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\title{Pride and Prejudice}


\author{Jane Austen}

\maketitle
\vspace*{\stretch{1}}

\noindent The preparer of this public-domain (U.S.) text is unknown.
The Project Gutenberg edition (designated {}``pandp12'') was converted
to \LaTeX{} using \textbf{GutenMark} software and re-edited (formatting
only) by Ron Burkey. Report problems to info@sandroid.org. Revision
C of this document differs from revision B only in that m-dashes have
been corrected from {}``----'' to {}``---''.

\noindent \begin{center}Revision: C\\
Date: 01/12/08\end{center}

\vspace{\stretch{1}}

\frontmatter

\pagestyle{myheadings} \tableofcontents{}\newpage

\mainmatter


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 1}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 1}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 1}

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession
of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on
his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in
the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful
property of some one or other of their daughters.

{}``My dear Mr.\ Bennet,'' said his lady to him one day, {}``have
you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?''\ 

Mr.\ Bennet replied that he had not.

{}``But it is,'' returned she; {}``for Mrs.\ Long has just been
here, and she told me all about it.''

Mr.\ Bennet made no answer.

{}``Do you not want to know who has taken it?''\ cried his wife
impatiently.

{}``\textit{You} want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing
it.''

This was invitation enough.

{}``Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs.\ Long says that Netherfield
is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England;
that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place,
and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr.\ Morris
immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and
some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.''

{}``What is his name?''\ 

{}``Bingley.''

{}``Is he married or single?''\ 

{}``Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune;
four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!''\ 

{}``How so? How can it affect them?''\ 

{}``My dear Mr.\ Bennet,'' replied his wife, {}``how can you be
so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one
of them.''

{}``Is that his design in settling here?''\ 

{}``Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely
that he \textit{may} fall in love with one of them, and therefore
you must visit him as soon as he comes.''

{}``I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you
may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for
as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr.\ Bingley may like you
the best of the party.''

{}``My dear, you flatter me. I certainly \textit{have} had my share
of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now.
When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking
of her own beauty.''

{}``In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.''

{}``But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr.\ Bingley when he
comes into the neighbourhood.''

{}``It is more than I engage for, I assure you.''

{}``But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment
it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined
to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they visit
no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for \textit{us}
to visit him if you do not.''

{}``You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr.\ Bingley will
be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure
him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the
girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.''

{}``I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better
than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane,
nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving \textit{her}
the preference.''

{}``They have none of them much to recommend them,'' replied he;
{}``they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has
something more of quickness than her sisters.''

{}``Mr.\ Bennet, how \textit{can} you abuse your own children in
such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion
for my poor nerves.''

{}``You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves.
They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration
these last twenty years at least.''

Mr.\ Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,
reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years
had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. \textit{Her}
mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding,
little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented,
she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her
daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 2}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 2}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 2}

Mr.\ Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr.\ Bingley.
He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring
his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit
was paid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the
following manner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming
a hat, he suddenly addressed her with:

{}``I hope Mr.\ Bingley will like it, Lizzy.''

{}``We are not in a way to know \textit{what} Mr.\ Bingley likes,''
said her mother resentfully, {}``since we are not to visit.''

{}``But you forget, mamma,'' said Elizabeth, {}``that we shall
meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs.\ Long promised to introduce
him.''

{}``I do not believe Mrs.\ Long will do any such thing. She has
two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I
have no opinion of her.''

{}``No more have I,'' said Mr.\ Bennet; {}``and I am glad to find
that you do not depend on her serving you.''

Mrs.\ Bennet deigned not to make any reply, but, unable to contain
herself, began scolding one of her daughters.

{}``Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven's sake! Have a little
compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.''

{}``Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,'' said her father; {}``she
times them ill.''

{}``I do not cough for my own amusement,'' replied Kitty fretfully.
{}``When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?''\ 

{}``To-morrow fortnight.''

{}``Aye, so it is,'' cried her mother, {}``and Mrs.\ Long does
not come back till the day before; so it will be impossible for her
to introduce him, for she will not know him herself.''

{}``Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and
introduce Mr.\ Bingley to \textit{her}.''

{}``Impossible, Mr.\ Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted
with him myself; how can you be so teasing?''\ 

{}``I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly
very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a
fortnight. But if \textit{we} do not venture somebody else will; and
after all, Mrs.\ Long and her daughters must stand their chance;
and, therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline
the office, I will take it on myself.''

The girls stared at their father. Mrs.\ Bennet said only, {}``Nonsense,
nonsense!''\ 

{}``What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?''\ cried
he. {}``Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress
that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you \textit{there}.
What say you, Mary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I
know, and read great books and make extracts.''

Mary wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.

{}``While Mary is adjusting her ideas,'' he continued, {}``let
us return to Mr.\ Bingley.''

{}``I am sick of Mr.\ Bingley,'' cried his wife.

{}``I am sorry to hear \textit{that}; but why did not you tell me
that before? If I had known as much this morning I certainly would
not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually
paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.''

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs.\ Bennet
perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the first tumult of joy
was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all
the while.

{}``How good it was in you, my dear Mr.\ Bennet! But I knew I should
persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to
neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am!\ and it is
such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and
never said a word about it till now.''

{}``Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,'' said Mr.\ 
Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures
of his wife.

{}``What an excellent father you have, girls!''\ said she, when
the door was shut. {}``I do not know how you will ever make him amends
for his kindness; or me, either, for that matter. At our time of life
it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances
every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my love,
though you \textit{are} the youngest, I dare say Mr.\ Bingley will
dance with you at the next ball.''

{}``Oh!''\ said Lydia stoutly, {}``I am not afraid; for though
I \textit{am} the youngest, I'm the tallest.''

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would
return Mr.\ Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask
him to dinner.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 3}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 3}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 3}

Not all that Mrs.\ Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five
daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her
husband any satisfactory description of Mr.\ Bingley. They attacked
him in various ways\mbox{---}with barefaced questions, ingenious
suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them
all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence
of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable.
Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully
handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to
be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more
delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling
in love; and very lively hopes of Mr.\ Bingley's heart were entertained.

{}``If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,''
said Mrs.\ Bennet to her husband, {}``and all the others equally
well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.''

In a few days Mr.\ Bingley returned Mr.\ Bennet's visit, and sat
about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes
of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty
he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat
more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an
upper window that he wore a blue coat, and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already
had Mrs.\ Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her
housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr.\ Bingley
was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable
to accept the honour of their invitation, \textit{etc}. Mrs.\ Bennet
was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could
have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began
to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another,
and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted
her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London
only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed
that Mr.\ Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen
with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of
ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that
instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London\mbox{---}his
five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly
room it consisted of only five altogether\mbox{---}Mr.\ Bingley,
his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.

Mr.\ Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant
countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women,
with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr.\ Hurst, merely
looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr.\ Darcy soon drew the attention
of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien,
and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes
after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen
pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he
was much handsomer than Mr.\ Bingley, and he was looked at with great
admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust
which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to
be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not
all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having
a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to
be compared with his friend.

Mr.\ Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal
people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance,
was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one
himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves.
What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr.\ Darcy danced only
once with Mrs.\ Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being
introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in
walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.
His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable
man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there
again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs.\ Bennet, whose
dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment
by his having slighted one of her daughters.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to
sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr.\ Darcy
had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between
him and Mr.\ Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes,
to press his friend to join it.

{}``Come, Darcy,'' said he, {}``I must have you dance. I hate to
see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had
much better dance.''

{}``I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am
particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this
it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is
not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to
me to stand up with.''

{}``I would not be so fastidious as you are,'' cried Mr.\ Bingley,
{}``for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant
girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of
them you see uncommonly pretty.''

{}``\textit{You} are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,''
said Mr.\ Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

{}``Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there
is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty,
and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce
you.''

{}``Which do you mean?''\ and turning round he looked for a moment
at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly
said: {}``She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt \textit{me};
I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who
are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and
enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.''

Mr.\ Bingley followed his advice. Mr.\ Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth
remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She told the story,
however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively,
playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family.
Mrs.\ Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield
party. Mr.\ Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished
by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could
be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary
had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished
girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate
enough never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet
learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits
to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were
the principal inhabitants. They found Mr.\ Bennet still up. With
a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had
a good deal of curiosity as to the events of an evening which had
raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife's
views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found out
that he had a different story to hear.

{}``Oh!\ my dear Mr.\ Bennet,'' as she entered the room, {}``we
have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish
you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it.
Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr.\ Bingley thought her
quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of \textit{that},
my dear; he actually danced with her twice!\ and she was the only
creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he
asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But,
however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know;
and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance.
So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for
the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the
two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and
the two sixth with Lizzy, and the \textit{Boulanger}---''

{}``If he had had any compassion for \textit{me},'' cried her husband
impatiently, {}``he would not have danced half so much! For God's
sake, say no more of his partners. O that he had sprained his ankle
in the first place!''\ 

{}``Oh!\ my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively
handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw
anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon
Mrs.\ Hurst's gown\mbox{---}''

Here she was interrupted again. Mr.\ Bennet protested against any
description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch
of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some
exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr.\ Darcy.

{}``But I can assure you,'' she added, {}``that Lizzy does not
lose much by not suiting \textit{his} fancy; for he is a most disagreeable,
horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that
there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying
himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you
had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs.
I quite detest the man.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 4}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 4}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 4}

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious
in her praise of Mr.\ Bingley before, expressed to her sister just
how very much she admired him.

{}``He is just what a young man ought to be,'' said she, {}``sensible,
good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!\mbox{---}so
much ease, with such perfect good breeding!''\ 

{}``He is also handsome,'' replied Elizabeth, {}``which a young
man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby
complete.''

{}``I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second
time. I did not expect such a compliment.''

{}``Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference
between us. Compliments always take \textit{you} by surprise, and
\textit{me} never. What could be more natural than his asking you
again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as
pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry
for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave
to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.''

{}``Dear Lizzy!''\ 

{}``Oh!\ you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people
in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good
and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human
being in your life.''

{}``I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always
speak what I think.''

{}``I know you do; and it is \textit{that} which makes the wonder.
With \textit{your} good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies
and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is common enough\mbox{---}one
meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or
design\mbox{---}to take the good of everybody's character and make
it still better, and say nothing of the bad\mbox{---}belongs to you
alone. And so you like this man's sisters, too, do you? Their manners
are not equal to his.''

{}``Certainly not\mbox{---}at first. But they are very pleasing
women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her
brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not
find a very charming neighbour in her.''

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced; their behaviour
at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and
with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than
her sister, and with a judgement too unassailed by any attention to
herself, she was very little disposed to approve them. They were in
fact very fine ladies; not deficient in good humour when they were
pleased, nor in the power of making themselves agreeable when they
chose it, but proud and conceited. They were rather handsome, had
been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had
a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending
more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank, and
were therefore in every respect entitled to think well of themselves,
and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north
of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories
than that their brother's fortune and their own had been acquired
by trade.

Mr.\ Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred
thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate,
but did not live to do it. Mr.\ Bingley intended it likewise, and
sometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with
a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of
those who best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not
spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next
generation to purchase.

His sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own; but,
though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by
no means unwilling to preside at his table\mbox{---}nor was Mrs.\ Hurst,
who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed
to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr.\ Bingley
had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental
recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and
into it for half-an-hour\mbox{---}was pleased with the situation
and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its
praise, and took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite
of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by
the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition
could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own
he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard,
Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgement the highest
opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by
no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time
haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred,
were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage.
Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually
giving offense.

The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently
characteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or
prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive
to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt
acquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not
conceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen
a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion,
for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none
received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged
to be pretty, but she smiled too much.

Mrs.\ Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so\mbox{---}but still
they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl,
and one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was
therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized
by such commendation to think of her as he chose.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 5}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 5}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 5}

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets
were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in
trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen
to the honour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty.
The distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him
a disgust to his business, and to his residence in a small market
town; and, in quitting them both, he had removed with his family to
a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas
Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and,
unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all
the world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious;
on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive,
friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St.\ James's had made
him courteous.

Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable
neighbour to Mrs.\ Bennet. They had several children. The eldest
of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven,
was Elizabeth's intimate friend.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over
a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly
brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.

{}``\textit{You} began the evening well, Charlotte,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet
with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. {}``\textit{You} were Mr.\ Bingley's
first choice.''

{}``Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.''

{}``Oh!\ you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice.
To be sure that \textit{did} seem as if he admired her\mbox{---}indeed
I rather believe he \textit{did}---I heard something about it\mbox{---}but
I hardly know what\mbox{---}something about Mr.\ Robinson.''

{}``Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr.\ Robinson;
did not I mention it to you? Mr.\ Robinson's asking him how he liked
our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a
great many pretty women in the room, and \textit{which} he thought
the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the last question:
`Oh!\ the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two
opinions on that point.'''

{}``Upon my word! Well, that is very decided indeed\mbox{---}that
does seem as if\mbox{---}but, however, it may all come to nothing,
you know.''

{}``\textit{My} overhearings were more to the purpose than \textit{yours},
Eliza,'' said Charlotte. {}``Mr.\ Darcy is not so well worth listening
to as his friend, is he?\mbox{---}poor Eliza!\mbox{---}to be only
just \textit{tolerable}.''

{}``I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed by his
ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be
quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs.\ Long told me last night
that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his
lips.''

{}``Are you quite sure, ma'am?\mbox{---}is not there a little mistake?''\ said
Jane. {}``I certainly saw Mr.\ Darcy speaking to her.''

{}``Aye\mbox{---}because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield,
and he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed quite
angry at being spoke to.''

{}``Miss Bingley told me,'' said Jane, {}``that he never speaks
much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With \textit{them}
he is remarkably agreeable.''

{}``I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very
agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs.\ Long. But I can guess how
it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say
he had heard somehow that Mrs.\ Long does not keep a carriage, and
had come to the ball in a hack chaise.''

{}``I do not mind his not talking to Mrs.\ Long,'' said Miss Lucas,
{}``but I wish he had danced with Eliza.''

{}``Another time, Lizzy,'' said her mother, {}``I would not dance
with \textit{him}, if I were you.''

{}``I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise you \textit{never} to
dance with him.''

{}``His pride,'' said Miss Lucas, {}``does not offend \textit{me}
so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One
cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune,
everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may
so express it, he has a \textit{right} to be proud.''

