rooms, were\nall that remained to be shewn. In the former were many good paintings;\nbut Elizabeth knew nothing of the art; and from such as had been already\nvisible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss\nDarcy's, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and\nalso more intelligible.\n\nIn the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have\nlittle to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth walked on in quest\nof the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it\narrested her--and she beheld a striking resemblance of Mr. Darcy, with\nsuch a smile over the face, as she remembered to have sometimes seen,\nwhen he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture in\nearnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the\ngallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them, that it had been taken in his\nfather's life time.\n\nThere was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more gentle\nsensation towards the original, than she had ever felt in the height of\ntheir acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds\nwas of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise\nof an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she\nconsidered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship!--How\nmuch of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow!--How much of\ngood or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought\nforward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she\nstood before the canvas, on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes\nupon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of\ngratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and\nsoftened its impropriety of expression.\n\nWhen all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen,\nthey returned down stairs, and taking leave of the housekeeper, were\nconsigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall door.\n\nAs they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back\nto look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and while the former was\nconjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself\nsuddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables.\n\nThey were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his\nappearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes\ninstantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest\nblush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immoveable from\nsurprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party,\nand spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least\nof perfect civility.\n\nShe had instinctively turned away; but, stopping on his approach,\nreceived his compliments with an embarrassment impossible to be\novercome. Had his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture\nthey had just been examining, been insufficient to assure the other two\nthat they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardener's expression of surprise, on\nbeholding his master, must immediately have told it. They stood a little\naloof while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and confused,\nscarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what answer she\nreturned to his civil enquiries after her family. Amazed at the\nalteration in his manner since they last parted, every sentence that he\nuttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the\nimpropriety of her being found there, recurring to her mind, the few\nminutes in which they continued together, were some of the most\nuncomfortable of her life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he\nspoke, his accent had none of its usual sedateness; and he repeated his\nenquiries as to the time of her having left Longbourn, and of her stay\nin Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly spoke the\ndistraction of his thoughts.\n\nAt length, every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few\nmoments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and took\nleave.\n\nThe others then joined her, and expressed their admiration of his\nfigure; but Elizabeth heard not a word, and, wholly engrossed by her own\nfeelings, followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and\nvexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged\nthing in the world! How strange must it appear to him! In what a\ndisgraceful light might it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if\nshe had purposely thrown herself in his way again! Oh! why did she come?\nor, why did he thus come a day before he was expected? Had they been\nonly ten minutes sooner, they should have been beyond the reach of his\ndiscrimination, for it was plain that he was that moment arrived, that\nmoment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and\nagain over the perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour, so\nstrikingly altered,--what could it mean? That he should even speak to\nher was amazing!--but to speak with such civility, to enquire after her\nfamily! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified,\nnever had he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting.\nWhat a contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosing's Park, when\nhe put his letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, nor how to\naccount for it.\n\nThey had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and\nevery step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer\nreach of the woods to which they were approaching; but it was some time\nbefore Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered\nmechanically to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed\nto direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she\ndistinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that\none spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then\nwas. She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind; in\nwhat manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of every thing,\nshe was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil, only because he\nfelt himself at ease; yet there had been _that_ in his voice, which was\nnot like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing\nher, she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with\ncomposure.\n\nAt length, however, the remarks of her companions on her absence of mind\nroused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like herself.\n\nThey entered the woods, and bidding adieu to the river for a while,\nascended some of the higher grounds; whence, in spots where the opening\nof the trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming views of\nthe valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods\noverspreading many, and occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner\nexpressed a wish of going round the whole Park, but feared it might be\nbeyond a walk. With a triumphant smile, they were told, that it was ten\nmiles round. It settled the matter; and they pursued the accustomed\ncircuit; which brought them again, after some time, in a descent among\nhanging woods, to the edge of the water, in one of its narrowest parts.\nThey crossed it by a simple bridge, in character with the general air of\nthe scene; it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet visited; and\nthe valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for the\nstream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered\nit. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings; but when they had crossed\nthe bridge, and perceived their distance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner,\nwho was not a great walker, could go no farther, and thought only of\nreturning to the carriage as quickly as possible. Her niece was,\ntherefore, obliged to submit, and they took their way towards the house\non the opposite side of the river, in the nearest direction; but their\nprogress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldom able to indulge the\ntaste, was very fond of fishing, and was so much engaged in watching the\noccasional appearance of some trout in the water, and talking to the man\nabout them, that he advanced but little. Whilst wandering on in this\nslow manner, they were again surprised, and Elizabeth's astonishment was\nquite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr. Darcy\napproaching them, and at no great distance. The walk being here less\nsheltered than on the other side, allowed them to see him before they\nmet. Elizabeth, however astonished, was at least more prepared for an\ninterview than before, and resolved to appear and to speak with\ncalmness, if he really intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed,\nshe felt that he would probably strike into some other path. This idea\nlasted while a turning in the walk concealed him from their view; the\nturning past, he was immediately before them. With a glance she saw,\nthat he had lost none of his recent civility; and, to imitate his\npoliteness, she began, as they met, to admire the beauty of the place;\nbut she had not got beyond the words \"delightful,\" and \"charming,\" when\nsome unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied that praise of\nPemberley from her, might be mischievously construed. Her colour\nchanged, and she said no more.\n\nMrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her pausing, he asked\nher, if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends.\nThis was a stroke of civility for which she was quite unprepared; and\nshe could hardly suppress a smile, at his being now seeking the\nacquaintance of some of those very people, against whom his pride had\nrevolted, in his offer to herself. \"What will be his surprise,\" thought\nshe, \"when he knows who they are! He takes them now for people of\nfashion.\"\n\nThe introduction, however, was immediately made; and as she named their\nrelationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him, to see how he bore\nit; and was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he\ncould from such disgraceful companions. That he was _surprised_ by the\nconnexion was evident; he sustained it however with fortitude, and so\nfar from going away, turned back with them, and entered into\nconversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could not but be pleased,\ncould not but triumph. It was consoling, that he should know she had\nsome relations for whom there was no need to blush. She listened most\nattentively to all that passed between them, and gloried in every\nexpression, every sentence of her uncle, which marked his intelligence,\nhis taste, or his good manners.\n\nThe conversation soon turned upon fishing, and she heard Mr. Darcy\ninvite him, with the greatest civility, to fish there as often as he\nchose, while he continued in the neighbourhood, offering at the same\ntime to supply him with fishing tackle, and pointing out those parts of\nthe stream where there was usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was\nwalking arm in arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive of her\nwonder. Elizabeth said nothing, but it gratified her exceedingly; the\ncompliment must be all for herself. Her astonishment, however, was\nextreme; and continually was she repeating, \"Why is he so altered? From\nwhat can it proceed? It cannot be for _me_, it cannot be for _my_ sake\nthat his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not\nwork such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love\nme.\"\n\nAfter walking some time in this way, the two ladies in front, the two\ngentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after descending to the\nbrink of the river for the better inspection of some curious\nwater-plant, there chanced to be a little alteration. It originated in\nMrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found\nElizabeth's arm inadequate to her support, and consequently preferred\nher husband's. Mr. Darcy took her place by her niece, and they walked on\ntogether. After a short silence, the lady first spoke. She wished him to\nknow that she had been assured of his absence before she came to the\nplace, and accordingly began by observing, that his arrival had been\nvery unexpected--\"for your housekeeper,\" she added, \"informed us that\nyou would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed, before we\nleft Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in\nthe country.\" He acknowledged the truth of it all; and said that\nbusiness with his steward had occasioned his coming forward a few hours\nbefore the rest of the party with whom he had been travelling. \"They\nwill join me early to-morrow,\" he continued, \"and among them are some\nwho will claim an acquaintance with you,--Mr. Bingley and his sisters.\"\n\nElizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly\ndriven back to the time when Mr. Bingley's name had been last mentioned\nbetween them; and if she might judge from his complexion, _his_ mind was\nnot very differently engaged.\n\n\"There is also one other person in the party,\" he continued after a\npause, \"who more particularly wishes to be known to you,--Will you allow\nme, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance\nduring your stay at Lambton?\"\n\nThe surprise of such an application was great indeed; it was too great\nfor her to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately felt\nthat whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her,\nmust be the work of her brother, and without looking farther, it was\nsatisfactory; it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not made\nhim think really ill of her.\n\nThey now walked on in silence; each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth\nwas not comfortable; that was impossible; but she was flattered and\npleased. His wish of introducing his sister to her, was a compliment of\nthe highest kind. They soon outstripped the others, and when they had\nreached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a\nmile behind.\n\nHe then asked her to walk into the house--but she declared herself not\ntired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a time, much might\nhave been said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but\nthere seemed an embargo on every subject. At last she recollected that\nshe had been travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with\ngreat perseverance. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly--and her patience\nand her ideas were nearly worn out before the tête-à-tête was over. On\nMr. and Mrs. Gardiner's coming up, they were all pressed to go into the\nhouse and take some refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted\non each side with the utmost politeness. Mr. Darcy handed the ladies\ninto the carriage, and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking\nslowly towards the house.\n\nThe observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them\npronounced him to be infinitely superior to any thing they had expected.\n\"He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,\" said her uncle.\n\n\"There _is_ something a little stately in him to be sure,\" replied her\naunt, \"but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now\nsay with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud,\n_I_ have seen nothing of it.\"\n\n\"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more\nthan civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such\nattention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling.\"\n\n\"To be sure, Lizzy,\" said her aunt, \"he is not so handsome as Wickham;\nor rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are\nperfectly good. But how came you to tell us that he was so\ndisagreeable?\"\n\nElizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that she had liked\nhim better when they met in Kent than before, and that she had never\nseen him so pleasant as this morning.\n\n\"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,\" replied\nher uncle. \"Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him\nat his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and\nwarn me off his grounds.\"\n\nElizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character, but said\nnothing.\n\n\"From what we have seen of him,\" continued Mrs. Gardiner, \"I really\nshould not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by\nany body, as he has done by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured\nlook. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when\nhe speaks. And there is something of dignity in his countenance, that\nwould not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But to be sure,\nthe good lady who shewed us the house, did give him a most flaming\ncharacter! I could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a\nliberal master, I suppose, and _that_ in the eye of a servant\ncomprehends every virtue.\"\n\nElizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication of\nhis behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave them to understand, in as\nguarded a manner as she could, that by what she had heard from his\nrelations in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different\nconstruction; and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor\nWickham's so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire. In\nconfirmation of this, she related the particulars of all the pecuniary\ntransactions in which they had been connected, without actually naming\nher authority, but stating it to be such as might be relied on.\n\nMrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they were now\napproaching the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave way to\nthe charm of recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing out\nto her husband all the interesting spots in its environs, to think of\nany thing else. Fatigued as she had been by the morning's walk, they had\nno sooner dined than she set off again in quest of her former\nacquaintance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions of an\nintercourse renewed after many years discontinuance.\n\nThe occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave Elizabeth\nmuch attention for any of these new friends; and she could do nothing\nbut think, and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy's civility, and above\nall, of his wishing her to be acquainted with his sister.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nElizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit\nher, the very day after her reaching Pemberley; and was consequently\nresolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning.\nBut her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after their own\narrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking about the\nplace with some of their new friends, and were just returned to the inn\nto dress themselves for dining with the same family, when the sound of a\ncarriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman and lady in a\ncurricle, driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately recognising the\nlivery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small degree of surprise\nto her relations, by acquainting them with the honour which she\nexpected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement; and the embarrassment\nof her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance itself, and many\nof the circumstances of the preceding day, opened to them a new idea on\nthe business. Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they now felt\nthat there was no other way of accounting for such attentions from such\na quarter, than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While these\nnewly-born notions were passing in their heads, the perturbation of\nElizabeth's feelings was every moment increasing. She was quite amazed\nat her own discomposure; but amongst other causes of disquiet, she\ndreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much in\nher favour; and more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally\nsuspected that every power of pleasing would fail her.\n\nShe retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked\nup and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks\nof enquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt, as made every thing worse.\n\nMiss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction\ntook place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see, that her new\nacquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her\nbeing at Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud;\nbut the observation of a very few minutes convinced her, that she was\nonly exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from\nher beyond a monosyllable.\n\nMiss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though\nlittle more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance\nwomanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there\nwas sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly\nunassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as\nacute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much\nrelieved by discerning such different feelings.\n\nThey had not been long together, before Darcy told her that Bingley was\nalso coming to wait on her; and she had barely time to express her\nsatisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's quick step\nwas heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All\nElizabeth's anger against him had been long done away; but, had she\nstill felt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the\nunaffected cordiality with which he expressed himself, on seeing her\nagain. He enquired in a friendly, though general way, after her family,\nand looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever\ndone.\n\nTo Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting personage\nthan to herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party before\nthem, indeed, excited a lively attention. The suspicions which had just\narisen of Mr. Darcy and their niece, directed their observation towards\neach with an earnest, though guarded, enquiry; and they soon drew from\nthose enquiries the full conviction that one of them at least knew what\nit was to love. Of the lady's sensations they remained a little in\ndoubt; but that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration was\nevident enough.\n\nElizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the\nfeelings of each of her visitors, she wanted to compose her own, and to\nmake herself agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where she\nfeared most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to whom she\nendeavoured to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley\nwas ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased.\n\nIn seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and oh!\nhow ardently did she long to know, whether any of his were directed in a\nlike manner. Sometimes she could fancy, that he talked less than on\nformer occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that\nas he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But, though\nthis might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour\nto Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival of Jane. No look appeared\non either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing occurred between\nthem that could justify the hopes of his sister. On this point she was\nsoon satisfied; and two or three little circumstances occurred ere they\nparted, which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted a recollection of\nJane, not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of saying more that\nmight lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed to her, at a\nmoment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which had\nsomething of real regret, that it \"was a very long time since he had had\nthe pleasure of seeing her;\" and, before she could reply, he added, \"It\nis above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when\nwe were all dancing together at Netherfield.\"\n\nElizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards\ntook occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest,\nwhether _all_ her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the\nquestion, nor in the preceding remark, but there was a look and a manner\nwhich gave them meaning.\n\nIt was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself; but,\nwhenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general\ncomplaisance, and in all that he said, she heard an accent so far\nremoved from hauteur or disdain of his companions, as convinced her that\nthe improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed, however\ntemporary its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day. When\nshe saw him thus seeking the acquaintance, and courting the good opinion\nof people, with whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been a\ndisgrace; when she saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the\nvery relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last\nlively scene in Hunsford Parsonage, the difference, the change was so\ngreat, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could hardly\nrestrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even in the company\nof his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at\nRosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from\nself-consequence, or unbending reserve as now, when no importance could\nresult from the success of his endeavours, and when even the\nacquaintance of those to whom his attentions were addressed, would draw\ndown the ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and\nRosings.\n\nTheir visitors staid with them above half an hour, and when they arose\nto depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing\ntheir wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner\nat Pemberley, before they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a\ndiffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations,\nreadily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing\nhow _she_, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed as to its\nacceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Presuming, however,\nthat this studied avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment, than\nany dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who was fond of\nsociety, a perfect willingness to accept it, she ventured to engage for\nher attendance, and the day after the next was fixed on.\n\nBingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth\nagain, having still a great deal to say to her, and many enquiries to\nmake after all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, construing all\nthis into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased; and on\nthis account, as well as some others, found herself, when their visitors\nleft them, capable of considering the last half hour with some\nsatisfaction, though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been\nlittle. Eager to be alone, and fearful of enquiries or hints from her\nuncle and aunt, she staid with them only long enough to hear their\nfavourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress.\n\nBut she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's curiosity; it was\nnot their wish to force her communication. It was evident that she was\nmuch better acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of;\nit was evident that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to\ninterest, but nothing to justify enquiry.\n\nOf Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far\nas their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could\nnot be untouched by his politeness, and had they drawn his character\nfrom their own feelings, and his servant's report, without any reference\nto any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known,\nwould not have recognised it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest,\nhowever, in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became sensible,\nthat the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four\nyears old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be\nhastily rejected. Neither had any thing occurred in the intelligence of\ntheir Lambton friends, that could materially lessen its weight. They\nhad nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if\nnot, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small\nmarket-town, where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged,\nhowever, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.\n\nWith respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held\nthere in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns, with the\nson of his patron, were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well known\nfact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind\nhim, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.\n\nAs for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than\nthe last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not\nlong enough to determine her feelings towards _one_ in that mansion; and\nshe lay awake two whole hours, endeavouring to make them out. She\ncertainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she\nhad almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him,\nthat could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his\nvaluable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some\ntime ceased to be repugnant to her feelings; and it was now heightened\ninto somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his\nfavour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light,\nwhich yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem,\nthere was a motive within her of good will which could not be\noverlooked. It was gratitude.--Gratitude, not merely for having once\nloved her, but for loving her still well enough, to forgive all the\npetulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the\nunjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been\npersuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this\naccidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without\nany indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where\ntheir two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion\nof her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a\nchange in a man of so much pride, excited not only astonishment but\ngratitude--for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed; and as such\nits impression on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means\nunpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined. She respected, she\nesteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his\nwelfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to\ndepend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both\nthat she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still\npossessed, of bringing on the renewal of his addresses.