{}``That is very true,'' replied Elizabeth, {}``and I could easily
forgive \textit{his} pride, if he had not mortified \textit{mine}.''

{}``Pride,'' observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity
of her reflections, {}``is a very common failing, I believe. By all
that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed;
that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are
very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on
the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and
pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.
A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our
opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of
us.''

{}``If I were as rich as Mr.\ Darcy,'' cried a young Lucas, who
came with his sisters, {}``I should not care how proud I was. I would
keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.''

{}``Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,'' said
Mrs.\ Bennet; {}``and if I were to see you at it, I should take
away your bottle directly.''

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that
she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 6}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 6}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 6}

The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit
was soon returned in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew
on the goodwill of Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother
was found to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking
to, a wish of being better acquainted with \textit{them} was expressed
towards the two eldest. By Jane, this attention was received with
the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in
their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and
could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such as it was,
had a value as arising in all probability from the influence of their
brother's admiration. It was generally evident whenever they met,
that he \textit{did} admire her and to \textit{her} it was equally
evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun
to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much
in love; but she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to
be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united, with great
strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness
of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent.
She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.

{}``It may perhaps be pleasant,'' replied Charlotte, {}``to be
able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a
disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection
with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity
of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe
the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity
in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself.
We can all \textit{begin} freely\mbox{---}a slight preference is
natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough
to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten
a women had better show \textit{more} affection than she feels. Bingley
likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like
her, if she does not help him on.''

{}``But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If
I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed,
not to discover it too.''

{}``Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as
you do.''

{}``But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to
conceal it, he must find it out.''

{}``Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley
and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together;
and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible
that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane
should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can
command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more
leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.''

{}``Your plan is a good one,'' replied Elizabeth, {}``where nothing
is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were
determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should
adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by
design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own
regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight.
She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning
at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times.
This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.''

{}``Not as you represent it. Had she merely \textit{dined} with him,
she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but
you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together\mbox{---}and
four evenings may do a great deal.''

{}``Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that
they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to
any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been
unfolded.''

{}``Well,'' said Charlotte, {}``I wish Jane success with all my
heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she
had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his
character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter
of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known
to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their
felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike
afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know
as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are
to pass your life.''

{}``You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it
is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.''

Occupied in observing Mr.\ Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth
was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of
some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr.\ Darcy had at first
scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration
at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise.
But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that
she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it
was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of
her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying.
Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of
perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure
to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners
were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy
playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only
the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought
her handsome enough to dance with.

He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing
with her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing
so drew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party
were assembled.

{}``What does Mr.\ Darcy mean,'' said she to Charlotte, {}``by
listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?''\ 

{}``That is a question which Mr.\ Darcy only can answer.''

{}``But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that
I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not
begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.''

On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to
have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention
such a subject to him; which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do
it, she turned to him and said:

{}``Did you not think, Mr.\ Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly
well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball
at Meryton?''\ 

{}``With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady
energetic.''

{}``You are severe on us.''

{}``It will be \textit{her} turn soon to be teased,'' said Miss
Lucas. {}``I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know
what follows.''

{}``You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!\mbox{---}always
wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity
had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it
is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in
the habit of hearing the very best performers.'' On Miss Lucas's
persevering, however, she added, {}``Very well, if it must be so,
it must.'' And gravely glancing at Mr.\ Darcy, {}``There is a fine
old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: `Keep
your breath to cool your porridge'; and I shall keep mine to swell
my song.''

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a
song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several
that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument
by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain
one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments,
was always impatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her
application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited
manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than
she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened
to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary,
at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude
by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who,
with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly
in dancing at one end of the room.

Mr.\ Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of
passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was
too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas
was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:

{}``What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr.\ Darcy!
There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the
first refinements of polished society.''

{}``Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue
amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can
dance.''

Sir William only smiled. {}``Your friend performs delightfully,''
he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; {}``and
I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr.\ Darcy.''

{}``You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.''

{}``Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the
sight. Do you often dance at St.\ James's?''\ 

{}``Never, sir.''

{}``Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?''\ 

{}``It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid
it.''

{}``You have a house in town, I conclude?''\ 

Mr.\ Darcy bowed.

{}``I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself\mbox{---}for
I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that
the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.''

He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed
to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he
was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called
out to her:

{}``My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr.\ Darcy, you
must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable
partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty
is before you.'' And, taking her hand, he would have given it to
Mr.\ Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to
receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure
to Sir William:

{}``Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat
you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.''

Mr.\ Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour
of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William
at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.

{}``You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel
to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman
dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am
sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.''

{}``Mr.\ Darcy is all politeness,'' said Elizabeth, smiling.

{}``He is, indeed; but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss
Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance\mbox{---}for who would
object to such a partner?''\ 

Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured
her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some complacency,
when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:

{}``I can guess the subject of your reverie.''

{}``I should imagine not.''

{}``You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many
evenings in this manner\mbox{---}in such society; and indeed I am
quite of you opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and
yet the noise\mbox{---}the nothingness, and yet the self-importance
of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on
them!''\ 

{}``You conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more
agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure
which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.''

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he
would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.
Mr.\ Darcy replied with great intrepidity:

{}``Miss Elizabeth Bennet.''

{}``Miss Elizabeth Bennet!''\ repeated Miss Bingley. {}``I am
all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?\mbox{---}and
pray, when am I to wish you joy?''\ 

{}``That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's
imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from
love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.''

{}``Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter
is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law,
indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you.''

He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain
herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her that all
was safe, her wit flowed long.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 7}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 7}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 7}

Mr.\ Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of
two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed,
in default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother's
fortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply
the deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton,
and had left her four thousand pounds.

She had a sister married to a Mr.\ Phillips, who had been a clerk
to their father and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled
in London in a respectable line of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient
distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted thither three
or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt and to a milliner's
shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family, Catherine
and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions; their minds
were more vacant than their sisters', and when nothing better offered,
a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning hours and furnish
conversation for the evening; and however bare of news the country
in general might be, they always contrived to learn some from their
aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both with news and
happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the neighbourhood;
it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the headquarters.

Their visits to Mrs.\ Phillips were now productive of the most interesting
intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the
officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret,
and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr.\ Phillips
visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a store of felicity
unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.\ Bingley's
large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother,
was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an
ensign.

After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.\ 
Bennet coolly observed:

{}``From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must
be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some
time, but I am now convinced.''

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect
indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter,
and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going
the next morning to London.

{}``I am astonished, my dear,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet, {}``that you
should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to
think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my own,
however.''

{}``If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of
it.''

{}``Yes\mbox{---}but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.''

{}``This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not
agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular,
but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters
uncommonly foolish.''

{}``My dear Mr.\ Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have
the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I
dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I
remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well\mbox{---}and,
indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel, with
five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not
say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming
the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals.''

{}``Mamma,'' cried Lydia, {}``my aunt says that Colonel Forster
and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did
when they first came; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke's
library.''

Mrs.\ Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman
with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant
waited for an answer. Mrs.\ Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure,
and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,

{}``Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say?
Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.''

{}``It is from Miss Bingley,'' said Jane, and then read it aloud.

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{friend}}},\mbox{---}

{}``If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa
and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of
our lives, for a whole day's tete-a-tete between two women can never
end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this.
My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.\mbox{---}Yours
ever,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{Caroline}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Bingley}}}'' 
\end{quotation}
{}``With the officers!''\ cried Lydia. {}``I wonder my aunt did
not tell us of \textit{that}.''

{}``Dining out,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet, {}``that is very unlucky.''

{}``Can I have the carriage?''\ said Jane.

{}``No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems
likely to rain; and then you must stay all night.''

{}``That would be a good scheme,'' said Elizabeth, {}``if you were
sure that they would not offer to send her home.''

{}``Oh!\ but the gentlemen will have Mr.\ Bingley's chaise to go
to Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.''

{}``I had much rather go in the coach.''

{}``But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure.
They are wanted in the farm, Mr.\ Bennet, are they not?''\ 

{}``They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.''

{}``But if you have got them to-day,'' said Elizabeth, {}``my mother's
purpose will be answered.''

She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the
horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback,
and her mother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics
of a bad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long
before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother
was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;
Jane certainly could not some back.

{}``This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!''\ said Mrs.\ Bennet
more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own.
Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity
of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from
Netherfield brought the following note for Elizabeth:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dearest}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Lizzy}}}\emph{\noun{,}}---

{}``I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is
to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends
will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on
my seeing Mr.\ Jones\mbox{---}therefore do not be alarmed if you
should hear of his having been to me\mbox{---}and, excepting a sore
throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.\mbox{---}Yours,
\textit{etc}.'' 
\end{quotation}
{}``Well, my dear,'' said Mr.\ Bennet, when Elizabeth had read
the note aloud, {}``if your daughter should have a dangerous fit
of illness\mbox{---}if she should die, it would be a comfort to know
that it was all in pursuit of Mr.\ Bingley, and under your orders.''

{}``Oh!\ I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little
trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays
there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have
the carriage.''

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though
the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking
was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.

{}``How can you be so silly,'' cried her mother, {}``as to think
of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen
when you get there.''

{}``I shall be very fit to see Jane\mbox{---}which is all I want.''

{}``Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,'' said her father, {}``to send
for the horses?''\ 

{}``No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is
nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by
dinner.''

{}``I admire the activity of your benevolence,'' observed Mary,
{}``but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and,
in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is
required.''

{}``We will go as far as Meryton with you,'' said Catherine and
Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies
set off together.

{}``If we make haste,'' said Lydia, as they walked along, {}``perhaps
we may see something of Captain Carter before he goes.''

In Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the lodgings
of one of the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone,
crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and
springing over puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself
at last within view of the house, with weary ankles, dirty stockings,
and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were
assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise.
That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such
dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs.\ Hurst
and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in
contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them;
and in their brother's manners there was something better than politeness;
there was good humour and kindness. Mr.\ Darcy said very little,
and Mr.\ Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration
of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and
doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. The
latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

Her inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered.
Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not
well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her
immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving
alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed
for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,
however, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them together,
could attempt little besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary
kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her.

When breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth
began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude
they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having examined his
patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent
cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised
her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was
followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head
ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment; nor were
the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had,
in fact, nothing to do elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and
very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and
she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified
such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to
convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield
for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant
was dispatched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and
bring back a supply of clothes.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 8}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 8}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 8}

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past
six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which
then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing
the much superior solicitude of Mr.\ Bingley's, she could not make
a very favourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters,
on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved,
how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked
being ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and
their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them restored
Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike.

Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could
regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and
his attentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling
herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by
the others. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley
was engrossed by Mr.\ Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as
for Mr.\ Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who
lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards; who, when he found her
to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.

When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley
began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners
were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence;
she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs.\ Hurst thought
the same, and added:

{}``She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent
walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really
looked almost wild.''

{}``She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance.
Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must \textit{she} be scampering
about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy,
so blowsy!''\ 

{}``Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches
deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been
let down to hide it not doing its office.''

{}``Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,'' said Bingley; {}``but
this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked
remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty
petticoat quite escaped my notice.''

{}``\textit{You} observed it, Mr.\ Darcy, I am sure,'' said Miss
Bingley; {}``and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to
see \textit{your} sister make such an exhibition.''

{}``Certainly not.''

{}``To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever
it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could
she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited
independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.''

{}``It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,''
said Bingley.

{}``I am afraid, Mr.\ Darcy,'' observed Miss Bingley in a half
whisper, {}``that this adventure has rather affected your admiration
of her fine eyes.''

{}``Not at all,'' he replied; {}``they were brightened by the exercise.''
A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs.\ Hurst began again:

{}``I have a excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really
a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled.
But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am
afraid there is no chance of it.''

{}``I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney
on Meryton.''

{}``Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.''

{}``That is capital,'' added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

{}``If they had uncles enough to fill \textit{all} Cheapside,''
cried Bingley, {}``it would not make them one jot less agreeable.''

{}``But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men
of any consideration in the world,'' replied Darcy.

To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their
hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense
of their dear friend's vulgar relations.

With a renewal of tenderness, however, they returned to her room on
leaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee.
She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all,
till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep,
and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should
go downstairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the
whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but
suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her
sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time
she could stay below, with a book. Mr.\ Hurst looked at her with
astonishment.

{}``Do you prefer reading to cards?''\ said he; {}``that is rather
singular.''

{}``Miss Eliza Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, {}``despises cards.
She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.''

{}``I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,'' cried Elizabeth;
{}``I am \textit{not} a great reader, and I have pleasure in many
things.''

{}``In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,'' said Bingley;
{}``and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well.''

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the
table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch
her others\mbox{---}all that his library afforded.

{}``And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my
own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I
have more than I ever looked into.''

Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those
in the room.

{}``I am astonished,'' said Miss Bingley, {}``that my father should
have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library
you have at Pemberley, Mr.\ Darcy!''\ 

{}``It ought to be good,'' he replied, {}``it has been the work
of many generations.''

{}``And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always
buying books.''

{}``I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days
as these.''

{}``Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties
of that noble place. Charles, when you build \textit{your} house,
I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.''

{}``I wish it may.''

{}``But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood,
and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county
in England than Derbyshire.''

{}``With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will
sell it.''

{}``I am talking of possibilities, Charles.''

{}``Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get
Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.''

Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed, as to leave her very
little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she
drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr.\ Bingley
and his eldest sister, to observe the game.''

{}``Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?''\ said Miss Bingley;
{}``will she be as tall as I am?''\ 

{}``I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height,
or rather taller.''

{}``How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted
me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished
for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.''

{}``It is amazing to me,'' said Bingley, {}``how young ladies can
have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.''

{}``All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?''\ 

{}``Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens,
and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and
I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time,
without being informed that she was very accomplished.''

{}``Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,'' said Darcy,
{}``has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves
it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But
I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies
in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the
whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.''

{}``Nor I, I am sure,'' said Miss Bingley.

{}``Then,'' observed Elizabeth, {}``you must comprehend a great
deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.''

{}``Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.''

{}``Oh!\ certainly,'' cried his faithful assistant, {}``no one
can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what
is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music,
singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the
word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in
her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address
and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.''

{}``All this she must possess,'' added Darcy, {}``and to all this
she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of
her mind by extensive reading.''

{}``I am no longer surprised at your knowing \textit{only} six accomplished
women. I rather wonder now at your knowing \textit{any}.''

{}``Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility
of all this?

{}``I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste,
and application, and elegance, as you describe united.''

Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice
of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many
women who answered this description, when Mr.\ Hurst called them
to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was
going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth
soon afterwards left the room.

{}``Elizabeth Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed
on her, {}``is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves
to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare
say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very
mean art.''

{}``Undoubtedly,'' replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly
addressed, {}``there is a meanness in \textit{all} the arts which
ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears
affinity to cunning is despicable.''

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue
the subject.

Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse,
and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr.\ Jones being
sent for immediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country
advice could be of any service, recommended an express to town for
one of the most eminent physicians. This she would not hear of; but
she was not so unwilling to comply with their brother's proposal;
and it was settled that Mr.\ Jones should be sent for early in the
morning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite
uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable. They
solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while
he could find no better relief to his feelings than by giving his
housekeeper directions that every attention might be paid to the sick
lady and her sister.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 9}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 9}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 9}

Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and
in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable
answer to the inquiries which she very early received from Mr.\ Bingley
by a housemaid, and some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies
who waited on his sisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she
requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to
visit Jane, and form her own judgement of her situation. The note
was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly complied with.
Mrs.\ Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield
soon after the family breakfast.

Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs.\ Bennet would have
been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness
was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as
her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield.
She would not listen, therefore, to her daughter's proposal of being
carried home; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same
time, think it at all advisable. After sitting a little while with
Jane, on Miss Bingley's appearance and invitation, the mother and
three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley
met them with hopes that Mrs.\ Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse
than she expected.

{}``Indeed I have, sir,'' was her answer. {}``She is a great deal
too ill to be moved. Mr.\ Jones says we must not think of moving
her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.''

{}``Removed!''\ cried Bingley. {}``It must not be thought of.
My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.''

{}``You may depend upon it, Madam,'' said Miss Bingley, with cold
civility, {}``that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention
while she remains with us.''

Mrs.\ Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements.

{}``I am sure,'' she added, {}``if it was not for such good friends
I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed,
and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the
world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception,
the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls
they are nothing to \textit{her}. You have a sweet room here, Mr.\ Bingley,
and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place
in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of
quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease.''

{}``Whatever I do is done in a hurry,'' replied he; {}``and therefore
if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off
in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed
here.''

{}``That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,'' said Elizabeth.

{}``You begin to comprehend me, do you?''\ cried he, turning towards
her.

{}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}I understand you perfectly.''

{}``I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily
seen through I am afraid is pitiful.''

{}``That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate
character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.''

{}``Lizzy,'' cried her mother, {}``remember where you are, and
do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.''

{}``I did not know before,'' continued Bingley immediately, {}``that
your were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.''

{}``Yes, but intricate characters are the \textit{most} amusing.
They have at least that advantage.''

{}``The country,'' said Darcy, {}``can in general supply but a
few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move
in a very confined and unvarying society.''

{}``But people themselves alter so much, that there is something
new to be observed in them for ever.''

{}``Yes, indeed,'' cried Mrs.\ Bennet, offended by his manner of
mentioning a country neighbourhood. {}``I assure you there is quite
as much of \textit{that} going on in the country as in town.''

Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment,
turned silently away. Mrs.\ Bennet, who fancied she had gained a
complete victory over him, continued her triumph.

{}``I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country,
for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a
vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr.\ Bingley?''\


{}``When I am in the country,'' he replied, {}``I never wish to
leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have
each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.''

{}``Aye\mbox{---}that is because you have the right disposition.
But that gentleman,'' looking at Darcy, {}``seemed to think the
country was nothing at all.''

{}``Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,'' said Elizabeth, blushing
for her mother. {}``You quite mistook Mr.\ Darcy. He only meant
that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the
country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.''

{}``Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting
with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods
larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.''

Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his
countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards
Mr.\ Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake
of saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked
her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since \textit{her} coming
away.

{}``Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable
man Sir William is, Mr.\ Bingley, is not he? So much the man of fashion!
So genteel and easy! He had always something to say to everybody.
\textit{That} is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy
themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake
the matter.''

{}``Did Charlotte dine with you?''\ 

{}``No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies.
For my part, Mr.\ Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their
own work; \textit{my} daughters are brought up very differently. But
everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good
sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not
that I think Charlotte so \textit{very} plain\mbox{---}but then she
is our particular friend.''

{}``She seems a very pleasant young woman.''

{}``Oh!\ dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas
herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like
to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane\mbox{---}one does
not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I
do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was
a man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that
my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came
away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young.
However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.''

{}``And so ended his affection,'' said Elizabeth impatiently. {}``There
has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who
first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!''\ 

{}``I have been used to consider poetry as the \textit{food} of love,''
said Darcy.

{}``Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what
is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination,
I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.''

Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth
tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed
to speak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence
Mrs.\ Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr.\ Bingley for his
kindness to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy.
Mr.\ Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his
younger sister to be civil also, and say what the occasion required.
She performed her part indeed without much graciousness, but Mrs.\ Bennet
was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this
signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two
girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and
the result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr.\ Bingley with
having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball
at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion
and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose
affection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high
animal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the
attention of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners, and her
own easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She
was very equal, therefore, to address Mr.\ Bingley on the subject
of the ball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that
it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep
it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their mother's
ear:

{}``I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and
when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the
very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when she
is ill.''

Lydia declared herself satisfied. {}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}it would
be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely
Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given
\textit{your} ball,'' she added, {}``I shall insist on their giving
one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if
he does not.''

Mrs.\ Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned
instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations' behaviour to
the remarks of the two ladies and Mr.\ Darcy; the latter of whom,
however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of \textit{her},
in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on \textit{fine} \textit{eyes}.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 10}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 10}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 10}

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss
Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who
continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined
their party in the drawing-room. The loo-table, however, did not appear.
Mr.\ Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching
the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention
by messages to his sister. Mr.\ Hurst and Mr.\ Bingley were at piquet,
and Mrs.\ Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in
attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual
commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness
of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern
with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and
was exactly in union with her opinion of each.

{}``How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!''\ 

He made no answer.

{}``You write uncommonly fast.''

{}``You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.''

{}``How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course
of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!''\ 

{}``It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.''

{}``Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.''

{}``I have already told her so once, by your desire.''

{}``I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you.
I mend pens remarkably well.''

{}``Thank you\mbox{---}but I always mend my own.''

{}``How can you contrive to write so even?''\ 

He was silent.

{}``Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on
the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her
beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior
to Miss Grantley's.''

{}``Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again?
At present I have not room to do them justice.''

{}``Oh!\ it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But
do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr.\ Darcy?''\ 

{}``They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not
for me to determine.''

{}``It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter
with ease, cannot write ill.''

{}``That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,'' cried
her brother, {}``because he does \textit{not} write with ease. He
studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?''\ 

{}``My style of writing is very different from yours.''

{}``Oh!''\ cried Miss Bingley, {}``Charles writes in the most
careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the
rest.''

{}``My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them\mbox{---}by
which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.''

{}``Your humility, Mr.\ Bingley,'' said Elizabeth, {}``must disarm
reproof.''

{}``Nothing is more deceitful,'' said Darcy, {}``than the appearance
of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes
an indirect boast.''

{}``And which of the two do you call \textit{my} little recent piece
of modesty?''\ 

{}``The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects
in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity
of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable,
you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything
with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without
any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told
Mrs.\ Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved upon quitting
Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be
a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself\mbox{---}and yet what
is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very
necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself
or anyone else?''\ 

{}``Nay,'' cried Bingley, {}``this is too much, to remember at
night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet,
upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I
believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the
character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.''

{}``I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that
you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite
as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were
mounting your horse, a friend were to say, `Bingley, you had better
stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably
not go\mbox{---}and at another word, might stay a month.''

{}``You have only proved by this,'' cried Elizabeth, {}``that Mr.\ 
Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown
him off now much more than he did himself.''

{}``I am exceedingly gratified,'' said Bingley, {}``by your converting
what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper.
But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did
by no means intend; for he would certainly think better of me, if
under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off
as fast as I could.''

{}``Would Mr.\ Darcy then consider the rashness of your original
intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?''\ 

{}``Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must
speak for himself.''

{}``You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call
mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however,
to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss
Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the
house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it
without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.''

{}``To yield readily\mbox{---}easily\mbox{---}to the \textit{persuasion}
of a friend is no merit with you.''

{}``To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding
of either.''

{}``You appear to me, Mr.\ Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence
of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often
make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments
to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case
as you have supposed about Mr.\ Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps,
till the circumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his
behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend
and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a
resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person
for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?''\ 

{}``Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject,
to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which
is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy
subsisting between the parties?''\ 

{}``By all means,'' cried Bingley; {}``let us hear all the particulars,
not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have
more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of.
I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in
comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference.
I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular
occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially,
and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do.''

Mr.\ Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that
he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley
warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation
with her brother for talking such nonsense.

{}``I see your design, Bingley,'' said his friend. {}``You dislike
an argument, and want to silence this.''

{}``Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and
Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be
very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.''

{}``What you ask,'' said Elizabeth, {}``is no sacrifice on my side;
and Mr.\ Darcy had much better finish his letter.''

Mr.\ Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth
for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with some alacrity
to the pianoforte; and, after a polite request that Elizabeth would
lead the way which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived,
she seated herself.

Mrs.\ Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed,
Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books
that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr.\ Darcy's eyes were
fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an
object of admiration to so great a man; and yet that he should look
at her because he disliked her, was still more strange. She could
only imagine, however, at last that she drew his notice because there
was something more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas
of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not
pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by
a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr.\ Darcy, drawing near
Elizabeth, said to her:

{}``Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such
an opportunity of dancing a reel?''\ 

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some
surprise at her silence.

{}``Oh!''\ said she, {}``I heard you before, but I could not immediately
determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say `Yes,'
that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always
delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person
of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind
to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all\mbox{---}and
now despise me if you dare.''

{}``Indeed I do not dare.''

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his
gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her
manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy
had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really
believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections,
he should be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great
anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance
from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking
of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an
alliance.

{}``I hope,'' said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery
the next day, {}``you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when
this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her
tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running
after officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour
to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence,
which your lady possesses.''

{}``Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips
be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle
the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different
lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not have it taken,
for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?''\ 

{}``It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but
their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might
be copied.''

At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs.\ Hurst and
Elizabeth herself.

{}``I did not know that you intended to walk,'' said Miss Bingley,
in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.

{}``You used us abominably ill,'' answered Mrs.\ Hurst, {}``running
away without telling us that you were coming out.''

Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr.\ Darcy, she left Elizabeth
to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr.\ Darcy felt
their rudeness, and immediately said:

{}``This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go
into the avenue.''

But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them,
laughingly answered:

{}``No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear
to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting
a fourth. Good-bye.''

She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the hope
of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered
as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 11}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 11}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 11}

When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister,
and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room,
where she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of
pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were
during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their
powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment
with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their
acquaintance with spirit.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object;
Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy, and she had
something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed
himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr.\ Hurst
also made her a slight bow, and said he was {}``very glad;'' but
diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full
of joy and attention. The first half-hour was spent in piling up the
fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room; and she removed
at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be
further from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely
to anyone else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it
all with great delight.

When tea was over, Mr.\ Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table\mbox{---}but
in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr.\ Darcy did
not wish for cards; and Mr.\ Hurst soon found even his open petition
rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence
of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr.\ Hurst
had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the
sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the
same; and Mrs.\ Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets
and rings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with
Miss Bennet.

Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr.\ Darcy's
progress through \textit{his} book, as in reading her own; and she
was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page.
She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered
her question, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt
to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because
it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, {}``How
pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all
there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything
than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable
if I have not an excellent library.''

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book,
and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some amusement; when
hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly
towards him and said:

{}``By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance
at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to
consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there
are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment
than a pleasure.''

{}``If you mean Darcy,'' cried her brother, {}``he may go to bed,
if he chooses, before it begins\mbox{---}but as for the ball, it
is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup
enough, I shall send round my cards.''

{}``I should like balls infinitely better,'' she replied, {}``if
they were carried on in a different manner; but there is something
insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would
surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were
made the order of the day.''

{}``Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would
not be near so much like a ball.''

Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and walked
about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; but Darcy,
at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation
of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and, turning to
Elizabeth, said:

{}``Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example,
and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing
after sitting so long in one attitude.''

Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley
succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr.\ Darcy
looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that
quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his
book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined
it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing
to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives
his joining them would interfere. {}``What could he mean? She was
dying to know what could be his meaning?''---and asked Elizabeth
whether she could at all understand him?

{}``Not at all,'' was her answer; {}``but depend upon it, he means
to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be
to ask nothing about it.''

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr.\ Darcy
in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation
of his two motives.

{}``I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,'' said
he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. {}``You either choose this
method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence,
and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that
your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first,
I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire
you much better as I sit by the fire.''

{}``Oh!\ shocking!''\ cried Miss Bingley. {}``I never heard anything
so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?''\ 

{}``Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,'' said Elizabeth.
{}``We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him\mbox{---}laugh
at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.''

{}``But upon my honour, I do \textit{not}. I do assure you that my
intimacy has not yet taught me \textit{that}. Tease calmness of manner
and presence of mind! No, no\mbox{---}feel he may defy us there.
And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by
attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr.\ Darcy may hug himself.''

{}``Mr.\ Darcy is not to be laughed at!''\ cried Elizabeth. {}``That
is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for
it would be a great loss to \textit{me} to have many such acquaintances.
I dearly love a laugh.''

{}``Miss Bingley,'' said he, {}``has given me more credit than
can be. The wisest and the best of men\mbox{---}nay, the wisest and
best of their actions\mbox{---}may be rendered ridiculous by a person
whose first object in life is a joke.''

{}``Certainly,'' replied Elizabeth\mbox{---}{}``there are such
people, but I hope I am not one of \textit{them}. I hope I never ridicule
what is wise and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies,
\textit{do} divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.
But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.''

{}``Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the
study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong
understanding to ridicule.''

{}``Such as vanity and pride.''

{}``Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride\mbox{---}where there
is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.''

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

{}``Your examination of Mr.\ Darcy is over, I presume,'' said Miss
Bingley; {}``and pray what is the result?''\ 

{}``I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr.\ Darcy has no defect.
He owns it himself without disguise.''