\n\nIt had been settled in the evening, between the aunt and niece, that\nsuch a striking civility as Miss Darcy's, in coming to them on the very\nday of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a late\nbreakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be equalled, by\nsome exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it\nwould be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following\nmorning. They were, therefore, to go.--Elizabeth was pleased, though,\nwhen she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.\n\nMr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been\nrenewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting\nsome of the gentlemen at Pemberley by noon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nConvinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her had\noriginated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how very unwelcome\nher appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with\nhow much civility on that lady's side, the acquaintance would now be\nrenewed.\n\nOn reaching the house, they were shewn through the hall into the saloon,\nwhose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows\nopening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody\nhills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chesnuts\nwhich were scattered over the intermediate lawn.\n\nIn this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there\nwith Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in\nLondon. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil; but attended with\nall that embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the\nfear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves\ninferior, the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and\nher niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.\n\nBy Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsey; and\non their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be,\nsucceeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a\ngenteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind\nof discourse, proved her to be more truly well bred than either of the\nothers; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from\nElizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she\nwished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a\nshort sentence, when there was least danger of its being heard.\n\nElizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley,\nand that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without\ncalling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her\nfrom trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an\ninconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity\nof saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every\nmoment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she\nfeared that the master of the house might be amongst them; and whether\nshe wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After\nsitting in this manner a quarter of an hour, without hearing Miss\nBingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold\nenquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal\nindifference and brevity, and the other said no more.\n\nThe next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the\nentrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the\nfinest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many a\nsignificant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been\ngiven, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole\nparty; for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and the\nbeautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches, soon collected\nthem round the table.\n\nWhile thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether\nshe most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the\nfeelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though but\na moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to\nregret that he came.\n\nHe had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two or three other\ngentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him\nonly on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to\nGeorgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear, than Elizabeth wisely\nresolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed;--a resolution the more\nnecessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she\nsaw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them,\nand that there was scarcely an eye which did not watch his behaviour\nwhen he first came into the room. In no countenance was attentive\ncuriosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's, in spite of the\nsmiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its\nobjects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions\nto Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's\nentrance, exerted herself much more to talk; and Elizabeth saw that he\nwas anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded,\nas much as possible, every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss\nBingley saw all this likewise; and, in the imprudence of anger, took the\nfirst opportunity of saying, with sneering civility,\n\n\"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ----shire militia removed from Meryton?\nThey must be a great loss to _your_ family.\"\n\nIn Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's name; but Elizabeth\ninstantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and the\nvarious recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress;\nbut, exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she\npresently answered the question in a tolerably disengaged tone. While\nshe spoke, an involuntary glance shewed her Darcy with an heightened\ncomplexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with\nconfusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what\npain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have\nrefrained from the hint; but she had merely intended to discompose\nElizabeth, by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed\nher partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in\nDarcy's opinion, and perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and\nabsurdities, by which some part of her family were connected with that\ncorps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated\nelopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secresy was\npossible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her\nbrother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from that very wish\nwhich Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their becoming\nhereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without\nmeaning that it should affect his endeavour to separate him from Miss\nBennet, it is probable that it might add something to his lively concern\nfor the welfare of his friend.\n\nElizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion; and\nas Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to\nWickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able\nto speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely\nrecollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which\nhad been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth, seemed to have\nfixed them on her more, and more cheerfully.\n\nTheir visit did not continue long after the question and answer\nabove-mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their\ncarriage, Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on\nElizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join\nher. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour: his\njudgment could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth, as\nto leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than\nlovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley\ncould not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to\nhis sister.\n\n\"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy,\" she cried; \"I\nnever in my life saw any one so much altered as she is since the winter.\nShe is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we\nshould not have known her again.\"\n\nHowever little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented\nhimself with coolly replying, that he perceived no other alteration than\nher being rather tanned,--no miraculous consequence of travelling in the\nsummer.\n\n\"For my own part,\" she rejoined, \"I must confess that I never could see\nany beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no\nbrilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants\ncharacter; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are\ntolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which\nhave sometimes been called so fine, I never could perceive any thing\nextraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not\nlike at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency\nwithout fashion, which is intolerable.\"\n\nPersuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not\nthe best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always\nwise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the\nsuccess she expected. He was resolutely silent however; and, from a\ndetermination of making him speak, she continued,\n\n\"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all\nwere to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect\nyour saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, '_She_\na beauty!--I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she\nseemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at\none time.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, \"but _that_\nwas only when I first knew her, for it is many months since I have\nconsidered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.\"\n\nHe then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of\nhaving forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.\n\nMrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred, during\ntheir visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested\nthem both. The looks and behaviour of every body they had seen were\ndiscussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention.\nThey talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit, of every\nthing but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner\nthought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by\nher niece's beginning the subject.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nElizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from\nJane, on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had\nbeen renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but\non the third, her repining was over, and her sister justified by the\nreceipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that\nit had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as\nJane had written the direction remarkably ill.\n\nThey had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her\nuncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by\nthemselves. The one missent must be first attended to; it had been\nwritten five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their\nlittle parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded;\nbut the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident\nagitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:\n\n     \"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of\n     a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming\n     you--be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to\n     poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were\n     all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was\n     gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth,\n     with Wickham!--Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not\n     seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a\n     match on both sides!--But I am willing to hope the best, and that\n     his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I\n     can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it)\n     marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least,\n     for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother\n     is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I,\n     that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must\n     forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as\n     is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at\n     eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must\n     have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason\n     to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife,\n     informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be\n     long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make\n     it out, but I hardly know what I have written.\"\n\nWithout allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing\nwhat she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter, instantly seized the\nother, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it\nhad been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.\n\n     \"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried\n     letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but though not\n     confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer\n     for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would\n     write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed.\n     Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia\n     would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for\n     there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland.\n     Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day\n     before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short\n     letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to\n     Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief\n     that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which\n     was repeated to Colonel F. who instantly taking the alarm, set off\n     from B. intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to\n     Clapham, but no farther; for on entering that place they removed\n     into a hackney-coach and dismissed the chaise that brought them\n     from Epsom. All that is known after this is, that they were seen\n     to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making\n     every possible enquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on into\n     Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at\n     the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success, no such\n     people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he\n     came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner\n     most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and\n     Mrs. F. but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my\n     dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst,\n     but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it\n     more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to\n     pursue their first plan; and even if _he_ could form such a design\n     against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which is not likely,\n     can I suppose her so lost to every thing?--Impossible. I grieve to\n     find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their\n     marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he\n     feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill\n     and keeps her room. Could she exert herself it would be better, but\n     this is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in my life\n     saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed\n     their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence one cannot\n     wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared\n     something of these distressing scenes; but now as the first shock\n     is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so\n     selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu. I\n     take up my pen again to do, what I have just told you I would not,\n     but circumstances are such, that I cannot help earnestly begging\n     you all to come here, as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and\n     aunt so well, that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have\n     still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to\n     London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What\n     he means to do, I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress\n     will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest\n     way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again\n     to-morrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle's advice and\n     assistance would be every thing in the world; he will immediately\n     comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness.\"\n\n\"Oh! where, where is my uncle?\" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat\nas she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing a\nmoment of the time so precious; but as she reached the door, it was\nopened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous\nmanner made him start, and before he could recover himself enough to\nspeak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia's\nsituation, hastily exclaimed, \"I beg your pardon, but I must leave you.\nI must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be\ndelayed; I have not an instant to lose.\"\n\n\"Good God! what is the matter?\" cried he, with more feeling than\npoliteness; then recollecting himself, \"I will not detain you a minute,\nbut let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are\nnot well enough;--you cannot go yourself.\"\n\nElizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how\nlittle would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back\nthe servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an\naccent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and\nmistress home, instantly.\n\nOn his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support herself, and\nlooking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her,\nor to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,\n\"Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take, to give you\npresent relief?--A glass of wine;--shall I get you one?--You are very\nill.\"\n\n\"No, I thank you;\" she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. \"There\nis nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by\nsome dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.\"\n\nShe burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could\nnot speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say\nsomething indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate\nsilence. At length, she spoke again. \"I have just had a letter from\nJane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My\nyoungest sister has left all her friends--has eloped;--has thrown\nherself into the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together\nfrom Brighton. _You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no\nmoney, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost for\never.\"\n\nDarcy was fixed in astonishment. \"When I consider,\" she added, in a yet\nmore agitated voice, \"that _I_ might have prevented it!--_I_ who knew\nwhat he was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of what\nI learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not\nhave happened. But it is all, all too late now.\"\n\n\"I am grieved, indeed,\" cried Darcy; \"grieved--shocked. But is it\ncertain, absolutely certain?\"\n\n\"Oh yes!--They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced\nalmost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to\nScotland.\"\n\n\"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?\"\n\n\"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's\nimmediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But\nnothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is\nsuch a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have\nnot the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!\"\n\nDarcy shook his head in silent acquiesence.\n\n\"When _my_ eyes were opened to his real character.--Oh! had I known what\nI ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing too\nmuch. Wretched, wretched, mistake!\"\n\nDarcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up\nand down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air\ngloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power\nwas sinking; every thing _must_ sink under such a proof of family\nweakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither\nwonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing\nconsolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It\nwas, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own\nwishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved\nhim, as now, when all love must be vain.\n\nBut self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--the\nhumiliation, the misery, she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up\nevery private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,\nElizabeth was soon lost to every thing else; and, after a pause of\nseveral minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the\nvoice of her companion, who, in a manner, which though it spoke\ncompassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, \"I am afraid you have been\nlong desiring my absence, nor have I any thing to plead in excuse of my\nstay, but real, though unavailing, concern. Would to heaven that any\nthing could be either said or done on my part, that might offer\nconsolation to such distress.--But I will not torment you with vain\nwishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This\nunfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure\nof seeing you at Pemberley to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that\nurgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as\nlong as it is possible.--I know it cannot be long.\"\n\nHe readily assured her of his secrecy--again expressed his sorrow for\nher distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present\nreason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only\none serious, parting, look, went away.\n\nAs he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they\nshould ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had\nmarked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a\nretrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of\ncontradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those\nfeelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would\nformerly have rejoiced in its termination.\n\nIf gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's\nchange of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if\notherwise, if the regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or\nunnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a\nfirst interview with its object, and even before two words have been\nexchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given\nsomewhat of a trial to the latter method, in her partiality for Wickham,\nand that its ill-success might perhaps authorise her to seek the other\nless interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go\nwith regret; and in this early example of what Lydia's infamy must\nproduce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched\nbusiness. Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertained\na hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought,\ncould flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least\nof her feelings on this developement. While the contents of the first\nletter remained on her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment that\nWickham should marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry for\nmoney; and how Lydia could ever have attached him, had appeared\nincomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment\nas this, she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not\nsuppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement, without the\nintention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither\nher virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy\nprey.\n\nShe had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that\nLydia had any partiality for him, but she was convinced that Lydia had\nwanted only encouragement to attach herself to any body. Sometimes one\nofficer, sometimes another had been her favourite, as their attentions\nraised them in her opinion. Her affections had been continually\nfluctuating, but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and\nmistaken indulgence towards such a girl.--Oh! how acutely did she now\nfeel it.\n\nShe was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot, to\nshare with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a\nfamily so deranged; a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and\nrequiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing\ncould be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost\nimportance, and till he entered the room, the misery of her impatience\nwas severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing,\nby the servant's account, that their niece was taken suddenly ill;--but\nsatisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the\ncause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on\nthe postscript of the last, with trembling energy.--Though Lydia had\nnever been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be\ndeeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after\nthe first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readily\npromised every assistance in his power.--Elizabeth, though expecting no\nless, thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated\nby one spirit, every thing relating to their journey was speedily\nsettled. They were to be off as soon as possible. \"But what is to be\ndone about Pemberley?\" cried Mrs. Gardiner. \"John told us Mr. Darcy was\nhere when you sent for us;--was it so?\"\n\n\"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement.\n_That_ is all settled.\"\n\n\"That is all settled;\" repeated the other, as she ran into her room to\nprepare. \"And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real\ntruth! Oh, that I knew how it was!\"\n\nBut wishes were vain; or at best could serve only to amuse her in the\nhurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure\nto be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was\nimpossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of\nbusiness as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to\nbe written to all their friends in Lambton, with false excuses for their\nsudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.\nGardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn, nothing\nremained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of\nthe morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she could\nhave supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n\"I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,\" said her uncle, as they\ndrove from the town; \"and really, upon serious consideration, I am much\nmore inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the\nmatter. It appears to me so very unlikely, that any young man should\nform such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or\nfriendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel's family, that I\nam strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends\nwould not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the\nregiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is\nnot adequate to the risk.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so?\" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.\n\n\"Upon my word,\" said Mrs. Gardiner, \"I begin to be of your uncle's\nopinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and\ninterest, for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of\nWickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe\nhim capable of it?\"\n\n\"Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect\nI can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not\nhope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the\ncase?\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" replied Mr. Gardiner, \"there is no absolute proof\nthat they are not gone to Scotland.\"\n\n\"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney coach is such a\npresumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the\nBarnet road.\"\n\n\"Well, then--supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though\nfor the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose. It is\nnot likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it\nmight strike them that they could be more economically, though less\nexpeditiously, married in London, than in Scotland.\"\n\n\"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their\nmarriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely. His most particular\nfriend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending\nto marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He\ncannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she\nbeyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him for her sake,\nforego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what\nrestraint the apprehension of disgrace in the corps might throw on a\ndishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know\nnothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your\nother objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no\nbrothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's\nbehaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever\nseemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that _he_ would\ndo as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in\nsuch a matter.\"\n\n\"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to every thing but love of him,\nas to consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?\"\n\n\"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, with\ntears in her eyes, \"that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such\na point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say.\nPerhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never\nbeen taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half year,\nnay, for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing but amusement\nand vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle\nand frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way.\nSince the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love,\nflirtation, and officers, have been in her head. She has been doing\nevery thing in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give\ngreater--what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are\nnaturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of\nperson and address that can captivate a woman.\"\n\n\"But you see that Jane,\" said her aunt, \"does not think so ill of\nWickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt.\"\n\n\"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be\ntheir former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt,\ntill it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what\nWickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every\nsense of the word. That he has neither integrity nor honour. That he is\nas false and deceitful, as he is insinuating.\"\n\n\"And do you really know all this?\" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity\nas to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.\n\n\"I do, indeed,\" replied Elizabeth, colouring. \"I told you the other day,\nof his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when last at\nLongbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man, who had behaved\nwith such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other\ncircumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to\nrelate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From\nwhat he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud,\nreserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He\nmust know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found\nher.\"\n\n\"But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant of what you\nand Jane seem so well to understand?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!--that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw\nso much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was\nignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire\nwas to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the\ncase, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it\nnecessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could it\napparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the\nneighbourhood had of him, should then be overthrown? And even when it\nwas settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of\nopening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That _she_ could\nbe in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a\nconsequence as _this_ should ensue, you may easily believe was far\nenough from my thoughts.\"\n\n\"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I\nsuppose, to believe them fond of each other.\"\n\n\"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either\nside; and had any thing of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware\nthat ours is not a family, on which it could be thrown away. When first\nhe entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all\nwere. Every girl in, or near Meryton, was out of her senses about him\nfor the first two months; but he never distinguished _her_ by any\nparticular attention, and, consequently, after a moderate period of\nextravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others\nof the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her\nfavourites.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added\nto their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject, by\nits repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during\nthe whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent.\nFixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self reproach, she could find\nno interval of ease or forgetfulness.\n\nThey travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on\nthe road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a\ncomfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied\nby long expectations.\n\nThe little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing\non the steps of the house, as they entered the paddock; and when the\ncarriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their\nfaces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of\ncapers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.\n\nElizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an hasty kiss,\nhurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs\nfrom her mother's apartment, immediately met her.\n\nElizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the\neyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether any thing had been\nheard of the fugitives.\n\n\"Not yet,\" replied Jane. \"But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope\nevery thing will be well.\"\n\n\"Is my father in town?\"\n\n\"Yes, he went on Tuesday as I wrote you word.\"\n\n\"And have you heard from him often?\"\n\n\"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say\nthat he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I\nparticularly begged him to do. He merely added, that he should not write\nagain, till he had something of importance to mention.\"\n\n\"And my mother--How is she? How are you all?\"\n\n\"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly\nshaken. She is up stairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you\nall. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank\nHeaven! are quite well.\"\n\n\"But you--How are you?\" cried Elizabeth. \"You look pale. How much you\nmust have gone through!\"\n\nHer sister, however, assured her, of her being perfectly well; and their\nconversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were\nengaged with their children, was now put an end to, by the approach of\nthe whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and\nthanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.\n\nWhen they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth\nhad already asked, were of course repeated by the others, and they soon\nfound that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good,\nhowever, which the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet\ndeserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that\nevery morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,\nto explain their proceedings, and perhaps announce the marriage.\n\nMrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes\nconversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with\ntears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villanous\nconduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage;\nblaming every body but the person to whose ill judging indulgence the\nerrors of her daughter must be principally owing.\n\n\"If I had been able,\" said she, \"to carry my point of going to Brighton,\nwith all my family, _this_ would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia\nhad nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out\nof their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their\nside, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had\nbeen well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have\nthe charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always am. Poor dear\nchild! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight\nWickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what is\nto become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out, before he is cold\nin his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what\nwe shall do.\"\n\nThey all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after\ngeneral assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told\nher that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist\nMr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.\n\n\"Do not give way to useless alarm,\" added he, \"though it is right to be\nprepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.\nIt is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more, we\nmay gain some news of them, and till we know that they are not married,\nand have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as\nlost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him\ncome home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may consult\ntogether as to what is to be done.\"\n\n\"Oh! my dear brother,\" replied Mrs. Bennet, \"that is exactly what I\ncould most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,\nwherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them\nmarry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but\ntell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chuses, to buy them,\nafter they are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from\nfighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in,--that I am frightened\nout of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me,\nsuch spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at\nheart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear\nLydia, not to give any directions about her clothes, till she has seen\nme, for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother,\nhow kind you are! I know you will contrive it all.\"\n\nBut Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours\nin the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in\nher hopes as her fears; and, after talking with her in this manner till\ndinner was on table, they left her to vent all her feelings on the\nhousekeeper, who attended, in the absence of her daughters.\n\nThough her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real\noccasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to\noppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her\ntongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it\nbetter that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could\nmost trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the\nsubject.\n\nIn the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been\ntoo busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their\nappearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her\ntoilette. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change\nwas visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or\nthe anger which she had herself incurred in the business, had given\nsomething more of fretfulness than usual, to the accents of Kitty. As\nfor Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth\nwith a countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at\ntable,\n\n\"This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be much talked of.\nBut we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of\neach other, the balm of sisterly consolation.\"\n\nThen, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,\n\"Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful\nlesson; that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable--that one false\nstep involves her in endless ruin--that her reputation is no less\nbrittle than it is beautiful,--and that she cannot be too much guarded\nin her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.\"\n\nElizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to\nmake any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such\nkind of moral extractions from the evil before them.\n\nIn the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an\nhour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the\nopportunity of making many enquiries, which Jane was equally eager to\nsatisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel\nof this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss\nBennet could not assert to be wholly impossible; the former continued\nthe subject, by saying, \"But tell me all and every thing about it, which\nI have not already heard. Give me farther particulars. What did Colonel\nForster say? Had they no apprehension of any thing before the elopement\ntook place? They must have seen them together for ever.\"\n\n\"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,\nespecially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so\ngrieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He\n_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had\nany idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension\nfirst got abroad, it hastened his journey.\"\n\n\"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of\ntheir intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?\"\n\n\"Yes; but when questioned by _him_ Denny denied knowing any thing of\ntheir plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not\nrepeat his persuasion of their not marrying--and from _that_, I am\ninclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before.\"\n\n\"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a\ndoubt, I suppose, of their being really married?\"\n\n\"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains! I felt a\nlittle uneasy--a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in\nmarriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite\nright. My father and mother knew nothing of that, they only felt how\nimprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural\ntriumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last\nletter, she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems,\nof their being in love with each other, many weeks.\"\n\n\"But not before they went to Brighton?\"\n\n\"No, I believe not.\"\n\n\"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he\nknow his real character?\"\n\n\"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly\ndid. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad\naffair has taken place, it is said, that he left Meryton greatly in\ndebt; but I hope this may be false.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,\nthis could not have happened!\"\n\n\"Perhaps it would have been better;\" replied her sister. \"But to expose\nthe former faults of any person, without knowing what their present\nfeelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions.\"\n\n\"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his\nwife?\"\n\n\"He brought it with him for us to see.\"\n\nJane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These\nwere the contents:\n\n     \"MY DEAR HARRIET,\n\n     \"You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help\n     laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am\n     missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with\n     who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the\n     world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without\n     him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at\n     Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the\n     surprise the greater, when I write to them, and sign my name Lydia\n     Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for\n     laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my\n     engagement, and dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will\n     excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at\n     the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my\n     clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally\n     to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown, before they are\n     packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster, I hope you\n     will drink to our good journey.\n\n     \"Your affectionate friend,\n\n     \"LYDIA BENNET.\"\n\n\"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!\" cried Elizabeth when she had\nfinished it. \"What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment. But\nat least it shews, that _she_ was serious in the object of her journey.\nWhatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a\n_scheme_ of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it!\"\n\n\"I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten\nminutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in\nsuch confusion!\"\n\n\"Oh! Jane,\" cried Elizabeth, \"was there a servant belonging to it, who\ndid not know the whole story before the end of the day?\"\n\n\"I do not know.--I hope there was.--But to be guarded at such a time, is\nvery difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to\ngive her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much\nas I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen,\nalmost took from me my faculties.\"\n\n\"Your attendance upon her, has been too much for you. You do not look\nwell. Oh! that I had been with you, you have had every care and anxiety\nupon yourself alone.\"\n\n\"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every\nfatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them.\nKitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much, that her hours\nof repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Philips came to Longbourn\non Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till\nThursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all, and lady\nLucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to\ncondole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters, if\nthey could be of use to us.\"\n\n\"She had better have stayed at home,\" cried Elizabeth; \"perhaps she\n_meant_ well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too\nlittle of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence,\ninsufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied.\"\n\nShe then proceeded to enquire into the measures which her father had\nintended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.\n\n\"He meant, I believe,\" replied Jane, \"to go to Epsom, the place where\nthey last changed horses, see the postilions, and try if any thing could\nbe made out from them. His principal object must be, to discover the\nnumber of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come\nwith a fare from London; and as he thought the circumstance of a\ngentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into another, might be\nremarked, he meant to make enquiries at Clapham. If he could any how\ndiscover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he\ndetermined to make enquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible\nto find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any\nother designs that he had formed: but he was in such a hurry to be gone,\nand his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding\nout even so much as this.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nThe whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next\nmorning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.\nHis family knew him to be on all common occasions, a most negligent and\ndilatory correspondent, but at such a time, they had hoped for exertion.\nThey were forced to conclude, that he had no pleasing intelligence to\nsend, but even of _that_ they would have been glad to be certain. Mr.\nGardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.\n\nWhen he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant\ninformation of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,\nto prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could, to\nthe great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only\nsecurity for her husband's not being killed in a duel.\n\nMrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few\ndays longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable to\nher nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a\ngreat comfort to them, in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also\nvisited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of\ncheering and heartening them up, though as she never came without\nreporting some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance or irregularity,\nshe seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found\nthem.\n\nAll Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man, who, but three months\nbefore, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt\nto every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with\nthe title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family.\nEvery body declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;\nand every body began to find out, that they had always distrusted the\nappearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above\nhalf of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of\nher sister's ruin still more certain; and even Jane, who believed still\nless of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now\ncome, when if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before\nentirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some\nnews of them.\n\nMr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday, his wife received a\nletter from him; it told them, that on his arrival, he had immediately\nfound out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch street.\nThat Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but\nwithout gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now\ndetermined to enquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet\nthought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first\ncoming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself\ndid not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was\neager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added, that Mr.\nBennet seemed wholly disinclined at present, to leave London, and\npromised to write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this\neffect.\n\n\"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if\npossible, from some of the young man's intimates in the regiment,\nwhether Wickham has any relations or connections, who would be likely to\nknow in what part of the town he has now concealed himself. If there\nwere any one, that one could apply to, with a probability of gaining\nsuch a clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we\nhave nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do every\nthing in his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts,\nperhaps Lizzy could tell us, what relations he has now living, better\nthan any other person.\"\n\nElizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference for\nher authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any\ninformation of so satisfactory a nature, as the compliment deserved.\n\nShe had never heard of his having had any relations, except a father and\nmother, both of whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however,\nthat some of his companions in the ----shire, might be able to give more\ninformation; and, though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the\napplication was a something to look forward to.\n\nEvery day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious\npart of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was\nthe first grand object of every morning's impatience. Through letters,\nwhatever of good or bad was to be told, would be communicated, and every\nsucceeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.\n\nBut before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for\ntheir father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane\nhad received directions to open all that came for him in his absence,\nshe accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his\nletters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as\nfollows:\n\n     \"MY DEAR SIR,\n\n     \"I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation\n     in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now\n     suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter\n     from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear Sir, that Mrs. Collins and\n     myself sincerely sympathise with you, and all your respectable\n     family, in your present distress, which must be of the bitterest\n     kind, because proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No\n     arguments shall be wanting on my part, that can alleviate so severe\n     a misfortune; or that may comfort you, under a circumstance that\n     must be of all others most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death\n     of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this.\n     And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to\n     suppose, as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness\n     of behaviour in your daughter, has proceeded from a faulty degree\n     of indulgence, though, at the same time, for the consolation of\n     yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own\n     disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of\n     such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you\n     are grievously to be pitied, in which opinion I am not only joined\n     by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by lady Catherine and her daughter,\n     to whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in\n     apprehending that this false step in one daughter, will be\n     injurious to the fortunes of all the others, for who, as lady\n     Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves\n     with such a family. And this consideration leads me moreover to\n     reflect with augmented satisfaction on a certain event of last\n     November, for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in\n     all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me advise you then, my dear Sir,\n     to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy\n     child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the\n     fruits of her own heinous offence.\n\n     \"I am, dear Sir, &c. &c.\"\n\nMr. Gardiner did not write again, till he had received an answer from\nColonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send.\nIt was not known that Wickham had a single relation, with whom he kept\nup any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one living.\nHis former acquaintance had been numerous; but since he had been in the\nmilitia, it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship\nwith any of them. There was no one therefore who could be pointed out,\nas likely to give any news of him. And in the wretched state of his own\nfinances, there was a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to\nhis fear of discovery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired\nthat he had left gaming debts behind him, to a very considerable\namount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would\nbe necessary to clear his expences at Brighton. He owed a good deal in\nthe town, but his debts of honour were still more formidable. Mr.\nGardiner did not attempt to conceal these particulars from the Longbourn\nfamily; Jane heard them with horror. \"A gamester!\" she cried. \"This is\nwholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it.\"\n\nMr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see their\nfather at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered\nspiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded to\nhis brother-in-law's intreaty that he would return to his family, and\nleave it to him to do, whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable\nfor continuing their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did\nnot express so much satisfaction as her children expected, considering\nwhat her anxiety for his life had been before.\n\n\"What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia!\" she cried. \"Sure he\nwill not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham,\nand make him marry her, if he comes away?\"\n\nAs Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she\nand her children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet\ncame from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their\njourney, and brought its master back to Longbourn.\n\nMrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her\nDerbyshire friend, that had attended her from that part of the world.\nHis name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece;\nand the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of\ntheir being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing.\nElizabeth had received none since her return, that could come from\nPemberley.\n\nThe present unhappy state of the family, rendered any other excuse for\nthe lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be\nfairly conjectured from _that_, though Elizabeth, who was by this time\ntolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware,\nthat, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of\nLydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought,\none sleepless night out of two.\n\nWhen Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual\nphilosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the\nhabit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him\naway, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of\nit.\n\nIt was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that\nElizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly\nexpressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, \"Say\nnothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing,\nand I ought to feel it.\"\n\n\"You must not be too severe upon yourself,\" replied Elizabeth.\n\n\"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to\nfall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have\nbeen to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression.\nIt will pass away soon enough.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose them to be in London?\"\n\n\"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?\"\n\n\"And Lydia used to want to go to London,\" added Kitty.\n\n\"She is happy, then,\" said her father, drily; \"and her residence there\nwill probably be of some duration.\"\n\nThen, after a short silence, he continued, \"Lizzy, I bear you no\nill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which,\nconsidering the event, shews some greatness of mind.\"\n\nThey were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's\ntea.\n\n\"This is a parade,\" cried he, \"which does one good; it gives such an\nelegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in\nmy library, in my night cap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble\nas I can,--or, perhaps, I may defer it, till Kitty runs away.\"\n\n\"I am not going to run away, Papa,\" said Kitty, fretfully; \"if _I_\nshould ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.\"\n\n\"_You_ go to Brighton!--I would not trust you so near it as East Bourne\nfor fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and\nyou will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house\nagain, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely\nprohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are\nnever to stir out of doors, till you can prove, that you have spent ten\nminutes of every day in a rational manner.