{}``No,'' said Darcy, {}``I have made no such pretension. I have
faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper
I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding\mbox{---}certainly
too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies
and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against
myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move
them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion
once lost, is lost forever.''

{}``\textit{That} is a failing indeed!''\ cried Elizabeth. {}``Implacable
resentment \textit{is} a shade in a character. But you have chosen
your fault well. I really cannot \textit{laugh} at it. You are safe
from me.''

{}``There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some
particular evil\mbox{---}a natural defect, which not even the best
education can overcome.''

{}``And \textit{your} defect is to hate everybody.''

{}``And yours,'' he replied with a smile, {}``is willfully to misunderstand
them.''

{}``Do let us have a little music,'' cried Miss Bingley, tired of
a conversation in which she had no share. {}``Louisa, you will not
mind my waking Mr.\ Hurst?''\ 

Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was
opened; and Darcy, after a few moments' recollection, was not sorry
for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 12}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 12}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 12}

In consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote
the next morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be
sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs.\ Bennet, who had
calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following
Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself
to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not
propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient
to get home. Mrs.\ Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly
have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added,
that if Mr.\ Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer,
she could spare them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth
was positively resolved\mbox{---}nor did she much expect it would
be asked; and fearful, on the contrary, as being considered as intruding
themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr.\ Bingley's
carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original
design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and
the request made.

The communication excited many professions of concern; and enough
was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to
work on Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley
was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and
dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.

The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go
so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would
not be safe for her\mbox{---}that she was not enough recovered; but
Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.

To Mr.\ Darcy it was welcome in\-t\-el\-li\-g\-ence\mbox{---}Elizabeth
had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he
liked\mbox{---}and Miss Bingley was uncivil to \textit{her}, and
more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly
careful that no sign of admiration should \textit{now} escape him,
nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity;
sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during
the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it.
Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through
the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves
for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and
would not even look at her.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to
almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased
at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when
they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always
give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing
her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth
took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits.

They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs.\ Bennet
wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much
trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their
father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really
glad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle.
The evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much
of its animation, and almost all its sense by the absence of Jane
and Elizabeth.

They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough-bass and
human nature; and had some extracts to admire, and some new observations
of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information
for them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been
said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the
officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged,
and it had actually been hinted that colonel Foster was going to be
married.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 13}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 13}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 13}

{}``I hope, my dear,'' said Mr.\ Bennet to his wife, as they were
at breakfast the next morning, {}``that you have ordered a good dinner
to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family
party.''

{}``Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I
am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in\mbox{---}and
I hope \textit{my} dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe
she often sees such at home.''

{}``The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger.''

Mrs.\ Bennet's eyes sparkled. {}``A gentleman and a stranger! It
is Mr.\ Bingley, I am sure! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely
glad to see Mr.\ Bingley. But\mbox{---}good Lord! how unlucky! There
is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell\mbox{---}I
must speak to Hill this moment.''

{}``It is \textit{not} Mr.\ Bingley,'' said her husband; {}``it
is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life.''

This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being
eagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at once.

After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained:

{}``About a month ago I received this letter; and about a fortnight
ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring
early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr.\ Collins, who, when I
am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear,'' cried his wife, {}``I cannot bear to hear
that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it
is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be entailed
away from your own children; and I am sure, if I had been you, I should
have tried long ago to do something or other about it.''

Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an entail.
They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a subject on
which Mrs.\ Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued
to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from
a family of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything
about.

{}``It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,'' said Mr.\ Bennet,
{}``and nothing can clear Mr.\ Collins from the guilt of inheriting
Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be
a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.''

{}``No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it is very impertinent
of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such
false friends. Why could he not keep on quarreling with you, as his
father did before him?''\ 

{}``Why, indeed; he does seem to have had some filial scruples on
that head, as you will hear.

\begin{quotation}
\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}```Hunsford, near

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}```Westerham, Kent,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}```15th October.

\noindent {}``\noun{`Dear Sir},\mbox{---}

{}```The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured
father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune
to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for
some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might
seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone
with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.'\mbox{---}There,
Mrs.\ Bennet.\mbox{---}`My mind, however, is now made up on the
subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so
fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty
and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish,
where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful
respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites
and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a
clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the
blessing of peace in all families within in the reach of my influence;
and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures are
highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in
the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side,
and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise
than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters,
and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my
readiness to make them every possible amends\mbox{---}but of this
hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your
house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your
family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably
trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'ennight following,
which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far
from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that
some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.\mbox{---}I
remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters,
your well-wisher and friend,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{`William}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Collins}}}'
\end{quotation}
{}``At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman,''
said Mr.\ Bennet, as he folded up the letter. {}``He seems to be
a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt
not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine
should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again.''

{}``There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however,
and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the
person to discourage him.''

{}``Though it is difficult,'' said Jane, {}``to guess in what way
he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is
certainly to his credit.''

Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for Lady
Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying
his parishioners whenever it were required.

{}``He must be an oddity, I think,'' said she. {}``I cannot make
him out.\mbox{---}There is something very pompous in his style.\mbox{---}And
what can he mean by apologising for being next in the entail?\mbox{---}We
cannot suppose he would help it if he could.\mbox{---}Could he be
a sensible man, sir?''\ 

{}``No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite
the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in
his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him.''

{}``In point of composition,'' said Mary, {}``the letter does not
seem defective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly
new, yet I think it is well expressed.''

To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in
any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin
should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they
had received pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour.
As for their mother, Mr.\ Collins's letter had done away much of
her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure
which astonished her husband and daughters.

Mr.\ Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great
politeness by the whole family. Mr.\ Bennet indeed said little; but
the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr.\ Collins seemed neither
in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was
a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave
and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long
seated before he complimented Mrs.\ Bennet on having so fine a family
of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in
this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that
he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage.
This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers; but
Mrs.\ Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily.

{}``You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it
may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled
so oddly.''

{}``You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.''

{}``Ah!\ sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls,
you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with \textit{you},
for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing
how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.''

{}``I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins,
and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing
forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I
come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more; but,
perhaps, when we are better acquaint\-\mbox{ed\mbox{---}''}

He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on
each other. They were not the only objects of Mr.\ Collins' admiration.
The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and
praised; and his commendation of everything would have touched Mrs.\ Bennet's
heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as
his own future property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired;
and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency
of its cooking was owing. But he was set right there by Mrs.\ Bennet,
who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to
keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the
kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened
tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to
apologise for about a quarter of an hour.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 14}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 14}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 14}

During dinner, Mr.\ Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants
were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with
his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him
to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration
for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr.\ Bennet could not
have chosen better. Mr.\ Collins was eloquent in her praise. The
subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with
a most important aspect he protested that {}``he had never in his
life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank\mbox{---}such affability
and condescension, as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine.
She had been graciously pleased to approve of both of the discourses
which he had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had
also asked him twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only
the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening.
Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but \textit{he}
had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken
to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest
objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood nor to
his leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit his
relations. She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon
as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid
him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved
all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to
suggest some herself\mbox{---}some shelves in the closet upstairs.''

{}``That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet,
{}``and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that
great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near
you, sir?''\ 

{}``The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only
by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.''

{}``I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?''\ 

{}``She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very
extensive property.''

{}``Ah!''\ said Mrs.\ Bennet, shaking her head, {}``then she
is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she?
Is she handsome?''\ 

{}``She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself
says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior
to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features
which marks the young lady of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately
of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making that
progress in many accomplishments which she could not have otherwise
failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education,
and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and
often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton
and ponies.''

{}``Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the
ladies at court.''

{}``Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being
in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has
deprived the British court of its brightest ornaments. Her ladyship
seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy
on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which
are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to
Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess,
and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence,
would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which
please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive
myself peculiarly bound to pay.''

{}``You judge very properly,'' said Mr.\ Bennet, {}``and it is
happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy.
May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse
of the moment, or are the result of previous study?''\ 

{}``They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though
I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little
elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always
wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.''

Mr.\ Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as
absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment,
maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance,
and, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner
in his pleasure.

By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr.\ Bennet was
glad to take his guest into the drawing-room again, and, when tea
was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr.\ Collins
readily assented, and a book was produced; but, on beholding it (for
everything announced it to be from a circulating library), he started
back, and begging pardon, protested that he never read novels. Kitty
stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. Other books were produced, and
after some deliberation he chose Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gaped as
he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity,
read three pages, she interrupted him with:

{}``Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Phillips talks of turning away
Richard; and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told
me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear
more about it, and to ask when Mr.\ Denny comes back from town.''

Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but Mr.\ Collins,
much offended, laid aside his book, and said:

{}``I have often observed how little young ladies are interested
by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit.
It amazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous
to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.''

Then turning to Mr.\ Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist
at backgammon. Mr.\ Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that
he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements.
Mrs.\ Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia's
interruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would
resume his book; but Mr.\ Collins, after assuring them that he bore
his young cousin no ill-will, and should never resent her behaviour
as any affront, seated himself at another table with Mr.\ Bennet,
and prepared for backgammon.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 15}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 15}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 15}

Mr.\ Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature
had been but little assisted by education or society; the greatest
part of his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate
and miserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities,
he had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any
useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought
him up had given him originally great humility of manner; but it was
now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living
in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected
prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine
de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect
which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his
patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority
as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture
of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.

Having now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended
to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family
he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters,
if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented
by common report. This was his plan of amends\mbox{---}of atonement\mbox{---}for
inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one,
full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and
disinterested on his own part.

His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed
his views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due
to seniority; and for the first evening \textit{she} was his settled
choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter
of an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs.\ Bennet before breakfast, a conversation
beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal
of his hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn,
produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general encouragement,
a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. {}``As to her \textit{younger}
daughters, she could not take upon her to say\mbox{---}she could
not positively answer\mbox{---}but she did not \textit{know} of any
prepossession; her \textit{eldest} daughter, she must just mention\mbox{---}she
felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.''

Mr.\ Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth\mbox{---}and
it was soon done\mbox{---}done while Mrs.\ Bennet was stirring the
fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded
her of course.

Mrs.\ Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon
have two daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to
speak of the day before was now high in her good graces.

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister
except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr.\ Collins was to attend
them, at the request of Mr.\ Bennet, who was most anxious to get
rid of him, and have his library to himself; for thither Mr.\ Collins
had followed him after breakfast; and there he would continue, nominally
engaged with one of the largest folios in the collection, but really
talking to Mr.\ Bennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden
at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr.\ Bennet exceedingly. In
his library he had been always sure of leisure and tranquillity; and
though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit
in every other room of the house, he was used to be free from them
there; his civility, therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr.\ Collins
to join his daughters in their walk; and Mr.\ Collins, being in fact
much better fitted for a walker than a reader, was extremely pleased
to close his large book, and go.

In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his
cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention
of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their
eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers,
and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new
muslin in a shop window, could recall them.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom
they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking
with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was
the very Mr.\ Denny concerning whose return from London Lydia came
to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the
stranger's air, all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia,
determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street,
under pretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately
had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back,
had reached the same spot. Mr.\ Denny addressed them directly, and
entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr.\ Wickham, who had
returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say
had accepted a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it should
be; for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely
charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the
best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing
address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness
of conversation\mbox{---}a readiness at the same time perfectly correct
and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking
together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice,
and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing
the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them,
and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman,
and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his
way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr.\ Darcy corroborated
it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes
on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the
stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as
they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the
meeting. Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr.\ Wickham,
after a few moments, touched his hat\mbox{---}a salutation which
Mr.\ Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it?
It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

In another minute, Mr.\ Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed
what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.

Mr.\ Denny and Mr.\ Wickham walked with the young ladies to the
door of Mr.\ Phillip's house, and then made their bows, in spite
of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they should come in, and
even in spite of Mrs.\ Phillips's throwing up the parlour window
and loudly seconding the invitation.

Mrs.\ Phillips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest,
from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was
eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which,
as their own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known
nothing about, if she had not happened to see Mr.\ Jones's shop-boy
in the street, who had told her that they were not to send any more
draughts to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when
her civility was claimed towards Mr.\ Collins by Jane's introduction
of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned
with as much more, apologising for his intrusion, without any previous
acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself,
however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies
who introduced him to her notice. Mrs.\ Phillips was quite awed by
such an excess of good breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger
was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about the other;
of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already
knew, that Mr.\ Denny had brought him from London, and that he was
to have a lieutenant's commission in the \mbox{------shire.} She
had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and
down the street, and had Mr.\ Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would
certainly have continued the occupation, but unluckily no one passed
windows now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with
the stranger, were become {}``stupid, disagreeable fellows.'' Some
of them were to dine with the Phillipses the next day, and their aunt
promised to make her husband call on Mr.\ Wickham, and give him an
invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening.
This was agreed to, and Mrs.\ Phillips protested that they would
have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little
bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very
cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr.\ Collins repeated
his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying
civility that they were perfectly needless.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass
between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either
or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no more explain
such behaviour than her sister.

Mr.\ Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs.\ Bennet by admiring
Mrs.\ Phillips's manners and politeness. He protested that, except
Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant
woman; for she had not only received him with the utmost civility,
but even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening,
although utterly unknown to her before. Something, he supposed, might
be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met
with so much attention in the whole course of his life.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 16}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 16}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 16}

As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their
aunt, and all Mr.\ Collins's scruples of leaving Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Bennet
for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted,
the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to
Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered
the drawing-room, that Mr.\ Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation,
and was then in the house.

When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats,
Mr.\ Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he
was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that
he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer
breakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey
much gratification; but when Mrs.\ Phillips understood from him what
Rosings was, and who was its proprietor\mbox{---}when she had listened
to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms,
and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds,
she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented
a comparison with the housekeeper's room.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion,
with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and
the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the
gentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs.\ Phillips a very attentive
listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she
heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours
as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their
cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and
examine their own indifferent imitations of china on the mantelpiece,
the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, however.
The gentlemen did approach, and when Mr.\ Wickham walked into the
room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before,
nor thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable
admiration. The officers of the \mbox{------shire} were in general
a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of
the present party; but Mr.\ Wickham was as far beyond them all in
person, countenance, air, and walk, as \textit{they} were superior
to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips, breathing port wine, who
followed them into the room.

Mr.\ Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye
was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated
himself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into
conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her
feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered
interesting by the skill of the speaker.

With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr.\ Wickham and the
officers, Mr.\ Collins seemed to sink into insignificance; to the
young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals
a kind listener in Mrs.\ Phillips, and was by her watchfulness, most
abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were
placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting
down to whist.

{}``I know little of the game at present,'' said he, {}``but I
shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in life\mbox{---}''
Mrs.\ Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not wait
for his reason.

Mr.\ Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he
received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first
there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was
a most determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery
tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager
in making bets and exclaiming after prizes to have attention for anyone
in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr.\ Wickham
was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing
to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not
hope to be told\mbox{---}the history of his acquaintance with Mr.\ Darcy.
She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however,
was unexpectedly relieved. Mr.\ Wickham began the subject himself.
He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving
her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr.\ Darcy had
been staying there.

{}``About a month,'' said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let
the subject drop, added, {}``He is a man of very large property in
Derbyshire, I understand.''

{}``Yes,'' replied Mr.\ Wickham; {}``his estate there is a noble
one. A clear ten thousand \emph{per annum}. You could not have met
with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that
head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular
manner from my infancy.''

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

{}``You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion,
after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting
yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr.\ Darcy?''\ 

{}``As much as I ever wish to be,'' cried Elizabeth very warmly.
{}``I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think
him very disagreeable.''

{}``I have no right to give \textit{my} opinion,'' said Wickham,
{}``as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to
form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge.
It is impossible for \textit{me} to be impartial. But I believe your
opinion of him would in general astonish\mbox{---}and perhaps you
would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are
in your own family.''

{}``Upon my word, I say no more \textit{here} than I might say in
any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all
liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You
will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone.''

{}``I cannot pretend to be sorry,'' said Wickham, after a short
interruption, {}``that he or that any man should not be estimated
beyond their deserts; but with \textit{him} I believe it does not
often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence,
or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only
as he chooses to be seen.''

{}``I should take him, even on \textit{my} slight acquaintance, to
be an ill-tempered man.'' Wickham only shook his head.

{}``I wonder,'' said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, {}``whether
he is likely to be in this country much longer.''

{}``I do not at all know; but I \textit{heard} nothing of his going
away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the
\mbox{------}shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.''

{}``Oh!\ no\mbox{---}it is not for \textit{me} to be driven away
by Mr.\ Darcy. If \textit{he} wishes to avoid seeing \textit{me},
he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain
to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding \textit{him} but what
I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-usage,
and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss
Bennet, the late Mr.\ Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed,
and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with
this Mr.\ Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender
recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous; but I
verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather
than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his
father.''

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened
with all her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.

Mr.\ Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the
neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that
he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very intelligible
gallantry.

{}``It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,''
he added, {}``which was my chief inducement to enter the \mbox{------}shire.
I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend
Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters,
and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton
had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been
a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I \textit{must}
have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended
for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church \textit{ought}
to have been my profession\mbox{---}I was brought up for the church,
and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable
living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.''

{}``Indeed!''\


{}``Yes\mbox{---}the late Mr.\ Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation
of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively
attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide
for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell,
it was given elsewhere.''

{}``Good heavens!''\ cried Elizabeth; {}``but how could \textit{that}
be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal
redress?''\ 

{}``There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest
as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted
the intention, but Mr.\ Darcy chose to doubt it\mbox{---}or to treat
it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had
forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence---in short anything
or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years
ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given
to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself
of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm,
unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion \textit{of} him,
and \textit{to} him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the
fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates
me.''

{}``This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced.''

{}``Some time or other he \textit{will} be\mbox{---}but it shall
not be by \textit{me}. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy
or expose \textit{him}.''

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer
than ever as he expressed them.

{}``But what,'' said she, after a pause, {}``can have been his
motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?''\ 

{}``A thorough, determined dislike of me\mbox{---}a dislike which
I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr.\ Darcy
liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's
uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in
life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which
we stood\mbox{---}the sort of preference which was often given me.''

{}``I had not thought Mr.\ Darcy so bad as this\mbox{---}though
I have never liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had
supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but
did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such
injustice, such inhumanity as this.''

After a few minutes' reflection, however, she continued, {}``I \textit{do}
remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability
of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition
must be dreadful.''

{}``I will not trust myself on the subject,'' replied Wickham; {}``I
can hardly be just to him.''

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, {}``To
treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his
father!''\ She could have added, {}``A young man, too, like \textit{you},
whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable''---but she
contented herself with, {}``and one, too, who had probably been his
companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said,
in the closest manner!''

{}``We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest
part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house,
sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. \textit{My}
father began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr.\ Phillips,
appears to do so much credit to\mbox{---}but he gave up everything
to be of use to the late Mr.\ Darcy and devoted all his time to the
care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr.\ Darcy,
a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr.\ Darcy often acknowledged
himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active
superintendence, and when, immediately before my father's death, Mr.\ Darcy
gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that
he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to \textit{him}, as of
his affection to myself.''

{}``How strange!''\ cried Elizabeth. {}``How abominable! I wonder
that the very pride of this Mr.\ Darcy has not made him just to you!
If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to
be dishonest\mbox{---}for dishonesty I must call it.''

{}``It \textit{is} wonderful,'' replied Wickham, {}``for almost
all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his
best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any
other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour
to me there were stronger impulses even than pride.''

{}``Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?''\ 

{}``Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give
his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and
relieve the poor. Family pride, and \textit{filial} pride\mbox{---}for
he is very proud of what his father was\mbox{---}have done this.
Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular
qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful
motive. He has also \textit{brotherly} pride, which, with \textit{some}
brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of
his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive
and best of brothers.''

{}``What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?''\ 

He shook his head. {}``I wish I could call her amiable. It gives
me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother\mbox{---}very,
very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely
fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But
she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or
sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's
death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and
superintends her education.''

After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could
not help reverting once more to the first, and saying:

{}``I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr.\ Bingley! How can Mr.\
Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly
amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each
other? Do you know Mr.\ Bingley?''\ 

{}``Not at all.''

{}``He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know
what Mr.\ Darcy is.''

{}``Probably not; but Mr.\ Darcy can please where he chooses. He
does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks
it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence,
he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous.
His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded,
just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable\mbox{---}allowing
something for fortune and figure.''

The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered
round the other table and Mr.\ Collins took his station between his
cousin Elizabeth and Mrs.\ Phillips. The usual inquiries as to his
success was made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had
lost every point; but when Mrs.\ Phillips began to express her concern
thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not
of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle,
and begged that she would not make herself uneasy.

{}``I know very well, madam,'' said he, {}``that when persons sit
down to a card-table, they must take their chances of these things,
and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings
any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same,
but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the
necessity of regarding little matters.''

Mr.\ Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr.\ Collins
for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation
was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

{}``Lady Catherine de Bourgh,'' she replied, {}``has very lately
given him a living. I hardly know how Mr.\ Collins was first introduced
to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long.''

{}``You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne
Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr.\ Darcy.''

{}``No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's
connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.''

{}``Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune,
and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.''

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss
Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless
her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were
already self-destined for another.

{}``Mr.\ Collins,'' said she, {}``speaks highly both of Lady Catherine
and her daughter; but from some particulars that he has related of
her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite
of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.''

{}``I believe her to be both in a great degree,'' replied Wickham;
{}``I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember
that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and
insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and
clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from
her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the
rest from the pride for her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected
with him should have an understanding of the first class.''

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it,
and they continued talking together, with mutual satisfaction till
supper put an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their
share of Mr.\ Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation
in the noise of Mrs.\ Phillips's supper party, but his manners recommended
him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he
did, done gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him.
She could think of nothing but of Mr.\ Wickham, and of what he had
told her, all the way home; but there was not time for her even to
mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr.\ Collins
were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of
the fish she had lost and the fish she had won; and Mr.\ Collins
in describing the civility of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Phillips, protesting
that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerating
all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he crowded his
cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage
stopped at Longbourn House.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 17}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 17}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 17}

Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr.\ Wickham
and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern; she knew
not how to believe that Mr.\ Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr.\ Bingley's
regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the veracity
of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. The possibility
of his having endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all
her tender feelings; and nothing remained therefore to be done, but
to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw
into the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise
explained.

{}``They have both,'' said she, {}``been deceived, I dare say,
in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people
have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible
for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated
them, without actual blame on either side.''

{}``Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to
say on behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned
in the business? Do clear \textit{them} too, or we shall be obliged
to think ill of somebody.''

{}``Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of
my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful
light it places Mr.\ Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite
in such a manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for.
It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value
for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends
be so excessively deceived in him? Oh!\ no.''

{}``I can much more easily believe Mr.\ Bingley's being imposed
on, than that Mr.\ Wickham should invent such a history of himself
as he gave me last night; names, facts, everything mentioned without
ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr.\ Darcy contradict it. Besides,
there was truth in his looks.''

{}``It is difficult indeed\mbox{---}it is distressing. One does
not know what to think.''

{}``I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think.''

But Jane could think with certainty on only one point\mbox{---}that
Mr.\ Bingley, if he \textit{had} been imposed on, would have much
to suffer when the affair became public.

The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this
conversation passed, by the arrival of the very persons of whom they
had been speaking; Mr.\ Bingley and his sisters came to give their
personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which
was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted
to see their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met,
and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their
separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention;
avoiding Mrs.\ Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth,
and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising
from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise,
and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs.\ Bennet's civilities.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every
female of the family. Mrs.\ Bennet chose to consider it as given
in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered
by receiving the invitation from Mr.\ Bingley himself, instead of
a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the
society of her two friends, and the attentions of her brother; and
Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.\ Wickham,
and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr.\ Darcy's look and
behavior. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended
less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they
each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr.\ Wickham,
he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a
ball was, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family
that she had no disinclination for it.

{}``While I can have my mornings to myself,'' said she, {}``it
is enough\mbox{---}I think it is no sacrifice to join occasionally
in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all; and I profess
myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement
as desirable for everybody.''

Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occasion, that though she
did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr.\ Collins, she could not
help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr.\ Bingley's invitation,
and if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's
amusement; and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained
no scruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a
rebuke either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by
venturing to dance.

{}``I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,'' said he, {}``that
a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable
people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting
to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands
of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening; and I take this
opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first
dances especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will
attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her.''

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed
being engaged by Mr.\ Wickham for those very dances; and to have
Mr.\ Collins instead! her liveliness had never been worse timed.
There was no help for it, however. Mr.\ Wickham's happiness and her
own were perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr.\ Collins' proposal
accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the better
pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something
more. It now first struck her, that \textit{she} was selected from
among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage,
and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence
of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as
she observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his
frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity; and though
more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms,
it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the
probability of their marriage was extremely agreeable to \textit{her}.
Elizabeth, however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware
that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr.\ Collins
might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel
about him.

If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of,
the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a very pitiable state
at this time, for from the day of the invitation, to the day of the
ball, there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking
to Meryton once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after\mbox{---}the
very shoe-roses for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth
might have found some trial of her patience in weather which totally
suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr.\ Wickham;
and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday,
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and Lydia.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 18}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 18}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 18}

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked
in vain for Mr.\ Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled,
a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty
of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections
that might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with
more than usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the
conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that
it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. But
in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely
omitted for Mr.\ Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to
the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute
fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Denny, to whom Lydia
eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to
go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding,
with a significant smile, {}``I do not imagine his business would
have called him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain
gentleman here.''

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught
by Elizabeth, and, as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable
for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, every
feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate
disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility
to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to
make. Attendance, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to
Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him,
and turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she could not wholly
surmount even in speaking to Mr.\ Bingley, whose blind partiality
provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect
of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long
on her spirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas,
whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary
transition to the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to
her particular notice. The first two dances, however, brought a return
of distress; they were dances of mortification. Mr.\ Collins, awkward
and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong
without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which
a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment
of her release from him was ecstasy.

She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking
of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those
dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation
with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr.\ Darcy
who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand,
that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away
again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence
of mind; Charlotte tried to console her:

{}``I dare say you will find him very agreeable.''

{}``Heaven forbid! \textit{That} would be the greatest misfortune
of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do
not wish me such an evil.''

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim
her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper, not
to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear
unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence. Elizabeth
made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity
to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr.\ Darcy,
and reading in her neighbours' looks, their equal amazement in beholding
it. They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began
to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances,
and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying
that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him
to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied,
and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed
him a second time with:\mbox{---}{}``It is \textit{your} turn to
say something now, Mr.\ Darcy. I talked about the dance, and \textit{you}
ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the
number of couples.''

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should
be said.

{}``Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and
by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public
ones. But \textit{now} we may be silent.''

{}``Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?''

{}``Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd
to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage
of \textit{some}, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they
may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.''

{}``Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or
do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?''

{}``Both,'' replied Elizabeth archly; {}``for I have always seen
a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial,
taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say
something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity
with all the \emph{\'{e}clat} of a proverb.''

{}``This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I
am sure,'' said he. {}``How near it may be to \textit{mine}, I cannot
pretend to say. \textit{You} think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.''

{}``I must not decide on my own performance.''

He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down
the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often
walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist
the temptation, added, {}``When you met us there the other day, we
had just been forming a new acquaintance.''

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of \emph{hauteur} overspread
his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming
herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke,
and in a constrained manner said, {}``Mr.\ Wickham is blessed with
such happy manners as may ensure his \textit{making} friends\mbox{---}whether
he may be equally capable of \textit{retaining} them, is less certain.''

{}``He has been so unlucky as to lose \textit{your} friendship,''
replied Elizabeth with emphasis, {}``and in a manner which he is
likely to suffer from all his life.''

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject.
At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning
to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving
Mr.\ Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment
him on his dancing and his partner.

{}``I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very
superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong
to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner
does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure
often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear
Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley) shall take place. What
congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr.\ Darcy:\mbox{---}but
let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining
you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright
eyes are also upbraiding me.''

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir
William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and
his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley
and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however,
shortly, he turned to his partner, and said, {}``Sir William's interruption
has made me forget what we were talking of.''

{}``I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not
have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves.
We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what
we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.''

{}``What think you of books?''\ said he, smiling.

{}``Books\mbox{---}oh!\ no. I am sure we never read the same, or
not with the same feelings.''

{}``I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at
least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.''

{}``No\mbox{---}I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is
always full of something else.''

{}``The \textit{present} always occupies you in such scenes\mbox{---}does
it?''\ said he, with a look of doubt.