\"\n\nKitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said he, \"do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good\ngirl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of\nthem.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nTwo days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking\ntogether in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper\ncoming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their\nmother, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons,\nwhen they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, \"I beg your pardon,\nmadam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some\ngood news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.\"\n\n\"Dear madam,\" cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, \"don't you know\nthere is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here\nthis half hour, and master has had a letter.\"\n\nAway ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They\nran through the vestibule into the breakfast room; from thence to the\nlibrary;--their father was in neither; and they were on the point of\nseeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the\nbutler, who said,\n\n\"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards the\nlittle copse.\"\n\nUpon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more,\nand ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately\npursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.\n\nJane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as\nElizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath,\ncame up with him, and eagerly cried out,\n\n\"Oh, Papa, what news? what news? have you heard from my uncle?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have had a letter from him by express.\"\n\n\"Well, and what news does it bring? good or bad?\"\n\n\"What is there of good to be expected?\" said he, taking the letter from\nhis pocket; \"but perhaps you would like to read it.\"\n\nElizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.\n\n\"Read it aloud,\" said their father, \"for I hardly know myself what it is\nabout.\"\n\n     \"Gracechurch-street, Monday,\n\n     August 2.\n\n     \"MY DEAR BROTHER,\n\n     \"At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such\n     as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after\n     you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what\n     part of London they were. The particulars, I reserve till we meet.\n     It is enough to know they are discovered, I have seen them\n     both----\"\n\n\"Then it is, as I always hoped,\" cried Jane; \"they are married!\"\n\n     Elizabeth read on; \"I have seen them both. They are not married,\n     nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are\n     willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on\n     your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is\n     required of you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her\n     equal share of the five thousand pounds, secured among your\n     children after the decease of yourself and my sister; and,\n     moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your\n     life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions, which,\n     considering every thing, I had no hesitation in complying with, as\n     far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by\n     express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You\n     will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham's\n     circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to\n     be. The world has been deceived in that respect; and I am happy to\n     say, there will be some little money, even when all his debts are\n     discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune.\n     If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act\n     in your name, throughout the whole of this business, I will\n     immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper\n     settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming\n     to town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on\n     my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can,\n     and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best, that my\n     niece should be married from this house, of which I hope you will\n     approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as any\n     thing more is determined on. Your's, &c.\n\n     \"EDW. GARDINER.\"\n\n\"Is it possible!\" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. \"Can it be\npossible that he will marry her?\"\n\n\"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him;\" said her\nsister. \"My dear father, I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"And have you answered the letter?\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"No; but it must be done soon.\"\n\nMost earnestly did she then intreat him to lose no more time before he\nwrote.\n\n\"Oh! my dear father,\" she cried, \"come back, and write immediately.\nConsider how important every moment is, in such a case.\"\n\n\"Let me write for you,\" said Jane, \"if you dislike the trouble\nyourself.\"\n\n\"I dislike it very much,\" he replied; \"but it must be done.\"\n\nAnd so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.\n\n\"And may I ask?\" said Elizabeth, \"but the terms, I suppose, must be\ncomplied with.\"\n\n\"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little.\"\n\n\"And they _must_ marry! Yet he is _such_ a man!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there\nare two things that I want very much to know:--one is, how much money\nyour uncle has laid down, to bring it about; and the other, how I am\never to pay him.\"\n\n\"Money! my uncle!\" cried Jane, \"what do you mean, Sir?\"\n\n\"I mean, that no man in his senses, would marry Lydia on so slight a\ntemptation as one hundred a-year during my life, and fifty after I am\ngone.\"\n\n\"That is very true,\" said Elizabeth; \"though it had not occurred to me\nbefore. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh!\nit must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has\ndistressed himself. A small sum could not do all this.\"\n\n\"No,\" said her father, \"Wickham's a fool, if he takes her with a\nfarthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so\nill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship.\"\n\n\"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be\nrepaid?\"\n\nMr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued\nsilent till they reached the house. Their father then went to the\nlibrary to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.\n\n\"And they are really to be married!\" cried Elizabeth, as soon as they\nwere by themselves. \"How strange this is! And for _this_ we are to be\nthankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness,\nand wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!\"\n\n\"I comfort myself with thinking,\" replied Jane, \"that he certainly would\nnot marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind\nuncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten\nthousand pounds, or any thing like it, has been advanced. He has\nchildren of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten\nthousand pounds?\"\n\n\"If we are ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been,\" said\nElizabeth, \"and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall\nexactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has\nnot sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be\nrequited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal\nprotection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage, as\nyears of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is\nactually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now,\nshe will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she\nfirst sees my aunt!\"\n\n\"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side,\" said\nJane: \"I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry\nher is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of\nthinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself\nthey will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in\ntime make their past imprudence forgotten.\"\n\n\"Their conduct has been such,\" replied Elizabeth, \"as neither you, nor\nI, nor any body, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it.\"\n\nIt now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood\nperfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library,\ntherefore, and asked their father, whether he would not wish them to\nmake it known to her. He was writing, and, without raising his head,\ncoolly replied,\n\n\"Just as you please.\"\n\n\"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?\"\n\n\"Take whatever you like, and get away.\"\n\nElizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they went up\nstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one\ncommunication would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation\nfor good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly\ncontain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's\nbeing soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence\nadded to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from\ndelight, as she had ever been fidgetty from alarm and vexation. To know\nthat her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no\nfear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.\n\n\"My dear, dear Lydia!\" she cried: \"This is delightful indeed!--She will\nbe married!--I shall see her again!--She will be married at sixteen!--My\ngood, kind brother!--I knew how it would be--I knew he would manage\nevery thing. How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the\nclothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about\nthem directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how\nmuch he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell,\nKitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear\nLydia!--How merry we shall be together when we meet!\"\n\nHer eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of\nthese transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr.\nGardiner's behaviour laid them all under.\n\n\"For we must attribute this happy conclusion,\" she added, \"in a great\nmeasure, to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself\nto assist Mr. Wickham with money.\"\n\n\"Well,\" cried her mother, \"it is all very right; who should do it but\nher own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children\nmust have had all his money you know, and it is the first time we have\never had any thing from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy.\nIn a short time, I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well\nit sounds. And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in\nsuch a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you\nwrite for me. We will settle with your father about the money\nafterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately.\"\n\nShe was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and\ncambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had\nnot Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait, till her\nfather was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay she observed,\nwould be of small importance; and her mother was too happy, to be quite\nso obstinate as usual. Other schemes too came into her head.\n\n\"I will go to Meryton,\" said she, \"as soon as I am dressed, and tell the\ngood, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call on\nLady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An\nairing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any\nthing for you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you\nheard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and you shall\nall have a bowl of punch, to make merry at her wedding.\"\n\nMrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her\ncongratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took\nrefuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.\n\nPoor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was no\nworse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in\nlooking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity,\ncould be justly expected for her sister; in looking back to what they\nhad feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they\nhad gained.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nMr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that,\ninstead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for\nthe better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived\nhim. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that\nrespect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle, for whatever of\nhonour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of\nprevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be\nher husband, might then have rested in its proper place.\n\nHe was seriously concerned, that a cause of so little advantage to any\none, should be forwarded at the sole expence of his brother-in-law, and\nhe was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his\nassistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.\n\nWhen first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly\nuseless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join\nin cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow\nand younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters\nsuccessively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs.\nBennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he\nwould. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too\nlate to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her\nhusband's love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their\nincome.\n\nFive thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and\nthe children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the\nlatter, depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with\nregard to Lydia at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet\ncould have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In\nterms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though\nexpressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect\napprobation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the\nengagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed\nthat, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be\ndone with so little inconvenience to himself, as by the present\narrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a-year the loser, by the\nhundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket\nallowance, and the continual presents in money, which passed to her,\nthrough her mother's hands, Lydia's expences had been very little within\nthat sum.\n\nThat it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was\nanother very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present, was to\nhave as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first\ntransports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were\nover, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was\nsoon dispatched; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he was\nquick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he\nwas indebted to his brother; but was too angry with Lydia, to send any\nmessage to her.\n\nThe good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate\nspeed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent\nphilosophy. To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of\nconversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the\nhappiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farm\nhouse. But there was much to be talked of, in marrying her; and the\ngood-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before, from\nall the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit\nin this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her\nmisery was considered certain.\n\nIt was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs, but on this\nhappy day, she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in\nspirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her\ntriumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of\nher wishes, since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of\naccomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those\nattendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and\nservants. She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a\nproper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering\nwhat their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and\nimportance.\n\n\"Haye-Park might do,\" said she, \"if the Gouldings would quit it, or the\ngreat house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is\ntoo far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for\nPurvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.\"\n\nHer husband allowed her to talk on without interruption, while the\nservants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, \"Mrs.\nBennet, before you take any, or all of these houses, for your son and\ndaughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into _one_ house in this\nneighbourhood, they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage\nthe impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn.\"\n\nA long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet was firm: it\nsoon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror,\nthat her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his\ndaughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of\naffection whatever, on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend\nit. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable\nresentment, as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without which her\nmarriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all that she could believe\npossible. She was more alive to the disgrace, which the want of new\nclothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense of\nshame at her eloping and living with Wickham, a fortnight before they\ntook place.\n\nElizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of\nthe moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for\nher sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give the proper\ntermination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its\nunfavourable beginning, from all those who were not immediately on the\nspot.\n\nShe had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means. There were\nfew people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;\nbut at the same time, there was no one, whose knowledge of a sister's\nfrailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of\ndisadvantage from it, individually to herself; for at any rate, there\nseemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been\nconcluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that\nMr. Darcy would connect himself with a family, where to every other\nobjection would now be added, an alliance and relationship of the\nnearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.\n\nFrom such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink. The\nwish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his\nfeeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a\nblow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she\nhardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no\nlonger hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there\nseemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that\nshe could have been happy with him; when it was no longer likely they\nshould meet.\n\nWhat a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the\nproposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now\nhave been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she\ndoubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal,\nthere must be a triumph.\n\nShe began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who, in\ndisposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and\ntemper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It\nwas an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease\nand liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved,\nand from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must\nhave received benefit of greater importance.\n\nBut no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what\nconnubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and\nprecluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their\nfamily.\n\nHow Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence,\nshe could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could\nbelong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions\nwere stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's\nacknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances of his eagerness to\npromote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with intreaties\nthat the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal\npurport of his letter was to inform them, that Mr. Wickham had resolved\non quitting the Militia.\n\n     \"It was greatly my wish that he should do so,\" he added, \"as soon\n     as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me,\n     in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both\n     on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go\n     into the regulars; and, among his former friends, there are still\n     some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the\n     promise of an ensigncy in General ----'s regiment, now quartered in\n     the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of\n     the kingdom. He promises fairly, and I hope among different people,\n     where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be\n     more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of\n     our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the\n     various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with\n     assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And\n     will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances\n     to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list,\n     according to his information. He has given in all his debts; I hope\n     at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and\n     all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment,\n     unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from\n     Mrs. Gardiner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all,\n     before she leaves the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully\n     remembered to you and her mother.--Your's, &c.\n\n     \"E. GARDINER.\"\n\nMr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal\nfrom the ----shire, as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs.\nBennet, was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the\nNorth, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her\ncompany, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in\nHertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and besides, it was such a\npity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted\nwith every body, and had so many favourites.\n\n\"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,\" said she, \"it will be quite shocking\nto send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she\nlikes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ----'s\nregiment.\"\n\nHis daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being\nadmitted into her family again, before she set off for the North,\nreceived at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who\nagreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and\nconsequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents,\nurged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her\nand her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was\nprevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their\nmother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she should be able to shew\nher married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to\nthe North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he\nsent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon\nas the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth\nwas surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme,\nand, had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him\nwould have been the last object of her wishes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nTheir sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her\nprobably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet\nthem at ----, and they were to return in it, by dinner-time. Their\narrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially,\nwho gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had _she_\nbeen the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister must\nendure.\n\nThey came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room, to receive\nthem. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to\nthe door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed,\nanxious, uneasy.\n\nLydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and\nshe ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and\nwelcomed her with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to\nWickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an\nalacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.\n\nTheir reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite\nso cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely\nopened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was\nenough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was\nshocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and\nfearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their\ncongratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly\nround the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and\nobserved, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been\nthere.\n\nWickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners\nwere always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been\nexactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he\nclaimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had\nnot before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down,\nresolving within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence\nof an impudent man. _She_ blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of\nthe two who caused their confusion, suffered no variation of colour.\n\nThere was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither\nof them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near\nElizabeth, began enquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood,\nwith a good humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her\nreplies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the\nworld. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led\nvoluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not have alluded to for\nthe world.\n\n\"Only think of its being three months,\" she cried, \"since I went away;\nit seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things\nenough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure\nI had no more idea of being married till I came back again! though I\nthought it would be very good fun if I was.\"\n\nHer father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked\nexpressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw any thing of\nwhich she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, \"Oh! mamma, do the\npeople here abouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might\nnot; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was\ndetermined he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next to\nhim, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window\nframe, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like\nany thing.\"\n\nElizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room;\nand returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to\nthe dining-parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with\nanxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to\nher eldest sister, \"Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go\nlower, because I am a married woman.\"\n\nIt was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment,\nfrom which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good\nspirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all\ntheir other neighbours, and to hear herself called \"Mrs. Wickham,\" by\neach of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew her\nring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.\n\n\"Well, mamma,\" said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast\nroom, \"and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I\nam sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my\ngood luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get\nhusbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go.\"\n\n\"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don't\nat all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?\"\n\n\"Oh, lord! yes;--there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all\nthings. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We\nshall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some\nballs, and I will take care to get good partners for them all.\"\n\n\"I should like it beyond any thing!\" said her mother.\n\n\"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters\nbehind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the\nwinter is over.\"\n\n\"I thank you for my share of the favour,\" said Elizabeth; \"but I do not\nparticularly like your way of getting husbands.\"\n\nTheir visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham\nhad received his commission before he left London, and he was to join\nhis regiment at the end of a fortnight.\n\nNo one but Mrs. Bennet, regretted that their stay would be so short; and\nshe made the most of the time, by visiting about with her daughter, and\nhaving very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to\nall; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did\nthink, than such as did not.