{}``Yes, always,'' she replied, without knowing what she said, for
her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards
appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, {}``I remember hearing you once
say, Mr.\ Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment
once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as
to its \textit{being} \textit{created}.''

{}``I am,'' said he, with a firm voice.

{}``And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?''

{}``I hope not.''

{}``It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their
opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.''

{}``May I ask to what these questions tend?''

{}``Merely to the illustration of \textit{your} character,'' said
she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. {}``I am trying to make
it out.''

{}``And what is your success?''\ 

She shook her head. {}``I do not get on at all. I hear such different
accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.''

{}``I can readily believe,'' answered he gravely, {}``that reports
may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet,
that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as
there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit
on either.''

{}``But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another
opportunity.''

{}``I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,'' he coldly
replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and
parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an
equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful
feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed
all his anger against another.

They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and
with an expression of civil disdain accosted her:

{}``So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham!
Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand
questions; and I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you,
among his other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham,
the late Mr.\ Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as
a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for
as to Mr.\ Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on
the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George
Wickham has treated Mr.\ Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not
know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr.\ Darcy is not
in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham
mentioned, and that though my brother thought that he could not well
avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively
glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming
into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder
how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery
of your favourite's guilt; but really, considering his descent, one
could not expect much better.''

{}``His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,''
said Elizabeth angrily; {}``for I have heard you accuse him of nothing
worse than of being the son of Mr.\ Darcy's steward, and of \textit{that},
I can assure you, he informed me himself.''

{}``I beg your pardon,'' replied Miss Bingley, turning away with
a sneer. {}``Excuse my interference\mbox{---}it was kindly meant.''

{}``Insolent girl!''\ said Elizabeth to herself. {}``You are much
mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as
this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice
of Mr.\ Darcy.'' She then sought her eldest sister, who has undertaken
to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with
a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression,
as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences
of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that
moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and
everything else, gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest
way for happiness.

{}``I want to know,'' said she, with a countenance no less smiling
than her sister's, {}``what you have learnt about Mr.\ Wickham.
But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third
person; in which case you may be sure of my pardon.''

{}``No,'' replied Jane, {}``I have not forgotten him; but I have
nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr.\ Bingley does not know the
whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which
have principally offended Mr.\ Darcy; but he will vouch for the good
conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced
that Mr.\ Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr.\ Darcy
than he has received; and I am sorry to say by his account as well
as his sister's, Mr.\ Wickham is by no means a respectable young
man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose
Mr.\ Darcy's regard.''

{}``Mr.\ Bingley does not know Mr.\ Wickham himself?''\ 

{}``No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.''

{}``This account then is what he has received from Mr.\ Darcy. I
am satisfied. But what does he say of the living?''\ 

{}``He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has
heard them from Mr.\ Darcy more than once, but he believes that it
was left to him \textit{conditionally} only.''

{}``I have not a doubt of Mr.\ Bingley's sincerity,'' said Elizabeth
warmly; {}``but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances
only. Mr.\ Bingley's defense of his friend was a very able one, I
dare say; but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story,
and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture
to still think of both gentlemen as I did before.''

She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and
on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened
with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained
of Mr.\ Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her
confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr.\ Bingley himself,
Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness
of her last partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr.\ Collins
came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had just
been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.

{}``I have found out,'' said he, {}``by a singular accident, that
there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened
to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who
does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh,
and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things
occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with, perhaps, a nephew
of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that
the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which
I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done
it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.''

{}``You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr.\ Darcy!''\


{}``Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it
earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's \textit{nephew}. It
will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well
yesterday se'nnight.''

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring
him that Mr.\ Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction
as an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that
it was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either
side; and that if it were, it must belong to Mr.\ Darcy, the superior
in consequence, to begin the acquaintance. Mr.\ Collins listened
to her with the determined air of following his own inclination, and,
when she ceased speaking, replied thus:

{}``My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world
in your excellent judgement in all matters within the scope of your
understanding; but permit me to say, that there must be a wide difference
between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those
which regulate the clergy; for, give me leave to observe that I consider
the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest
rank in the kingdom\mbox{---}provided that a proper humility of behaviour
is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow
the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to
perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting
to profit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my
constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more
fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right
than a young lady like yourself.'' And with a low bow he left her
to attack Mr.\ Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly
watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident.
Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow and though she could
not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the
motion of his lips the words {}``apology,'' {}``Hunsford,'' and
{}``Lady Catherine de Bourgh.'' It vexed her to see him expose himself
to such a man. Mr.\ Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder,
and when at last Mr.\ Collins allowed him time to speak, replied
with an air of distant civility. Mr.\ Collins, however, was not discouraged
from speaking again, and Mr.\ Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly
increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of
it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr.\ Collins
then returned to Elizabeth.

{}``I have no reason, I assure you,'' said he, {}``to be dissatisfied
with my reception. Mr.\ Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention.
He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment
of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment
as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was
really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased
with him.''

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she
turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr.\ Bingley;
and the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave
birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in
idea settled in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage
of true affection could bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances,
of endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts
she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to
venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down
to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness
which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed
to find that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas)
freely, openly, and of nothing else but her expectation that Jane
would soon be married to Mr.\ Bingley. It was an animating subject,
and Mrs.\ Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the
advantages of the match. His being such a charming young man, and
so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points
of self-gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond
the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire
the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a promising
thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must
throw them in the way of other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant
at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to
the care of their sister, that she might not be obliged to go into
company more than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance
a matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette;
but no one was less likely than Mrs.\ Bennet to find comfort in staying
home at any period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes
that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently
and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's
words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible
whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that
the chief of it was overheard by Mr.\ Darcy, who sat opposite to
them. Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.

{}``What is Mr.\ Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him?
I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged
to say nothing \textit{he} may not like to hear.''

{}``For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it
be for you to offend Mr.\ Darcy? You will never recommend yourself
to his friend by so doing!''\ 

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother
would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed
and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently
glancing her eye at Mr.\ Darcy, though every glance convinced her
of what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother,
she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her.
The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt
to a composed and steady gravity.

At length, however, Mrs.\ Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas,
who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she
saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham
and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval
of tranquillity; for, when supper was over, singing was talked of,
and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty,
preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent
entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance,
but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of
exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. Elizabeth's
eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she watched
her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which
was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving, amongst
the thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed
on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute began another.
Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice
was weak, and her manner affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked
at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking
to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs
of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued, however, imperturbably
grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, lest
Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary
had finished her second song, said aloud, {}``That will do extremely
well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young
ladies have time to exhibit.''

Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and
Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid
her anxiety had done no good. Others of the party were now applied
to.

{}``If I,'' said Mr.\ Collins, {}``were so fortunate as to be
able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging
the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion,
and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do
not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting
too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things
to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first
place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as a may be beneficial
to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own
sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish
duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot
be excused from making as a comfortable as possible. And I do not
think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory
manner towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes
his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think
well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect
towards anybody connected with the family.'' And with a bow to Mr.\ Darcy,
he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as a to be
heard by half the room. Many stared\mbox{---}many smiled; but no
one looked more amused than Mr.\ Bennet himself, while his wife seriously
commended Mr.\ Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed
in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever,
good kind of young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to
expose themselves as a much as a they could during the evening, it
would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more
spirit or finer success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and
her sister that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and
that his feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the
folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr.\ Darcy,
however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations,
was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the silent contempt
of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more
intolerable.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased
by Mr.\ Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and
though he could not prevail on her to dance with him again, put it
out of her power to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him
to stand up with somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any
young lady in the room. He assured her, that as to dancing, he was
perfectly indifferent to it; that his chief object was by delicate
attentions to recommend himself to her and that he should therefore
make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was
no arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to her
friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged
Mr.\ Collins's conversation to herself.

She was at least free from the offense of Mr.\ Darcy's further notice;
though often standing within a very short distance of her, quite disengaged,
he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the probable
consequence of her allusions to Mr.\ Wickham, and rejoiced in it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and,
by a man\oe{}uvre of Mrs.\ Bennet, had to wait for their carriage
a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them
time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family.
Mrs.\ Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths, except to
complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house
to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs.\ Bennet at conversation,
and by so doing threw a languor over the whole party, which was very
little relieved by the long speeches of Mr.\ Collins, who was complimenting
Mr.\ Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment,
and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour
to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr.\ Bennet, in equal
silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr.\ Bingley and Jane were standing
together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each
other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs.\ Hurst
or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more
than the occasional exclamation of {}``Lord, how tired I am!''\ accompanied
by a violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs.\ Bennet was most pressingly
civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn, and
addressed herself especially to Mr.\ Bingley, to assure him how happy
he would make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time,
without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful
pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity
of waiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was obliged
to go the next day for a short time.

Mrs.\ Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under
the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations
of settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly
see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or
four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr.\ Collins,
she thought with equal certainty, and with considerable, though not
equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children;
and though the man and the match were quite good enough for \textit{her},
the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr.\ Bingley and Netherfield.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 19}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 19}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 19}

The next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr.\ Collins made his
declaration in form. Having resolved to do it without loss of time,
as his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and
having no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself
even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with
all the observances, which he supposed a regular part of the business.
On finding Mrs.\ Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls
together, soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words:

{}``May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter
Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with
her in the course of this morning?''\ 

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs.\ Bennet
answered instantly, {}``Oh dear!\mbox{---}yes\mbox{---}certainly.
I am sure Lizzy will be very happy\mbox{---}I am sure she can have
no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs.'' And, gathering
her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:

{}``Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr.\ Collins must
excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not
hear. I am going away myself.''

{}``No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are.''
And upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks,
about to escape, she added: {}``Lizzy, I \textit{insist} upon your
staying and hearing Mr.\ Collins.''

Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction\mbox{---}and a moment's
consideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to
get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again
and tried to conceal, by incessant employment the feelings which were
divided between distress and diversion. Mrs.\ Bennet and Kitty walked
off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr.\ Collins began.

{}``Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far
from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections.
You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there \textit{not}
been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I
have your respected mother's permission for this address. You can
hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy
may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be
mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out
as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with
by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for
me to state my reasons for marrying\mbox{---}and, moreover, for coming
into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly
did.''

The idea of Mr.\ Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run
away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing, that she
could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him
further, and he continued:

{}``My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing
for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the
example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced
that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly\mbox{---}which
perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular
advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour
of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion
(unasked too!)\ on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday
night before I left Hunsford\mbox{--}--between our pools at quadrille,
while Mrs.\ Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's footstool, that
she said, `Mr.\ Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must
marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for \textit{my} sake;
and for your \textit{own}, let her be an active, useful sort of person,
not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way.
This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her
to Hunsford, and I will visit her.' Allow me, by the way, to observe,
my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady
Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power
to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe;
and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially
when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably
excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimony;
it remains to be told why my views were directed towards Longbourn
instead of my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you there are
many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to
inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who,
however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without
resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss
to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event
takes place\mbox{---}which, however, as I have already said, may
not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin,
and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing
remains but for me but to assure you in the most animated language
of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent,
and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am
well aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand
pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your
mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that
head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself
that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.''

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

{}``You are too hasty, sir,'' she cried. {}``You forget that I
have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept
my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible
of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do
otherwise than to decline them.''

{}``I am not now to learn,'' replied Mr.\ Collins, with a formal
wave of the hand, {}``that it is usual with young ladies to reject
the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he
first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is
repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means
discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you
to the altar ere long.''

{}``Upon my word, sir,'' cried Elizabeth, {}``your hope is a rather
extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am
not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who
are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked
a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not
make \textit{me} happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman
in the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine
to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill
qualified for the situation.''

{}``Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so,'' said Mr.\ Collins
very gravely\mbox{---}{}``but I cannot imagine that her ladyship
would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain when I have
the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the very highest
terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualification.''

{}``Indeed, Mr.\ Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary.
You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment
of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and
by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise.
In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your
feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn
estate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may
be considered, therefore, as finally settled.'' And rising as she
thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had Mr.\ Collins not
thus addressed her:

{}``When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject,
I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now
given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present,
because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject
a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said
as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true
delicacy of the female character.''

{}``Really, Mr.\ Collins,'' cried Elizabeth with some warmth, {}``you
puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to
you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal
in such a way as to convince you of its being one.''

{}``You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that
your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons
for believing it are briefly these: It does not appear to me that
my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can
offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life,
my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to
your own, are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take
it into further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions,
it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever
be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all
likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications.
As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection
of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my
love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.''

{}``I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to
that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man.
I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I
thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your
proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings
in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me
now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational
creature, speaking the truth from her heart.''

{}``You are uniformly charming!''\ cried he, with an air of awkward
gallantry; {}``and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express
authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail
of being acceptable.''

To such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make
no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, if
he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement,
to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a
manner as to be decisive, and whose behavior at least could not be
mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 20}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 20}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 20}

Mr.\ Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his
successful love; for Mrs.\ Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule
to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open
the door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than
she entered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself
in warm terms on the happy prospect or their nearer connection. Mr.\ Collins
received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and
then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with
the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied,
since the refusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would
naturally flow from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of
her character.

This information, however, startled Mrs.\ Bennet; she would have
been glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage
him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not believe
it, and could not help saying so.

{}``But, depend upon it, Mr.\ Collins,'' she added, {}``that Lizzy
shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it directly.
She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own
interest but I will \textit{make} her know it.''

{}``Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,'' cried Mr.\ Collins;
{}``but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether
she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation,
who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore
she actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better
not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects
of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.''

{}``Sir, you quite misunderstand me,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet, alarmed.
{}``Lizzy is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything
else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly
to Mr.\ Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure.''

She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her
husband, called out as she entered the library, {}``Oh!\ Mr.\ Bennet,
you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must come
and make Lizzy marry Mr.\ Collins, for she vows she will not have
him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and not
have \textit{her}.''

Mr.\ Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed
them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least
altered by her communication.

{}``I have not the pleasure of understanding you,'' said he, when
she had finished her speech. {}``Of what are you talking?''\ 

{}``Of Mr.\ Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have
Mr.\ Collins, and Mr.\ Collins begins to say that he will not have
Lizzy.''

{}``And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems an hopeless business.''

{}``Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon
her marrying him.''

{}``Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion.''

Mrs.\ Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the
library.

{}``Come here, child,'' cried her father as she appeared. {}``I
have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr.\ 
Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?''\ Elizabeth
replied that it was. {}``Very well\mbox{---}and this offer of marriage
you have refused?''\ 

{}``I have, sir.''

{}``Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon
your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs.\ Bennet?''\ 

{}``Yes, or I will never see her again.''

{}``An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day
you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never
see you again if you do \textit{not} marry Mr.\ Collins, and I will
never see you again if you \textit{do}.''

Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning,
but Mrs.\ Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded
the affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.

{}``What do you mean, Mr.\ Bennet, in talking this way? You promised
me to \textit{insist} upon her marrying him.''

{}``My dear,'' replied her husband, {}``I have two small favours
to request. First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding
on the present occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad
to have the library to myself as soon as may be.''

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did
Mrs.\ Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and
again; coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure
Jane in her interest; but Jane, with all possible mildness, declined
interfering; and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness, and sometimes
with playful gaiety, replied to her attacks. Though her manner varied,
however, her determination never did.

Mr.\ Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed.
He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motives his cousin
could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no
other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility
of her deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend
the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying
to her, cried in a half whisper, {}``I am glad you are come, for
there is such fun here! What do you think has happened this morning?
Mr.\ Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him.''

Charlotte hardly had time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty,
who came to tell the same news; and no sooner had they entered the
breakfast-room, where Mrs.\ Bennet was alone, than she likewise began
on the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating
her to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all
her family. {}``Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas,'' she added in a melancholy
tone, {}``for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me. I
am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves.''

Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.

{}``Aye, there she comes,'' continued Mrs.\ Bennet, {}``looking
as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us than if we were
at York, provided she can have her own way. But I tell you, Miss Lizzy\mbox{---}if
you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage
in this way, you will never get a husband at all\mbox{---}and I am
sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead.
I shall not be able to keep you\mbox{---}and so I warn you. I have
done with you from this very day. I told you in the library, you know,
that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good
as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not
that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who
suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination
for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those
who do not complain are never pitied.''

Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that
any attempt to reason with her or soothe her would only increase the
irritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any
of them, till they were joined by Mr.\ Collins, who entered the room
with an air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said
to the girls, {}``Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you,
hold your tongues, and let me and Mr.\ Collins have a little conversation
together.''

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed,
but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and
Charlotte, detained first by the civility of Mr.\ Collins, whose
inquiries after herself and all her family were very minute, and then
by a little curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window
and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs.\ Bennet began
the projected conversation: {}``Oh!\ Mr.\ Collins!''\ 

{}``My dear madam,'' replied he, {}``let us be for ever silent
on this point. Far be it from me,'' he presently continued, in a
voice that marked his displeasure, {}``to resent the behaviour of
your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is the evil duty of
us all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has been so fortunate
as I have been in early preferment; and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps
not the less so from feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had
my fair cousin honoured me with her hand; for I have often observed
that resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins
to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation. You will not, I hope,
consider me as showing any disrespect to your family, my dear madam,
by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter's favour, without
having paid yourself and Mr.\ Bennet the compliment of requesting
you to interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct may, I fear,
be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's
lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly
meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure
an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage
of all your family, and if my \textit{manner} has been at all reprehensible,
I here beg leave to apologise.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 21}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 21}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 21}

The discussion of Mr.\ Collins's offer was now nearly at an end,
and Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily
attending it, and occasionally from some peevish allusions of her
mother. As for the gentleman himself, \textit{his} feelings were chiefly
expressed, not by embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid
her, but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely
ever spoke to her, and the assiduous attentions which he had been
so sensible of himself were transferred for the rest of the day to
Miss Lucas, whose civility in listening to him was a seasonable relief
to them all, and especially to her friend.

The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs.\ Bennet's ill-humour or
ill health. Mr.\ Collins was also in the same state of angry pride.
Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but
his plan did not appear in the least affected by it. He was always
to have gone on Saturday, and to Saturday he meant to stay.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr.\ Wickham
were returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield
ball. He joined them on their entering the town, and attended them
to their aunt's where his regret and vexation, and the concern of
everybody, was well talked over. To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily
acknowledged that the necessity of his absence \textit{had} been self-imposed.

{}``I found,'' said he, {}``as the time drew near that I had better
not meet Mr.\ Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party
with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear,
and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself.''

She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full
discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly
bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back
with them to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended
to her. His accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all
the compliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as
an occasion of introducing him to her father and mother.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it
came from Netherfield. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant,
little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing
hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read
it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane
recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join
with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but Elizabeth
felt an anxiety on the subject which drew off her attention even from
Wickham; and no sooner had he and he companion taken leave, than a
glance from Jane invited her to follow her upstairs. When they had
gained their own room, Jane, taking out the letter, said:

{}``This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains has surprised
me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time,
and are on their way to town\mbox{---}and without any intention of
coming back again. You shall hear what she says.''

She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information
of their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly,
and of their meaning to dine in Grosvenor Street, where Mr.\ Hurst
had a house. The next was in these words: {}``I do not pretend to
regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society,
my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy
many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in
the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent
and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.'' To
these highflown expressions Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility
of distrust; and though the suddenness of their removal surprised
her, she saw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed
that their absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr.\ Bingley's
being there; and as to the loss of their society, she was persuaded
that Jane must cease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.

{}``It is unlucky,'' said she, after a short pause, {}``that you
should not be able to see your friends before they leave the country.
But may we not hope that the period of future happiness to which Miss
Bingley looks forward may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that
the delightful intercourse you have known as friends will be renewed
with yet greater satisfaction as sisters? Mr.\ Bingley will not be
detained in London by them.''

{}``Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into
Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you:''

\begin{quotation}
{}``When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business
which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days;
but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced
that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it
again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not
be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many
of my acquaintances are already there for the winter; I wish that
I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making
one of the crowd\mbox{---}but of that I despair. I sincerely hope
your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that
season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as
to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive
you.''
\end{quotation}
{}``It is evident by this,'' added Jane, {}``that he comes back
no more this winter.''

{}``It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean that he \textit{should}.''

{}``Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own
master. But you do not know \textit{all}. I \textit{will} read you
the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from
\textit{you}.''

\begin{quotation}
{}``Mr.\ Darcy is impatient to see his sister; and, to confess the
truth, \textit{we} are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really
do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and
accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself
is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope
we dare entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know
whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject;
but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust
you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly
already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the
most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much
as his own; and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think,
when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With
all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent
it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event
which will secure the happiness of so many?''\ 
\end{quotation}
{}``What do you think of \textit{this} sentence, my dear Lizzy?''\ 
said Jane as she finished it. {}``Is it not clear enough? Does it
not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me
to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's
indifference; and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for
him, she means (most kindly!)\ to put me on my guard? Can there be
any other opinion on the subject?''\ 

{}``Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear
it?''\ 

{}``Most willingly.''

{}``You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her
brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She
follows him to town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade
you that he does not care about you.''

Jane shook her head.

{}``Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen
you together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot.
She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love
in Mr.\ Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes.
But the case is this: We are not rich enough or grand enough for them;
and she is the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from
the notion that when there has been \textit{one} intermarriage, she
may have less trouble in achieving a second; in which there is certainly
some ingenuity, and I dare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh
were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine
that because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss
Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of \textit{your}
merit than when he took leave of you on Tuesday, or that it will be
in her power to persuade him that, instead of being in love with you,
he is very much in love with her friend.''

{}``If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,'' replied Jane, {}``your
representation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the
foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving
anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving
herself.''

{}``That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea,
since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived,
by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no
longer.''

{}``But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best,
in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to
marry elsewhere?''\ 

{}``You must decide for yourself,'' said Elizabeth; {}``and if,
upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging
his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being
his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him.''

{}``How can you talk so?''\ said Jane, faintly smiling. {}``You
must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation,
I could not hesitate.''

{}``I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot
consider your situation with much compassion.''

{}``But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be
required. A thousand things may arise in six months!''\ 

The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost
contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's interested
wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those wishes,
however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so
totally independent of everyone.

She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt
on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect.
Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope,
though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that
Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.

They agreed that Mrs.\ Bennet should only hear of the departure of
the family, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's
conduct; but even this partial communication gave her a great deal
of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies
should happen to go away just as they were all getting so intimate
together. After lamenting it, however, at some length, she had the
consolation that Mr.\ Bingley would be soon down again and soon dining
at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration,
that though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would
take care to have two full courses.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 22}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 22}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 22}

The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases and again during
the chief of the day was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr.\ Collins.
Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. {}``It keeps him in
good humour,'' said she, {}``and I am more obliged to you than I
can express.'' Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in
being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice
of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended
farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; its object was nothing
else than to secure her from any return of Mr.\ Collins's addresses,
by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and
appearances were so favourable, that when they parted at night, she
would have felt almost secure of success if he had not been to leave
Hertfordshire so very soon. But here she did injustice to the fire
and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of
Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slyness, and hasten
to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid
the notice of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him
depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not
willing to have the attempt known till its success might be known
likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte
had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since
the adventure of Wednesday. His reception, however, was of the most
flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as
he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally
in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and
eloquence awaited her there.

In as short a time as Mr.\ Collins's long speeches would allow, everything
was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they
entered the house he earnestly entreated her to name the day that
was to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation
must be waived for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle
with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature
must guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish
for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from
the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how
soon that establishment were gained.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent;
and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr.\ Collins's present
circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to
whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth
were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with
more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years
longer Mr.\ Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as
his decided opinion, that whenever Mr.\ Collins should be in possession
of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he
and his wife should make their appearance at St.\ James's. The whole
family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger
girls formed hopes of \textit{coming} \textit{out} a year or two sooner
than they might otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from
their apprehension of Charlotte's dying an old maid. Charlotte herself
was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and had time to
consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr.\ Collins,
to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome,
and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be
her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage
had always been her object; it was the only provision for well-educated
young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness,
must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative
she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having
ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable
circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to
Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other
person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and
though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt
by such a disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information
herself, and therefore charged Mr.\ Collins, when he returned to
Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any
of the family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given,
but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited
by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his
return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same
time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his
prosperous love.

As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any
of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the
ladies moved for the night; and Mrs.\ Bennet, with great politeness
and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn
again, whenever his engagements might allow him to visit them.

{}``My dear madam,'' he replied, {}``this invitation is particularly
gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and
you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as
possible.''

They were all astonished; and Mr.\ Bennet, who could by no means
wish for so speedy a return, immediately said:

{}``But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here,
my good sir? You had better neglect your relations than run the risk
of offending your patroness.''

{}``My dear sir,'' replied Mr.\ Collins,'' I am particularly obliged
to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking
so material a step without her ladyship's concurrence.''

{}``You cannot be too much upon your guard. Risk anything rather
than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your
coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay
quietly at home, and be satisfied that \textit{we} shall take no offence.''

{}``Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such
affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive
from me a letter of thanks for this, and for every other mark of your
regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though
my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall
now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting
my cousin Elizabeth.''

With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally
surprised that he meditated a quick return. Mrs.\ Bennet wished to
understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of
her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept
him. She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there
was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though
by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to
read and improve himself by such an example as hers, he might become
a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope
of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast,
and in a private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the
day before.

The possibility of Mr.\ Collins's fancying herself in love with her
friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two;
but that Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as far from possibility
as she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently
so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could
not help crying out:

{}``Engaged to Mr.\ Collins! My dear Charlotte\mbox{---}impossible!''\ 

The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her
story, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct
a reproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon
regained her composure, and calmly replied:

{}``Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it incredible
that Mr.\ Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion,
because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?''\ 

But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort
for it, was able to assure with tolerable firmness that the prospect
of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished
her all imaginable happiness.

{}``I see what you are feeling,'' replied Charlotte. {}``You must
be surprised, very much surprised\mbox{---}so lately as Mr.\ Collins
was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over,
I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic,
you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering
Mr.\ Collins's character, connection, and situation in life, I am
convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most
people can boast on entering the marriage state.''

Elizabeth quietly answered {}``Undoubtedly;'' and after an awkward
pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not
stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she
had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled
to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr.\ Collins's
making two offers of marriage within three days was nothing in comparison
of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion
of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she had not supposed
it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed
every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr.\ Collins
was a most humiliating picture! And to the pang of a friend disgracing
herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction
that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the
lot she had chosen.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 23}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 23}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 23}

Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what
she had heard, and doubting whether she was authorised to mention
it, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter,
to announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to
them, and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between
the houses, he unfolded the matter\mbox{---}to an audience not merely
wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs.\ Bennet, with more perseverance
than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken; and Lydia,
always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed:

{}``Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not
you know that Mr.\ Collins wants to marry Lizzy?''\ 

Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne
without anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breeding carried
him through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to
the truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence
with the most forbearing courtesy.

Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant
a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by mentioning
her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and endeavoured
to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the
earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was
readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the
happiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character
of Mr.\ Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.

Mrs.\ Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal
while Sir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her
feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in
disbelieving the whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure
that Mr.\ Collins had been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they
would never be happy together; and fourthly, that the match might
be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from
the whole: one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of the mischief;
and the other that she herself had been barbarously misused by them
all; and on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest
of the day. Nothing could console and nothing could appease her. Nor
did that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could
see Elizabeth without scolding her, a month passed away before she
could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many
months were gone before she could at all forgive their daughter.

Mr.\ Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and
such as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable
sort; for it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas,
whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish
as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!

Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said
less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness;
nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty
and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr.\ Collins was
only a clergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece
of news to spread at Meryton.

Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort
on Mrs.\ Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and
she called at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy
she was, though Mrs.\ Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks
might have been enough to drive happiness away.

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them
mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that
no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment
in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose
rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken,
and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had
now been gone a week and nothing more was heard of his return.

Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting
the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised
letter of thanks from Mr.\ Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed
to their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which
a twelvemonth's abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging
his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many
rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection
of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it
was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been
so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn,
whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady
Catherine, he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished
it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an
unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early
day for making him the happiest of men.

Mr.\ Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of
pleasure to Mrs.\ Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed
to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should
come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient
and exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house
while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people
the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs.\ Bennet,
and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr.\ Bingley's
continued absence.

Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after
day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the
report which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to
Netherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs.\ Bennet,
and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood.

Even Elizabeth began to fear\mbox{---}not that Bingley was indifferent\mbox{---}but
that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling
as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and
so dishonorable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent
its frequently occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling
sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions
of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London might be too much, she
feared, for the strength of his attachment.