\n\nWickham's affection for Lydia, was just what Elizabeth had expected to\nfind it; not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her\npresent observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that\ntheir elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love, rather\nthan by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently caring\nfor her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain\nthat his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances; and\nif that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity\nof having a companion.\n\nLydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every\noccasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every\nthing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on\nthe first of September, than any body else in the country.\n\nOne morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two\nelder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,\n\n\"Lizzy, I never gave _you_ an account of my wedding, I believe. You were\nnot by, when I told mamma, and the others, all about it. Are not you\ncurious to hear how it was managed?\"\n\n\"No really,\" replied Elizabeth; \"I think there cannot be too little said\non the subject.\"\n\n\"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were\nmarried, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in\nthat parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven\no'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others\nwere to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in\nsuch a fuss! I was so afraid you know that something would happen to put\nit off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my\naunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if\nshe was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten,\nfor I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to\nknow whether he would be married in his blue coat.\n\n\"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never\nbe over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt\nwere horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe\nme, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a\nfortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure London was\nrather thin, but however the little Theatre was open. Well, and so just\nas the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business\nto that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get\ntogether, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not\nknow what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond\nthe hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back\nagain in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However, I\nrecollected afterwards, that if he _had_ been prevented going, the\nwedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darcy!\" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.\n\n\"Oh, yes!--he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me!\nI quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised\nthem so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!\"\n\n\"If it was to be secret,\" said Jane, \"say not another word on the\nsubject. You may depend upon my seeking no further.\"\n\n\"Oh! certainly,\" said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; \"we will\nask you no questions.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Lydia, \"for if you did, I should certainly tell you\nall, and then Wickham would be angry.\"\n\nOn such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her\npower, by running away.\n\nBut to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it\nwas impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her\nsister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people,\nwhere he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.\nConjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her\nbrain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as\nplacing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She\ncould not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,\nwrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what\nLydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been\nintended.\n\n\"You may readily comprehend,\" she added, \"what my curiosity must be to\nknow how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively\nspeaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such\na time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it--unless it is,\nfor very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to\nthink necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with\nignorance.\"\n\n\"Not that I _shall_ though,\" she added to herself, as she finished the\nletter; \"and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable\nmanner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it\nout.\"\n\nJane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to\nElizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of\nit;--till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any\nsatisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nElizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, as\nsoon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than\nhurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be\ninterrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be\nhappy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not\ncontain a denial.\n\n     \"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.\n\n     \"MY DEAR NIECE,\n\n     \"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole\n     morning to answering it, as I foresee that a _little_ writing will\n     not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself\n     surprised by your application; I did not expect it from _you_.\n     Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,\n     that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on _your_\n     side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my\n     impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am--and nothing\n     but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed\n     him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and\n     ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming\n     home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.\n     Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all\n     over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked\n     as _your's_ seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that\n     he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that\n     he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia\n     once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day\n     after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting\n     for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being\n     owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well\n     known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,\n     to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his\n     mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath\n     him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character\n     was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step\n     forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on\n     by himself. If he _had another_ motive, I am sure it would never\n     disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to\n     discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was\n     more than _we_ had; and the consciousness of this, was another\n     reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a\n     Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was\n     dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though\n     he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,\n     and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.\n     Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he\n     went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But\n     it was two or three days before he could get from her what he\n     wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery\n     and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be\n     found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in\n     London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they\n     would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our\n     kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ----\n     street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.\n     His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade\n     her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her\n     friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,\n     offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia\n     absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none\n     of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of\n     leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or\n     other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her\n     feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a\n     marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he\n     easily learnt, had never been _his_ design. He confessed himself\n     obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,\n     which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the\n     ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He\n     meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future\n     situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go\n     somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have\n     nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your\n     sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,\n     he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation\n     must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to\n     this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more\n     effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.\n     Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof\n     against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,\n     for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more\n     than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.\n     Every thing being settled between _them_, Mr. Darcy's next step was\n     to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in\n     Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner\n     could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that\n     your father was still with him, but would quit town the next\n     morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could\n     so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed\n     seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not\n     leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a\n     gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your\n     father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they\n     had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and\n     then _I_ saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon\n     as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor\n     was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real\n     defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many\n     faults at different times; but _this_ is the true one. Nothing was\n     to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do\n     not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your\n     uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it\n     together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman\n     or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced\n     to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,\n     was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,\n     which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your\n     letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an\n     explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give\n     the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther\n     than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,\n     what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,\n     amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,\n     another thousand in addition to her own settled upon _her_, and his\n     commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him\n     alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his\n     reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character\n     had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been\n     received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in\n     _this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve, or _anybody's_\n     reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this\n     fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that\n     your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit\n     for _another interest_ in the affair. When all this was resolved\n     on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at\n     Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more\n     when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to\n     receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.\n     It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I\n     hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to\n     us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. _He_ was\n     exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I\n     would not tell you how little I was satisfied with _her_ behaviour\n     while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter\n     last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a\n     piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no\n     fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,\n     representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and\n     all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,\n     it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was\n     sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth\n     and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was\n     punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the\n     wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again\n     on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear\n     Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold\n     enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,\n     in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.\n     His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but\n     a little more liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_, his\n     wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;--he hardly ever\n     mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive\n     me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so\n     far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I\n     have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little\n     pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.\n     The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very\n     sincerely,\n\n     \"M. GARDINER.\"\n\nThe contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,\nin which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the\ngreatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had\nproduced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's\nmatch, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too\ngreat to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the\npain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true!\nHe had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the\ntrouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which\nsupplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and\ndespise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with,\npersuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to\navoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had\ndone all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her\nheart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope\nshortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her\nvanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for\nher, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a\nsentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.\nBrother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the\nconnection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how\nmuch. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no\nextraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel\nhe had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising\nit; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement,\nshe could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might\nassist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be\nmaterially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that\nthey were under obligations to a person who could never receive a\nreturn. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing\nto him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation\nshe had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed\ntowards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.\nProud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get\nthe better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him\nagain and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even\nsensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how\nsteadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and\nconfidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.\n\nShe was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's\napproach; and before she could strike into another path, she was\novertaken by Wickham.\n\n\"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?\" said he,\nas he joined her.\n\n\"You certainly do,\" she replied with a smile; \"but it does not follow\nthat the interruption must be unwelcome.\"\n\n\"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. _We_ were always good friends;\nand now we are better.\"\n\n\"True. Are the others coming out?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to\nMeryton. And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt, that\nyou have actually seen Pemberley.\"\n\nShe replied in the affirmative.\n\n\"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much\nfor me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the\nold housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of\nme. But of course she did not mention my name to you.\"\n\n\"Yes, she did.\"\n\n\"And what did she say?\"\n\n\"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had--not turned\nout well. At such a distance as _that_, you know, things are strangely\nmisrepresented.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had\nsilenced him; but he soon afterwards said,\n\n\"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other\nseveral times. I wonder what he can be doing there.\"\n\n\"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh,\" said\nElizabeth. \"It must be something particular, to take him there at this\ntime of year.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I\nunderstood from the Gardiners that you had.\"\n\n\"Yes; he introduced us to his sister.\"\n\n\"And do you like her?\"\n\n\"Very much.\"\n\n\"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year\nor two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad\nyou liked her. I hope she will turn out well.\"\n\n\"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age.\"\n\n\"Did you go by the village of Kympton?\"\n\n\"I do not recollect that we did.\"\n\n\"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A\nmost delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited\nme in every respect.\"\n\n\"How should you have liked making sermons?\"\n\n\"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and\nthe exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to\nrepine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The\nquiet, the retirement of such a life, would have answered all my ideas\nof happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the\ncircumstance, when you were in Kent?\"\n\n\"I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was\nleft you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron.\"\n\n\"You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the\nfirst, you may remember.\"\n\n\"I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not so\npalatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually\ndeclared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business\nhad been compromised accordingly.\"\n\n\"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember\nwhat I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.\"\n\nThey were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast\nto get rid of him; and unwilling for her sister's sake, to provoke him,\nshe only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,\n\n\"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us\nquarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one\nmind.\"\n\nShe held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though\nhe hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nMr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation, that he\nnever again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,\nby introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she\nhad said enough to keep him quiet.\n\nThe day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was\nforced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means\nentered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to\ncontinue at least a twelvemonth.\n\n\"Oh! my dear Lydia,\" she cried, \"when shall we meet again?\"\n\n\"Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years perhaps.\"\n\n\"Write to me very often, my dear.\"\n\n\"As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for\nwriting. My sisters may write to _me_. They will have nothing else to\ndo.\"\n\nMr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his wife's. He\nsmiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.\n\n\"He is as fine a fellow,\" said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of\nthe house, \"as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us\nall. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas\nhimself, to produce a more valuable son-in-law.\"\n\nThe loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.\n\n\"I often think,\" said she, \"that there is nothing so bad as parting with\none's friends. One seems so forlorn without them.\"\n\n\"This is the consequence you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter,\" said\nElizabeth. \"It must make you better satisfied that your other four are\nsingle.\"\n\n\"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married;\nbut only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If\nthat had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.\"\n\nBut the spiritless condition which this event threw her into, was\nshortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by\nan article of news, which then began to be in circulation. The\nhousekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the\narrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot\nthere for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She\nlooked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.\n\n\"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,\" (for Mrs.\nPhilips first brought her the news.) \"Well, so much the better. Not that\nI care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure\n_I_ never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to\ncome to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what _may_ happen?\nBut that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to\nmention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?\"\n\n\"You may depend on it,\" replied the other, \"for Mrs. Nicholls was in\nMeryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose\nto know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. He\ncomes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was\ngoing to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on\nWednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks, just fit to be\nkilled.\"\n\nMiss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming, without changing\ncolour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to\nElizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,\n\n\"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present\nreport; and I know I appeared distressed. But don't imagine it was from\nany silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt\nthat I _should_ be looked at. I do assure you, that the news does not\naffect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he\ncomes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid\nof _myself_, but I dread other people's remarks.\"\n\nElizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in\nDerbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there, with no\nother view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial\nto Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming\nthere _with_ his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come\nwithout it.\n\n\"Yet it is hard,\" she sometimes thought, \"that this poor man cannot come\nto a house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this\nspeculation! I _will_ leave him to himself.\"\n\nIn spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her\nfeelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily\nperceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed,\nmore unequal, than she had often seen them.\n\nThe subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents,\nabout a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.\n\n\"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"you\nwill wait on him of course.\"\n\n\"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised if I\nwent to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in\nnothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again.\"\n\nHis wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention\nwould be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to\nNetherfield.\n\n\"'Tis an etiquette I despise,\" said he. \"If he wants our society, let\nhim seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend _my_ hours in\nrunning after my neighbours every time they go away, and come back\nagain.\"\n\n\"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not\nwait on him. But, however, that shan't prevent my asking him to dine\nhere, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon.\nThat will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at\ntable for him.\"\n\nConsoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her\nhusband's incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her\nneighbours might all see Mr. Bingley in consequence of it, before _they_\ndid. As the day of his arrival drew near,\n\n\"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,\" said Jane to her sister. \"It\nwould be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can\nhardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well;\nbut she does not know, no one can know how much I suffer from what she\nsays. Happy shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield is over!\"\n\n\"I wish I could say any thing to comfort you,\" replied Elizabeth; \"but\nit is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual\nsatisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because\nyou have always so much.\"\n\nMr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants,\ncontrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety\nand fretfulness on her side, might be as long as it could. She counted\nthe days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent;\nhopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his\narrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window,\nenter the paddock, and ride towards the house.\n\nHer daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely\nkept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went\nto the window--she looked,--she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down\nagain by her sister.\n\n\"There is a gentleman with him, mamma,\" said Kitty; \"who can it be?\"\n\n\"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not\nknow.\"\n\n\"La!\" replied Kitty, \"it looks just like that man that used to be with\nhim before. Mr. what's his name. That tall, proud man.\"\n\n\"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!--and so it does I vow. Well, any friend of\nMr. Bingley's will always be welcome here to be sure; but else I must\nsay that I hate the very sight of him.\"\n\nJane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little\nof their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness\nwhich must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time\nafter receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable\nenough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and their\nmother talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be\ncivil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being heard by either\nof them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be\nsuspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs.\nGardiner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him.\nTo Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and\nwhose merit she had undervalued; but to her own more extensive\ninformation, he was the person, to whom the whole family were indebted\nfor the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an\ninterest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as\nwhat Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming--at his\ncoming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again,\nwas almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered\nbehaviour in Derbyshire.\n\nThe colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half a\nminute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to\nher eyes, as she thought for that space of time, that his affection and\nwishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure.\n\n\"Let me first see how he behaves,\" said she; \"it will then be early\nenough for expectation.\"\n\nShe sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to\nlift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her\nsister, as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little\npaler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the\ngentlemen's appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with\ntolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any\nsymptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance.\n\nElizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down\nagain to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She\nhad ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and\nshe thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as\nshe had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her mother's\npresence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but\nnot an improbable, conjecture.\n\nBingley, she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period\nsaw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs.\nBennet with a degree of civility, which made her two daughters ashamed,\nespecially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of\nher curtsey and address to his friend.\n\nElizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the\npreservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was\nhurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill\napplied.\n\nDarcy, after enquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question\nwhich she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely any thing.\nHe was not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of his silence;\nbut it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her\nfriends, when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed,\nwithout bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable\nto resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she\nas often found him looking at Jane, as at herself, and frequently on no\nobject but the ground. More thoughtfulness, and less anxiety to please\nthan when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed,\nand angry with herself for being so.\n\n\"Could I expect it to be otherwise!\" said she. \"Yet why did he come?\"\n\nShe was in no humour for conversation with any one but himself; and to\nhim she had hardly courage to speak.\n\nShe enquired after his sister, but could do no more.\n\n\"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,\" said Mrs. Bennet.\n\nHe readily agreed to it.\n\n\"I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People _did_ say,\nyou meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope\nit is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood,\nsince you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my\nown daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have\nseen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know;\nthough it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, 'Lately,\nGeorge Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a\nsyllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or any thing.\nIt was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to\nmake such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?\"\n\nBingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth\ndared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could\nnot tell.\n\n\"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,\"\ncontinued her mother, \"but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very\nhard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to\nNewcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to\nstay, I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you\nhave heard of his leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the\nregulars. Thank Heaven! he has _some_ friends, though perhaps not so\nmany as he deserves.\"\n\nElizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery\nof shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her,\nhowever, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually\ndone before; and she asked Bingley, whether he meant to make any stay in\nthe country at present. A few weeks, he believed.\n\n\"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,\" said her mother,\n\"I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please, on Mr.\nBennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and\nwill save all the best of the covies for you.\"\n\nElizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious\nattention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present, as had\nflattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be\nhastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant she felt,\nthat years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends, for\nmoments of such painful confusion.\n\n\"The first wish of my heart,\" said she to herself, \"is never more to be\nin company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure,\nthat will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either\none or the other again!\"\n\nYet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no\ncompensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from observing\nhow much the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of her\nformer lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little;\nbut every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He\nfound her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as\nunaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no\ndifference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded\nthat she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged,\nthat she did not always know when she was silent.\n\nWhen the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her\nintended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at\nLongbourn in a few days time.\n\n\"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,\" she added, \"for when\nyou went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with\nus, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure\nyou, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep\nyour engagement.\"\n\nBingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of\nhis concern, at having been prevented by business. They then went away.\n\nMrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine\nthere, that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did\nnot think any thing less than two courses, could be good enough for a\nman, on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and\npride of one who had ten thousand a-year.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nAs soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;\nor in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that\nmust deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed her.\n\n\"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,\" said she,\n\"did he come at all?\"\n\nShe could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.\n\n\"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when\nhe was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If\nhe no longer cares for me, why silent? Teazing, teazing, man! I will\nthink no more about him.\"\n\nHer resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach\nof her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which shewed her\nbetter satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly\neasy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by\nhis coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly\nseen, that on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent\nacquaintance.\"\n\n\"Yes, very indifferent indeed,\" said Elizabeth, laughingly. \"Oh, Jane,\ntake care.\"\n\n\"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now.\"\n\n\"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with\nyou as ever.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in\nthe meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good\nhumour, and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had\nrevived.\n\nOn Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two,\nwho were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as\nsportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the\ndining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take\nthe place, which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by\nher sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to\ninvite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to\nhesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was\ndecided. He placed himself by her.\n\nElizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He\nbore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that\nBingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes\nlikewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing\nalarm.\n\nHis behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as shewed an\nadmiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded\nElizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's happiness, and his\nown, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the\nconsequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It\ngave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in\nno cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her, as the table\ncould divide them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little\nsuch a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to\nadvantage. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but\nshe could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and\ncold was their manner, whenever they did. Her mother's ungraciousness,\nmade the sense of what they owed him more painful to Elizabeth's mind;\nand she would, at times, have given any thing to be privileged to tell\nhim, that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of\nthe family.\n\nShe was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of\nbringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away\nwithout enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than\nthe mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and\nuneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the\ngentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree, that almost made her\nuncivil. She looked forward to their entrance, as the point on which all\nher chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.\n\n\"If he does not come to me, _then_,\" said she, \"I shall give him up for\never.\"\n\nThe gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have\nanswered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table,\nwhere Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee,\nin so close a confederacy, that there was not a single vacancy near her,\nwhich would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching, one of\nthe girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a whisper,\n\n\"The men shan't come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them;\ndo we?\"\n\nDarcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with\nher eyes, envied every one to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience\nenough to help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against herself\nfor being so silly!\n\n\"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to\nexpect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not\nprotest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman?\nThere is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!\"\n\nShe was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup\nhimself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,\n\n\"Is your sister at Pemberley still?\"\n\n\"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas.\"\n\n\"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough,\nthese three weeks.\"\n\nShe could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse\nwith her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for\nsome minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady's whispering\nto Elizabeth again, he walked away.\n\nWhen the tea-things were removed, and the card tables placed, the ladies\nall rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him, when\nall her views were overthrown, by seeing him fall a victim to her\nmother's rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after seated\nwith the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure.\nThey were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had\nnothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side\nof the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself.\n\nMrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to\nsupper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the\nothers, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.\n\n\"Well girls,\" said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, \"What\nsay you to the day? I think every thing has passed off uncommonly well,\nI assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The\nvenison was roasted to a turn--and everybody said, they never saw so fat\na haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the\nLucas's last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges\nwere remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three French\ncooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater\nbeauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And\nwhat do you think she said besides? 'Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her\nat Netherfield at last.' She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good\na creature as ever lived--and her nieces are very pretty behaved girls,\nand not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough of\nBingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get him at\nlast; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy\nhumour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at\nnot seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.\n\n\"It has been a very agreeable day,\" said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. \"The\nparty seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we\nmay often meet again.\"\n\nElizabeth smiled.\n\n\"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I\nassure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an\nagreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish beyond it. I am\nperfectly satisfied from what his manners now are, that he never had any\ndesign of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with\ngreater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally\npleasing than any other man.\"\n\n\"You are very cruel,\" said her sister, \"you will not let me smile, and\nare provoking me to it every moment.\"\n\n\"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!\"\n\n\"And how impossible in others!\"\n\n\"But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I\nacknowledge?\"\n\n\"That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to\ninstruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive\nme; and if you persist in indifference, do not make _me_ your\nconfidante.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nA few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His\nfriend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in\nten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably\ngood spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many\nexpressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.\n\n\"Next time you call,\" said she, \"I hope we shall be more lucky.\"\n\nHe should be particularly happy at any time, &c. &c.; and if she would\ngive him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them.\n\n\"Can you come to-morrow?\"\n\nYes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was\naccepted with alacrity.\n\nHe came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them\ndressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressing\ngown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,\n\n\"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come--Mr. Bingley is\ncome.--He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss\nBennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss\nLizzy's hair.\"\n\n\"We will be down as soon as we can,\" said Jane; \"but I dare say Kitty is\nforwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs half an hour ago.\"\n\n\"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come be quick, be quick!\nwhere is your sash my dear?\"\n\nBut when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down\nwithout one of her sisters.\n\nThe same anxiety to get them by themselves, was visible again in the\nevening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his\ncustom, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the\nfive being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at\nElizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any\nimpression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last\nKitty did, she very innocently said, \"What is the matter mamma? What do\nyou keep winking at me for? What am I to do?\"\n\n\"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you.\" She then sat still five\nminutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she\nsuddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,\n\n\"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,\" took her out of the room.\nJane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth, which spoke her distress at\nsuch premeditation, and her intreaty that _she_ would not give into it.\nIn a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,\n\n\"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.\"\n\nElizabeth was forced to go.\n\n\"We may as well leave them by themselves you know;\" said her mother as\nsoon as she was in the hall. \"Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in\nmy dressing-room.\"\n\nElizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained\nquietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned\ninto the drawing-room.\n\nMrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was every\nthing that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His\nease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their\nevening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the\nmother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command\nof countenance, particularly grateful to the daughter.\n\nHe scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went\naway, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs.\nBennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.\n\nAfter this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed\nbetween the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in\nthe happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy\nreturned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably\npersuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman's\nconcurrence.\n\nBingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the\nmorning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more\nagreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption\nor folly in Bingley, that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him\ninto silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric than the\nother had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner;\nand in the evening Mrs. Bennet's invention was again at work to get\nevery body away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter\nto write, went into the breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea;\nfor as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be\nwanted to counteract her mother's schemes.\n\nBut on returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished, she\nsaw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother\nhad been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her\nsister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in\nearnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of\nboth as they hastily turned round, and moved away from each other, would\nhave told it all. _Their_ situation was awkward enough; but _her's_ she\nthought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and\nElizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as\nwell as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering a few\nwords to her sister, ran out of the room.\n\nJane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give\npleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest\nemotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.\n\n\"'Tis too much!\" she added, \"by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh!\nwhy is not every body as happy?\"\n\nElizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a\ndelight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of\nkindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not\nallow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be\nsaid, for the present.\n\n\"I must go instantly to my mother;\" she cried. \"I would not on any\naccount trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it\nfrom any one but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh! Lizzy, to\nknow that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear\nfamily! how shall I bear so much happiness!\"\n\nShe then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the\ncard party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.\n\nElizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease\nwith which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many\nprevious months of suspense and vexation.\n\n\"And this,\" said she, \"is the end of all his friend's anxious\ncircumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the\nhappiest, wisest, most reasonable end!\"\n\nIn a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her\nfather had been short and to the purpose.\n\n\"Where is your sister?\" said he hastily, as he opened the door.\n\n\"With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment I dare say.\"\n\nHe then shut the door, and coming up to her, claimed the good wishes and\naffection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her\ndelight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with\ngreat cordiality; and then till her sister came down, she had to listen\nto all he had to say, of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections;\nand in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his\nexpectations of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had for\nbasis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposition of\nJane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and\nhimself.\n\nIt was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of\nMiss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as\nmade her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped\nher turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or\nspeak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,\nthough she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour; and when\nMr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly shewed\nhow really happy he was.\n\nNot a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their\nvisitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he\nturned to his daughter and said,\n\n\"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.\"\n\nJane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his\ngoodness.\n\n\"You are a good girl;\" he replied, \"and I have great pleasure in\nthinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your\ndoing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are\neach of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so\neasy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will\nalways exceed your income.\"\n\n\"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters, would be\nunpardonable in _me_.\"\n\n\"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,\" cried his wife, \"what are you\ntalking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a-year, and very likely\nmore.\" Then addressing her daughter, \"Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so\nhappy! I am sure I sha'nt get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it\nwould be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not\nbe so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when\nhe first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was\nthat you should come together. Oh! he is the handsomest young man that\never was seen!\"\n\nWickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her\nfavourite child. At that moment, she cared for no other. Her younger\nsisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness\nwhich she might in future be able to dispense.\n\nMary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty\nbegged very hard for a few balls there every winter.\n\nBingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;\ncoming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after\nsupper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough\ndetested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought\nhimself obliged to accept.\n\nElizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for\nwhile he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on any one else;\nbut she found herself considerably useful to both of them, in those\nhours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane,\nhe always attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of\nher; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of\nrelief.\n\n\"He has made me so happy,\" said she, one evening, \"by telling me, that\nhe was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not\nbelieved it possible.\"\n\n\"I suspected as much,\" replied Elizabeth. \"But how did he account for\nit?\"\n\n\"It must have been his sister's doing. They were certainly no friends to\nhis acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have\nchosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,\nas I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will\nlearn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again; though we\ncan never be what we once were to each other.\"\n\n\"That is the most unforgiving speech,\" said Elizabeth, \"that I ever\nheard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again\nthe dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard.\"\n\n\"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November,\nhe really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of _my_ being\nindifferent, would have prevented his coming down again!\"\n\n\"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit of his\nmodesty.\"\n\nThis naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and\nthe little value he put on his own good qualities.\n\nElizabeth was pleased to find, that he had not betrayed the interference\nof his friend, for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving\nheart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice\nher against him.\n\n\"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!\" cried\nJane. \"Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed\nabove them all! If I could but see _you_ as happy! If there _were_ but\nsuch another man for you!\"\n\n\"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as\nyou. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your\nhappiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very\ngood luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time.\"\n\nThe situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a\nsecret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and\n_she_ ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her\nneighbours in Meryton.\n\nThe Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the\nworld, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,\nthey had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nOne morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been\nformed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the\ndining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the\nsound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the\nlawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the\nequipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses\nwere post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who\npreceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that\nsomebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid\nthe confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the\nshrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three\ncontinued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown\nopen, and their visitor entered. It was lady Catherine de Bourgh.\n\nThey were of course all intending to be surprised; but their\nastonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.\nBennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even\ninferior to what Elizabeth felt.\n\nShe entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no\nother reply to Elizabeth's salutation, than a slight inclination of the\nhead, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her\nname to her mother, on her ladyship's entrance, though no request of\nintroduction had been made.\n\nMrs. Bennet all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such\nhigh importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting\nfor a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to Elizabeth,\n\n\"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady I suppose is your mother.\"\n\nElizabeth replied very concisely that she was.\n\n\"And _that_ I suppose is one of your sisters.\"\n\n\"Yes, madam,\" said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a lady Catherine.\n\"She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all, is lately married,\nand my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man,\nwho I believe will soon become a part of the family.\"\n\n\"You have a very small park here,\" returned Lady Catherine after a short\nsilence.\n\n\"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say; but I\nassure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's.\"\n\n\"This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in\nsummer; the windows are full west.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner; and then\nadded,\n\n\"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. and\nMrs. Collins well.\"\n\n\"Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last.\"\n\nElizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from\nCharlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no\nletter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.\n\nMrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some\nrefreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely,\ndeclined eating any thing; and then rising up, said to Elizabeth,\n\n\"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness\non one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you\nwill favour me with your company.\"\n\n\"Go, my dear,\" cried her mother, \"and shew her ladyship about the\ndifferent walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.\"\n\nElizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol,\nattended her noble guest down stairs. As they passed through the hall,\nLady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and\ndrawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent\nlooking rooms, walked on.\n\nHer carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her\nwaiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk\nthat led to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for\nconversation with a woman, who was now more than usually insolent and\ndisagreeable.\n\n\"How could I ever think her like her nephew?\" said she, as she looked in\nher face.\n\nAs soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following\nmanner:--\n\n\"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my\njourney hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I\ncome.\"\n\nElizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.\n\n\"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able to account\nfor the honour of seeing you here.\"\n\n\"Miss Bennet,\" replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, \"you ought to\nknow, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere _you_ may\nchoose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been\ncelebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such\nmoment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most\nalarming nature, reached me two days ago. I was told, that not only your\nsister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that\n_you_, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon\nafterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I\n_know_ it must be a scandalous falsehood; though I would not injure him\nso much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on\nsetting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to\nyou.\"\n\n\"If you believed it impossible to be true,\" said Elizabeth, colouring\nwith astonishment and disdain, \"I wonder you took the trouble of coming\nso far. What could your ladyship propose by it?\"\n\n\"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.\"\n\n\"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,\" said Elizabeth,\ncoolly, \"will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report\nis in existence.\"\n\n\"If! do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been\nindustriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a\nreport is spread abroad?\"\n\n\"I never heard that it was.\"\n\n\"And can you likewise declare, that there is no _foundation_ for it?\"\n\n\"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. _You_\nmay ask questions, which _I_ shall not choose to answer.\"\n\n\"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has\nhe, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?\"\n\n\"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.\"\n\n\"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his\nreason. But _your_ arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation,\nhave made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You\nmay have drawn him in.\"\n\n\"If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.\"\n\n\"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such\nlanguage as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world,\nand am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.\"\n\n\"But you are not entitled to know _mine_; nor will such behaviour as\nthis, ever induce me to be explicit.\"\n\n\"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the\npresumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is\nengaged to _my daughter_. Now what have you to say?\"\n\n\"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will\nmake an offer to me.\"\n\nLady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,\n\n\"The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy,\nthey have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of\n_his_ mother, as well as of her's. While in their cradles, we planned\nthe union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would\nbe accomplished, in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of\ninferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to\nthe family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his\ntacit engagement with Miss De Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of\npropriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say, that from his\nearliest hours he was destined for his cousin?\"\n\n\"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no\nother objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be\nkept from it, by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry\nMiss De Bourgh. You both did as much as you could, in planning the\nmarriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by\nhonour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make\nanother choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?\"\n\n\"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss\nBennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or\nfriends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will\nbe censured, slighted, and despised, by every one connected with him.\nYour alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned\nby any of us.\"\n\n\"These are heavy misfortunes,\" replied Elizabeth. \"But the wife of Mr.\nDarcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily\nattached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause\nto repine.\"\n\n\"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude\nfor my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that\nscore?\n\n\"Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here\nwith the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be\ndissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims.\nI have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.\"\n\n\"_That_ will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable;\nbut it will have no effect on _me_.\"\n\n\"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my\nnephew are formed for each other. They are descended on the maternal\nside, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable,\nhonourable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their fortune on both\nsides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of\nevery member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The\nupstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or\nfortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you\nwere sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere,\nin which you have been brought up.\"\n\n\"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that\nsphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far we are\nequal.\"\n\n\"True. You _are_ a gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who\nare your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their\ncondition.\"\n\n\"Whatever my connections may be,\" said Elizabeth, \"if your nephew does\nnot object to them, they can be nothing to _you_.\"\n\n\"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?\"\n\nThough Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady\nCatherine, have answered this question; she could not but say, after a\nmoment's deliberation,\n\n\"I am not.\"\n\nLady Catherine seemed pleased.\n\n\"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?\"\n\n\"I will make no promise of the kind.\"\n\n\"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more\nreasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I\nwill ever recede. I shall not go away, till you have given me the\nassurance I require.\"\n\n\"And I certainly _never_ shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into\nanything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry\nyour daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise, make\n_their_ marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to\nme, would _my_ refusing to accept his hand, make him wish to bestow it\non his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with\nwhich you have supported this extraordinary application, have been as\nfrivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my\ncharacter, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these.\nHow far your nephew might approve of your interference in _his_ affairs,\nI cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in\nmine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the\nsubject.\"\n\n\"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the\nobjections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no\nstranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous\nelopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her, was a\npatched-up business, at the expence of your father and uncles. And is\n_such_ a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is _her_ husband, is the son of\nhis late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!--of what\nare you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?\"\n\n\"You can _now_ have nothing farther to say,\" she resentfully answered.\n\"You have insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to\nthe house.\"\n\nAnd she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned\nback. Her ladyship was highly incensed.\n\n\"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew!\nUnfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you,\nmust disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?\"\n\n\"Lady Catherine, I have nothing farther to say. You know my sentiments.\"\n\n\"You are then resolved to have him?\"\n\n\"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner,\nwhich will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without\nreference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.\"\n\n\"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the\nclaims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in\nthe opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.\"\n\n\"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,\" replied Elizabeth, \"have any\npossible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either,\nwould be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the\nresentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former\n_were_ excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's\nconcern--and the world in general would have too much sense to join in\nthe scorn.\"\n\n\"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I\nshall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your\nambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you\nreasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point.\"\n\nIn this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of\nthe carriage, when turning hastily round, she added,\n\n\"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your\nmother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.\"\n\nElizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her\nladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She\nheard the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Her mother\nimpatiently met her at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady\nCatherine would not come in again and rest herself.\n\n\"She did not choose it,\" said her daughter, \"she would go.\"\n\n\"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously\ncivil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well.\nShe is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so passing through\nMeryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had\nnothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?\"\n\nElizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to\nacknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nThe discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw\nElizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many\nhours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it\nappeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings,\nfor the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.\nDarcy. It was a rational scheme to be sure! but from what the report of\ntheir engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;\ntill she recollected that _his_ being the intimate friend of Bingley,\nand _her_ being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the\nexpectation of one wedding, made every body eager for another, to supply\nthe idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her\nsister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at\nLucas lodge, therefore, (for through their communication with the\nCollinses, the report she concluded had reached lady Catherine) had only\nset _that_ down, as almost certain and immediate, which _she_ had looked\nforward to as possible, at some future time.\n\nIn revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help\nfeeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting\nin this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to\nprevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate\nan application to her nephew; and how _he_ might take a similar\nrepresentation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared\nnot pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his\naunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose\nthat he thought much higher of her ladyship than _she_ could do; and it\nwas certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with _one_,\nwhose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would\naddress him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would\nprobably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak\nand ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.\n\nIf he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often\nseemed likely, the advice and intreaty of so near a relation might\nsettle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy, as dignity\nunblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady\nCatherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to\nBingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.\n\n\"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should come to\nhis friend within a few days,\" she added, \"I shall know how to\nunderstand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of\nhis constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might\nhave obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him\nat all.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had\nbeen, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same\nkind of supposition, which had appeased Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and\nElizabeth was spared from much teazing on the subject.\n\nThe next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was met by her\nfather, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.\n\n\"Lizzy,\" said he, \"I was going to look for you; come into my room.\"\n\nShe followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell\nher, was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner\nconnected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might\nbe from lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the\nconsequent explanations.\n\nShe followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down. He\nthen said,\n\n\"I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me\nexceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its\ncontents. I did not know before, that I had _two_ daughters on the brink\nof matrimony. Let me congratulate you, on a very important conquest.\"\n\nThe colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks in the instantaneous\nconviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt;\nand she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained\nhimself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to\nherself; when her father continued,\n\n\"You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters\nas these; but I think I may defy even _your_ sagacity, to discover the\nname of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins.\"\n\n\"From Mr. Collins! and what can _he_ have to say?\"\n\n\"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with\ncongratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of\nwhich it seems he has been told, by some of the good-natured, gossiping\nLucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what he says\non that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows. \"Having thus\noffered you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on\nthis happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another:\nof which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter\nElizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after\nher elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her fate,\nmay be reasonably looked up to, as one of the most illustrious\npersonages in this land.\"\n\n\"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?\" \"This young\ngentleman is blessed in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of\nmortal can most desire,--splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive\npatronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin\nElizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur, by a precipitate\nclosure with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course, you will be\ninclined to take immediate advantage of.\"\n\n\"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out.\"\n\n\"My motive for cautioning you, is as follows. We have reason to imagine\nthat his aunt, lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with\na friendly eye.\"\n\n\"_Mr. Darcy_, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I _have_\nsurprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man, within\nthe circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more\neffectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any\nwoman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at _you_ in\nhis life! It is admirable!\"\n\nElizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could only force\none most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so\nlittle agreeable to her.\n\n\"Are you not diverted?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes. Pray read on.\"\n\n\"After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship last\nnight, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she\nfelt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some\nfamily objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give her\nconsent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty\nto give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that she and\nher noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run\nhastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.\" \"Mr.\nCollins moreover adds,\" \"I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad\nbusiness has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their\nliving together before the marriage took place, should be so generally\nknown. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain\nfrom declaring my amazement, at hearing that you received the young\ncouple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an\nencouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should\nvery strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as\na christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names\nto be mentioned in your hearing.\" \"_That_ is his notion of christian\nforgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte's\nsituation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you\nlook as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be _Missish_, I\nhope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we\nlive, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our\nturn?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Elizabeth, \"I am excessively diverted. But it is so\nstrange!\"\n\n\"Yes--_that_ is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man\nit would have been nothing; but _his_ perfect indifference, and _your_\npointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate\nwriting, I would not give up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any\nconsideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving\nhim the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and\nhypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine\nabout this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?\"\n\nTo this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had\nbeen asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his\nrepeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her\nfeelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she\nwould rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by\nwhat he said of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing but\nwonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of\nhis seeing too _little_, she might have fancied too _much_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nInstead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as\nElizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy\nwith him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine's\nvisit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to\ntell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in\nmomentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed\ntheir all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the\nhabit of walking, Mary could never spare time, but the remaining five\nset off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to\noutstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy,\nwere to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was\ntoo much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a\ndesperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.\n\nThey walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon\nMaria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern,\nwhen Kitty left them, she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the\nmoment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was\nhigh, she immediately said,\n\n\"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving\nrelief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding your's. I\ncan no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor\nsister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to\nacknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest\nof my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,\" replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise\nand emotion, \"that you have ever been informed of what may, in a\nmistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs.\nGardiner was so little to be trusted.\"\n\n\"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to\nme that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could\nnot rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again,\nin the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced\nyou to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the\nsake of discovering them.\"\n\n\"If you _will_ thank me,\" he replied, \"let it be for yourself alone.\nThat the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other\ninducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your\n_family_ owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought\nonly of _you_.\"\n\nElizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,\nher companion added, \"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your\nfeelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. _My_\naffections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence\nme on this subject for ever.\"\n\nElizabeth feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of\nhis situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not\nvery fluently, gave him to understand, that her sentiments had undergone\nso material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make\nher receive with gratitude and pleasure, his present assurances. The\nhappiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never\nfelt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as\nwarmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth\nbeen able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the\nexpression of heart-felt delight, diffused over his face, became him;\nbut, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of\nfeelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his\naffection every moment more valuable.\n\nThey walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to\nbe thought; and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She\nsoon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding\nto the efforts of his aunt, who _did_ call on him in her return through\nLondon, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the\nsubstance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on\nevery expression of the latter, which, in her ladyship's apprehension,\npeculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance, in the belief that\nsuch a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from\nher nephew, which _she_ had refused to give. But, unluckily for her\nladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.\n\n\"It taught me to hope,\" said he, \"as I had scarcely ever allowed myself\nto hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that,\nhad you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have\nacknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.\"\n\nElizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, \"Yes, you know enough of\nmy _frankness_ to believe me capable of _that_. After abusing you so\nabominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all\nyour relations.\"\n\n\"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your\naccusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour\nto you at the time, had merited the severest reproof. It was\nunpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.\"\n\n\"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that\nevening,\" said Elizabeth. \"The conduct of neither, if strictly examined,\nwill be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved\nin civility.\"\n\n\"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I\nthen said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of\nit, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your\nreproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behaved in a\nmore gentleman-like manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you\ncan scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;--though it was some\ntime, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.\"\n\n\"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an\nimpression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such\na way.\"\n\n\"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper\nfeeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never\nforget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible\nway, that would induce you to accept me.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at\nall. I assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.\"\n\nDarcy mentioned his letter. \"Did it,\" said he, \"did it _soon_ make you\nthink better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its\ncontents?\"\n\nShe explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her\nformer prejudices had been removed.\n\n\"I knew,\" said he, \"that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was\nnecessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part\nespecially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the\npower of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might\njustly make you hate me.\"\n\n\"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the\npreservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my\nopinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily\nchanged as that implies.\"\n\n\"When I wrote that letter,\" replied Darcy, \"I believed myself perfectly\ncalm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a\ndreadful bitterness of spirit.\"\n\n\"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The\nadieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings\nof the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so\nwidely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant\ncircumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some\nof my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you\npleasure.\"\n\n\"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. _Your_\nretrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment\narising from them, is not of philosophy, but what is much better, of\nignorance. But with _me_, it is not so. Painful recollections will\nintrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a\nselfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a\nchild I was taught what was _right_, but I was not taught to correct my\ntemper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride\nand conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only _child_)\nI was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father\nparticularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged,\nalmost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond\nmy own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to\n_wish_ at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with\nmy own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might\nstill have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not\nowe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most\nadvantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a\ndoubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my\npretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.\"\n\n\"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?\"\n\n\"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be\nwishing, expecting my addresses.\"\n\n\"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally I assure you.\nI never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong.\nHow you must have hated me after _that_ evening?\"\n\n\"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take\na proper direction.\"\n\n\"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me; when we met at\nPemberley. You blamed me for coming?\"\n\n\"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.\"\n\n\"Your surprise could not be greater than _mine_ in being noticed by you.\nMy conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I\nconfess that I did not expect to receive _more_ than my due.\"\n\n\"My object _then_,\" replied Darcy, \"was to shew you, by every civility\nin my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped\nto obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you\nsee that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes\nintroduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an\nhour after I had seen you.\"\n\nHe then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her\ndisappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to\nthe cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of\nfollowing her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister, had been formed\nbefore he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness\nthere, had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must\ncomprehend.\n\nShe expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to\neach, to be dwelt on farther.\n\nAfter walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know\nany thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that\nit was time to be at home.\n\n\"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!\" was a wonder which\nintroduced the discussion of _their_ affairs. Darcy was delighted with\ntheir engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of\nit.\n\n\"I must ask whether you were surprised?\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.\"\n\n\"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.\" And\nthough he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much\nthe case.\n\n\"On the evening before my going to London,\" said he \"I made a confession\nto him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of\nall that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs,\nabsurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the\nslightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself\nmistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent\nto him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was\nunabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.\"\n\nElizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his\nfriend.\n\n\"Did you speak from your own observation,\" said she, \"when you told him\nthat my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?\"\n\n\"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits\nwhich I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection.\"\n\n\"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to\nhim.\"\n\n\"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had\nprevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but\nhis reliance on mine, made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess\none thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not\nallow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months\nlast winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was\nangry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained\nin any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me\nnow.\"\n\nElizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful\nfriend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked\nherself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laught at, and it\nwas rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley,\nwhich of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the\nconversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\n\"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?\" was a question\nwhich Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and\nfrom all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in\nreply, that they had wandered about, till she was beyond her own\nknowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor any thing\nelse, awakened a suspicion of the truth.\n\nThe evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extraordinary. The\nacknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent.\nDarcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;\nand Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather _knew_ that she was happy,\nthan _felt_ herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment,\nthere were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in\nthe family when her situation became known; she was aware that no one\nliked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a\n_dislike_ which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.\n\nAt night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far\nfrom Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.\n\n\"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!--engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no,\nyou shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible.\"\n\n\"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and\nI am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am\nin earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are\nengaged.\"\n\nJane looked at her doubtingly. \"Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much\nyou dislike him.\"\n\n\"You know nothing of the matter. _That_ is all to be forgot. Perhaps I\ndid not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these,\na good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever\nremember it myself.\"\n\nMiss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more\nseriously assured her of its truth.\n\n\"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you,\" cried\nJane. \"My dear, dear Lizzy, I would--I do congratulate you--but are you\ncertain? forgive the question--are you quite certain that you can be\nhappy with him?\"\n\n\"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that\nwe are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased,\nJane? Shall you like to have such a brother?\"\n\n\"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more\ndelight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you\nreally love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do any thing rather than\nmarry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought\nto do?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel _more_ than I ought to do, when I\ntell you all.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, I must confess, that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am\nafraid you will be angry.\"\n\n\"My dearest sister, now _be_ be serious. I want to talk very seriously.\nLet me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell\nme how long you have loved him?\"\n\n\"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.\nBut I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds\nat Pemberley.\"\n\nAnother intreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the\ndesired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of\nattachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing\nfarther to wish.\n\n\"Now I am quite happy,\" said she, \"for you will be as happy as myself. I\nalways had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I\nmust always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your\nhusband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But\nLizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you\ntell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know\nof it, to another, not to you.\"\n\nElizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to\nmention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made\nher equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no longer\nconceal from her, his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged,\nand half the night spent in conversation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Good gracious!\" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next\nmorning, \"if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with\nour dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always\ncoming here? I had no notion but he would go a shooting, or something or\nother, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him?\nLizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's\nway.\"\n\nElizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet\nwas really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an\nepithet.\n\nAs soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and\nshook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information;\nand he soon afterwards said aloud, \"Mr. Bennet, have you no more lanes\nhereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?\"\n\n\"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"to walk\nto Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has\nnever seen the view.\"\n\n\"It may do very well for the others,\" replied Mr. Bingley; \"but I am\nsure it will be too much for Kitty. Wont it, Kitty?\"\n\nKitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great\ncuriosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently\nconsented. As she went up stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her,\nsaying,\n\n\"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that\ndisagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is\nall for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to\nhim, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to\ninconvenience.\"\n\nDuring their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent should be\nasked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the\napplication for her mother's. She could not determine how her mother\nwould take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur\nwould be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she\nwere violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it\nwas certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to\nher sense; and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the\nfirst raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her\ndisapprobation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw\nMr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was\nextreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to\nbe made unhappy, and that it should be through her means, that _she_,\nhis favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be\nfilling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her, was a wretched\nreflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when,\nlooking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes\nhe approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while\npretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, \"Go to your father, he\nwants you in the library.\" She was gone directly.\n\nHer father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious.\n\"Lizzy,\" said he, \"what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be\naccepting this man? Have not you always hated him?\"\n\nHow earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more\nreasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from\nexplanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give;\nbut they were now necessary, and she assured him with some confusion, of\nher attachment to Mr. Darcy.\n\n\"Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be\nsure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane.\nBut will they make you happy?\"\n\n\"Have you any other objection,\" said Elizabeth, \"than your belief of my\nindifference?\"\n\n\"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but\nthis would be nothing if you really liked him.\"\n\n\"I do, I do like him,\" she replied, with tears in her eyes, \"I love him.\nIndeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not\nknow what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in\nsuch terms.\"\n\n\"Lizzy,\" said her father, \"I have given him my consent. He is the kind\nof man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which he\ncondescended to ask. I now give it to _you_, if you are resolved on\nhaving him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your\ndisposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor\nrespectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked\nup to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the\ngreatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape\ndiscredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing\n_you_ unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are\nabout.\"\n\nElizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply;\nand at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the\nobject of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her\nestimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that\nhis affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many\nmonths suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she\ndid conquer her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" said he, when she ceased speaking, \"I have no more to\nsay. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with\nyou, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy.\"\n\nTo complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy\nhad voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.\n\n\"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did every thing;\nmade up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him\nhis commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble\nand economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and _would_ have\npaid him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own\nway. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about\nhis love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.\"\n\nHe then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading\nMr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her\nat last to go--saying, as she quitted the room, \"If any young men come\nfor Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure.\"\n\nElizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after\nhalf an hour's quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join\nthe others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for\ngaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer any\nthing material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity\nwould come in time.\n\nWhen her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her,\nand made the important communication. Its effect was most\nextraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and\nunable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes, that\nshe could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to\ncredit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the\nshape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to\nfidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless\nherself.\n\n\"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would\nhave thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich\nand how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages\nyou will have! Jane's is nothing to it--nothing at all. I am so\npleased--so happy. Such a charming man!--so handsome! so tall!--Oh, my\ndear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I\nhope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing\nthat is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh,\nLord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted.\"\n\nThis was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and\nElizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,\nsoon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,\nher mother followed her.\n\n\"My dearest child,\" she cried, \"I can think of nothing else! Ten\nthousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord! And a\nspecial licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But\nmy dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of,\nthat I may have it to-morrow.\"\n\nThis was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman\nhimself might be; and Elizabeth found, that though in the certain\npossession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations'\nconsent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow\npassed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood\nin such awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak\nto him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark\nher deference for his opinion.\n\nElizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get\nacquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising\nevery hour in his esteem.\n\n\"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,\" said he. \"Wickham, perhaps,\nis my favourite; but I think I shall like _your_ husband quite as well\nas Jane's.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nElizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.\nDarcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. \"How could\nyou begin?\" said she. \"I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when\nyou had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first\nplace?\"\n\n\"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which\nlaid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I\nknew that I _had_ begun.\"\n\n\"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour\nto _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke\nto you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;\ndid you admire me for my impertinence?\"\n\n\"For the liveliness of your mind, I did.\"\n\n\"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.\nThe fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious\nattention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking\nand looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and\ninterested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really\namiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you\ntook to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and\nin your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously\ncourted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;\nand really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly\nreasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks\nof _that_ when they fall in love.\"\n\n\"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was\nill at Netherfield?\"\n\n\"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it\nby all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are\nto exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me\nto find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may\nbe; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling\nto come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first\ncalled, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did\nyou look as if you did not care about me?\"\n\n\"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.\"\n\n\"But I was embarrassed.\"\n\n\"And so was I.\"\n\n\"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.\"\n\n\"A man who had felt less, might.\"\n\n\"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that\nI should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you\n_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when\nyou _would_ have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of\nthanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. _Too\nmuch_, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort\nsprings from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the\nsubject? This will never do.\"\n\n\"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady\nCatherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of\nremoving all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to\nyour eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to\nwait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me\nhope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.\"\n\n\"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,\nfor she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to\nNetherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?\nor had you intended any more serious consequence?\"\n\n\"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could, whether I\nmight ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to\nmyself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley,\nand if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.\"\n\n\"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to\nbefall her?\"\n\n\"I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to\nbe done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and\nadmire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But\nI have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.\"\n\nFrom an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy\nhad been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's\nlong letter, but now, having _that_ to communicate which she knew would\nbe most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt\nhad already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as\nfollows:\n\n     \"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have\n     done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but\n     to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than\n     really existed. But _now_ suppose as much as you chuse; give a\n     loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible\n     flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me\n     actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very\n     soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I\n     thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I\n     be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful.\n     We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in\n     the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one\n     with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I\n     laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world, that he can\n     spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.\n\n     Your's, &c.\"\n\nMr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different style; and\nstill different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in\nreply to his last.\n\n     \"DEAR SIR,\n\n     \"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will\n     soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as\n     you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has\n     more to give.\n\n     \"Your's sincerely, &c.\"\n\nMiss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching\nmarriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even\nto Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her\nformer professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was\naffected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing\nher a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.\n\nThe joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was\nas sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were\ninsufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of\nbeing loved by her sister.\n\nBefore any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations\nto Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the\nCollinses were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden\nremoval was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so\nexceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that\nCharlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till\nthe storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend\nwas a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their\nmeetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she\nsaw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her\nhusband. He bore it however with admirable calmness. He could even\nlisten to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away\nthe brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all\nmeeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did\nshrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.\n\nMrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater tax on his\nforbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in\ntoo much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good\nhumour encouraged, yet, whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar.\nNor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all\nlikely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could, to shield\nhim from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him\nto herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse\nwithout mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising\nfrom all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it\nadded to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to\nthe time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to\neither, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at\nPemberley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nHappy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got\nrid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she\nafterwards visited Mrs. Bingley and talked of Mrs. Darcy may be guessed.\nI wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment\nof her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children,\nproduced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable,\nwell-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it was\nlucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in\nso unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and\ninvariably silly.\n\nMr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her\ndrew him oftener from home than any thing else could do. He delighted in\ngoing to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.\n\nMr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near\na vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to\n_his_ easy temper, or _her_ affectionate heart. The darling wish of his\nsisters was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county\nto Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source\nof happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.\n\nKitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with\nher two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally\nknown, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a\ntemper as Lydia, and, removed from the influence of Lydia's example, she\nbecame, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less\nignorant, and less insipid. From the farther disadvantage of Lydia's\nsociety she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham\nfrequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of\nballs and young men, her father would never consent to her going.\n\nMary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily\ndrawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet's being quite\nunable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but\nshe could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she was no\nlonger mortified by comparisons between her sisters' beauty and her own,\nit was suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without\nmuch reluctance.\n\nAs for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from\nthe marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that\nElizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude\nand falsehood had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every\nthing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on\nto make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which Elizabeth received\nfrom Lydia on her marriage, explained to her that, by his wife at least,\nif not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to this\neffect:\n\n     \"MY DEAR LIZZY,\n\n     \"I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as I do my dear\n     Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you\n     so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will\n     think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very\n     much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live\n     upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four\n     hundred a year; but, however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it,\n     if you had rather not.\n\n     \"Yours, &c.\"\n\nAs it happened that Elizabeth had _much_ rather not, she endeavoured in\nher answer to put an end to every intreaty and expectation of the kind.\nSuch relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice\nof what might be called economy in her own private expences, she\nfrequently sent them. It had always been evident to her that such an\nincome as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in\ntheir wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to\ntheir support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or\nherself were sure of being applied to, for some little assistance\ntowards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the\nrestoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the\nextreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap\nsituation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for\nher soon sunk into indifference; her's lasted a little longer; and in\nspite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to\nreputation which her marriage had given her.\n\nThough Darcy could never receive _him_ at Pemberley, yet, for\nElizabeth's sake, he assisted him farther in his profession. Lydia was\noccasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself\nin London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently\nstaid so long, that even Bingley's good humour was overcome, and he\nproceeded so far as to _talk_ of giving them a hint to be gone.\n\nMiss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's marriage; but as she\nthought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, she\ndropt all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as\nattentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility\nto Elizabeth.\n\nPemberley was now Georgiana's home; and the attachment of the sisters\nwas exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each\nother, even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion\nin the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an\nastonishment bordering on alarm, at her lively, sportive, manner of\ntalking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect\nwhich almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open\npleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in\nher way. By Elizabeth's instructions she began to comprehend that a\nwoman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother will not\nalways allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.\n\nLady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew;\nand as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in\nher reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him\nlanguage so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time\nall intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion,\nhe was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation;\nand, after a little farther resistance on the part of his aunt, her\nresentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity\nto see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended to wait on\nthem at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had\nreceived, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the\nvisits of her uncle and aunt from the city.\n\nWith the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy,\nas well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever\nsensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing\nher into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them."