As for Jane, \textit{her} anxiety under this suspense was, of course,
more painful than Elizabeth's, but whatever she felt she was desirous
of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject
was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother,
an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express
her impatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that
if he did not come back she would think herself very ill used. It
needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable
tranquillity.

Mr.\ Collins returned most punctually on Monday fortnight, but his
reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on
his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention;
and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them
from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent
by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only
in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went
to bed.

Mrs.\ Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention
of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour,
and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight
of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she
regarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see
them, she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession;
and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr.\ Collins, was convinced
that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn
herself and her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr.\ Bennet
were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.

{}``Indeed, Mr.\ Bennet,'' said she, {}``it is very hard to think
that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I
should be forced to make way for \textit{her}, and live to see her
take her place in it!''\ 

{}``My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope
for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.''

This was not very consoling to Mrs.\ Bennet, and therefore, instead
of making any answer, she went on as before.

{}``I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate.
If it was not for the entail, I should not mind it.''

{}``What should not you mind?''\ 

{}``I should not mind anything at all.''

{}``Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such
insensibility.''

{}``I never can be thankful, Mr.\ Bennet, for anything about the
entail. How anyone could have the conscience to entail away an estate
from one's own daughters, I cannot understand; and all for the sake
of Mr.\ Collins too! Why should \textit{he} have it more than anybody
else?''\ 

{}``I leave it to yourself to determine,'' said Mr.\ Bennet.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 24}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 24}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 24}

Miss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first
sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London
for the winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having
had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before
he left the country.

Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest
of the letter, she found little, except the professed affection of
the writer, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied
the chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline
boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict
the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former
letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being
an inmate of Mr.\ Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures some
plans of the latter with regard to new furniture.

Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this,
heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern
for her sister, and resentment against all others. To Caroline's assertion
of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit. That
he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever
done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could
not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness
of temper, that want of proper resolution, which now made him the
slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice of his own
happiness to the caprice of their inclination. Had his own happiness,
however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport
with it in whatever manner he thought best, but her sister's was involved
in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject,
in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be
unavailing. She could think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley's
regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference;
whether he had been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had
escaped his observation; whatever were the case, though her opinion
of him must be materially affected by the difference, her sister's
situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.

A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings
to Elizabeth; but at last, on Mrs.\ Bennet's leaving them together,
after a longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master,
she could not help saying:

{}``Oh, that my dear mother had more command over herself! She can
have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections
on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot,
and we shall all be as we were before.''

Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said
nothing.

{}``You doubt me,'' cried Jane, slightly colouring; {}``indeed,
you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man
of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope
or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not \textit{that}
pain. A little time, therefore\mbox{---}I shall certainly try to
get the better.''

With a stronger voice she soon added, {}``I have this comfort immediately,
that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that
it has done no harm to anyone but myself.''

{}``My dear Jane!''\ exclaimed Elizabeth, {}``you are too good.
Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not
know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you justice,
or loved you as you deserve.''

Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw
back the praise on her sister's warm affection.

{}``Nay,'' said Elizabeth, {}``this is not fair. \textit{You} wish
to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of
anybody. I only want to think \textit{you} perfect, and you set yourself
against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my
encroaching on your privilege of universal good-will. You need not.
There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I
think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied
with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of
all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed
on the appearance of merit or sense. I have met with two instances
lately, one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte's marriage.
It is unaccountable! In every view it is unaccountable!''\ 

{}``My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They
will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference
of situation and temper. Consider Mr.\ Collins's respectability,
and Charlotte's steady, prudent character. Remember that she is one
of a large family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match;
and be ready to believe, for everybody's sake, that she may feel something
like regard and esteem for our cousin.''

{}``To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no
one else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded
that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of
her understanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr.\ Collins
is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is,
as well as I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman
who married him cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not
defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake
of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity,
nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence,
and insensibility of danger security for happiness.''

{}``I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,''
replied Jane; {}``and I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing
them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to something
else. You mentioned \textit{two} instances. I cannot misunderstand
you, but I entreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking \textit{that}
\textit{person} to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk.
We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured.
We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and
circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives
us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.''

{}``And men take care that they should.''

{}``If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have
no idea of there being so much design in the world as some persons
imagine.''

{}``I am far from attributing any part of Mr.\ Bingley's conduct
to design,'' said Elizabeth; {}``but without scheming to do wrong,
or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery.
Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people's feelings, and
want of resolution, will do the business.''

{}``And do you impute it to either of those?''\ 

{}``Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying
what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can.''

{}``You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him?''\ 

{}``Yes, in conjunction with his friend.''

{}``I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They
can only wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other
woman can secure it.''

{}``Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides
his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence;
they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money,
great connections, and pride.''

{}``Beyond a doubt, they \textit{do} wish him to choose Miss Darcy,''
replied Jane; {}``but this may be from better feelings than you are
supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me;
no wonder if they love her better. But, whatever may be their own
wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed their brother's.
What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there
were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to
me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed.
By supposing such an affection, you make everybody acting unnaturally
and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I
am not ashamed of having been mistaken\mbox{---}or, at least, it
is light, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in thinking
ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best light, in the
light in which it may be understood.''

Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr.\ Bingley's
name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.

Mrs.\ Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning
no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not
account for it clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering
it with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her
of what she did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had
been merely the effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased
when he saw her no more; but though the probability of the statement
was admitted at the time, she had the same story to repeat every day.
Mrs.\ Bennet's best comfort was that Mr.\ Bingley must be down again
in the summer.

Mr.\ Bennet treated the matter differently. {}``So, Lizzy,'' said
he one day, {}``your sister is crossed in love, I find. I congratulate
her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in
love now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a
sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come?
You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time.
Here are officers enough in Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies
in the country. Let Wickham be \textit{your} man. He is a pleasant
fellow, and would jilt you creditably.''

{}``Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We
must not all expect Jane's good fortune.''

{}``True,'' said Mr.\ Bennet, {}``but it is a comfort to think
that whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate
mother who will make the most of it.''

Mr.\ Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the
gloom which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the
Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations
was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth
had already heard, his claims on Mr.\ Darcy, and all that he had
suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed;
and everybody was pleased to know how much they had always disliked
Mr.\ Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.

Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be
any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society
of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances,
and urged the possibility of mistakes\mbox{---}but by everybody else
Mr.\ Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 25}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 25}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 25}

After a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity,
Mr.\ Collins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival
of Saturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated
on his side, by preparations for the reception of his bride; as he
had reason to hope, that shortly after his return into Hertfordshire,
the day would be fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He
took leave of his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as
before; wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised
their father another letter of thanks.

On the following Monday, Mrs.\ Bennet had the pleasure of receiving
her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas
at Longbourn. Mr.\ Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly
superior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield
ladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived
by trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so
well-bred and agreeable. Mrs.\ Gardiner, who was several years younger
than Mrs.\ Bennet and Mrs.\ Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent,
elegant woman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces.
Between the two eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a particular
regard. They had frequently been staying with her in town.

The first part of Mrs.\ Gardiner's business on her arrival was to
distribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this
was done she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to
listen. Mrs.\ Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain
of. They had all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister.
Two of her girls had been upon the point of marriage, and after all
there was nothing in it.

{}``I do not blame Jane,'' she continued, {}``for Jane would have
got Mr.\ Bingley if she could. But Lizzy! Oh, sister! It is very
hard to think that she might have been Mr.\ Collins's wife by this
time, had it not been for her own perverseness. He made her an offer
in this very room, and she refused him. The consequence of it is,
that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have, and that
the Longbourn estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases
are very artful people indeed, sister. They are all for what they
can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but so it is. It makes me very
nervous and poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have
neighbours who think of themselves before anybody else. However, your
coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and I am very
glad to hear what you tell us, of long sleeves.''

Mrs.\ Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before,
in the course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with her, made
her sister a slight answer, and, in compassion to her nieces, turned
the conversation.

When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject.
{}``It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane,'' said
she. {}``I am sorry it went off. But these things happen so often!
A young man, such as you describe Mr.\ Bingley, so easily falls in
love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates
them, so easily forgets her, that these sort of inconsistencies are
very frequent.''

{}``An excellent consolation in its way,'' said Elizabeth, {}``but
it will not do for \textit{us}. We do not suffer by \textit{accident}.
It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade
a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom
he was violently in love with only a few days before.''

{}``But that expression of `violently in love' is so hackneyed, so
doubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is
as often applied to feelings which arise from a half-hour's acquaintance,
as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how \textit{violent} \textit{was}
Mr.\ Bingley's love?''\ 

{}``I never saw a more promising inclination; he was growing quite
inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time
they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended
two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I spoke
to him twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be finer
symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?''\ 

{}``Oh, yes!\mbox{---}of that kind of love which I suppose him to
have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposition,
she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to
\textit{you}, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself out of it sooner.
But do you think she would be prevailed upon to go back with us? Change
of scene might be of service\mbox{---}and perhaps a little relief
from home may be as useful as anything.''

Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded
of her sister's ready acquiescence.

{}``I hope,'' added Mrs.\ Gardiner, {}``that no consideration
with regard to this young man will influence her. We live in so different
a part of town, all our connections are so different, and, as you
well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable that they
should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her.''

{}``And \textit{that} is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody
of his friend, and Mr.\ Darcy would no more suffer him to call on
Jane in such a part of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of
it? Mr.\ Darcy may perhaps have \textit{heard} of such a place as
Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think a month's ablution enough
to cleanse him from its impurities, were he once to enter it; and
depend upon it, Mr.\ Bingley never stirs without him.''

{}``So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does
not Jane correspond with his sister? \textit{She} will not be able
to help calling.''

{}``She will drop the acquaintance entirely.''

But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place
this point, as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley's
being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject
which convinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it
entirely hopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable,
that his affection might be reanimated, and the influence of his friends
successfully combated by the more natural influence of Jane's attractions.

Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure; and the
Bingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the same time, than
as she hoped by Caroline's not living in the same house with her brother,
she might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger
of seeing him.

The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn; and what with the Phillipses,
the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement.
Mrs.\ Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment of her
brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner.
When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always made
part of it\mbox{---}of which officers Mr.\ Wickham was sure to be
one; and on these occasion, Mrs.\ Gardiner, rendered suspicious by
Elizabeth's warm commendation, narrowly observed them both. Without
supposing them, from what she saw, to be very seriously in love, their
preference of each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy;
and she resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left
Hertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging
such an attachment.

To Mrs.\ Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure, unconnected
with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago, before her
marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very part of Derbyshire
to which he belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintances in common;
and though Wickham had been little there since the death of Darcy's
father, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of
her former friends than she had been in the way of procuring.

Mrs.\ Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr.\ Darcy
by character perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible
subject of discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberly with
the minute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing
her tribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she
was delighting both him and herself. On being made acquainted with
the present Mr.\ Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to remember
some of that gentleman's reputed disposition when quite a lad which
might agree with it, and was confident at last that she recollected
having heard Mr.\ Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very
proud, ill-natured boy.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 26}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 26}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 26}

Mrs.\ Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given
on the first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after
honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:

{}``You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because
you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking
openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve
yourself or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want
of fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against
\textit{him}; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the
fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better.
But as it is, you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have
sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on
\textit{your} resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not
disappoint your father.''

{}``My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.''

{}``Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.''

{}``Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care
of myself, and of Mr.\ Wickham too. He shall not be in love with
me, if I can prevent it.''

{}``Elizabeth, you are not serious now.''

{}``I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present I am not in love
with Mr.\ Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all
comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw\mbox{---}and if he
becomes really attached to me\mbox{---}I believe it will be better
that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh! \textit{That}
abominable Mr.\ Darcy! My father's opinion of me does me the greatest
honour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however,
is partial to Mr.\ Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very
sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but since we see
every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom withheld
by immediate want of fortune from entering into engagements with each
other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow-creatures
if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it would be wisdom
to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in
a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object.
When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I
will do my best.''

{}``Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his coming here
so very often. At least, you should not \textit{remind} your mother
of inviting him.''

{}``As I did the other day,'' said Elizabeth with a conscious smile:
{}``very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from \textit{that}.
But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your
account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know
my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her
friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think
to be the wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied.''

Her aunt assured her that she was, and Elizabeth having thanked her
for the kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of
advice being given on such a point, without being resented.

Mr.\ Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted
by the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases,
his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs.\ Bennet. His marriage
was now fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as
to think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured
tone, that she {}``\textit{Wished} they might be happy.'' Thursday
was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell
visit; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her
mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected
herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went downstairs
together, Charlotte said:

{}``I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.''

{}``\textit{That} you certainly shall.''

{}``And I have another favour to ask you. Will you come and see me?''\ 

{}``We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.''

{}``I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore,
to come to Hunsford.''

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in
the visit.

{}``My father and Maria are coming to me in March,'' added Charlotte,
{}``and I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza,
you will be as welcome as either of them.''

The wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent
from the church door, and everybody had as much to say, or to hear,
on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and
their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been;
that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could
never address her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy
was over, and though determined not to slacken as a correspondent,
it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte's
first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there could
not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home,
how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce
herself to be; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt
that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly as she might
have foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts,
and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture,
neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine's
behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr.\ Collins's picture
of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived
that she must wait for her own visit there to know the rest.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their
safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped
it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.

Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience
generally is. Jane had been a week in town without either seeing or
hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing
that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some accident
been lost.

{}``My aunt,'' she continued, {}``is going to-morrow into that
part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor
Street.''

She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. 

\begin{quote}
{}``I did not think Caroline in spirits,'' were her words, {}``but
she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice
of my coming to London. I was right, therefore, my last letter had
never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was
well, but so much engaged with Mr.\ Darcy that they scarcely ever
saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I
could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs.\ Hurst
were going out. I dare say I shall see them soon here.''
\end{quote}
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that accident
only could discover to Mr.\ Bingley her sister's being in town.

Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured
to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer
be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every
morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse
for her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her
stay, and yet more, the alteration of her manner would allow Jane
to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion
to her sister will prove what she felt.

\begin{quote}
{}``My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing
in her better judgement, at my expense, when I confess myself to have
been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But, my dear
sister, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate
if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence
was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason
for wishing to be intimate with me; but if the same circumstances
were to happen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline
did not return my visit till yesterday; and not a note, not a line,
did I receive in the meantime. When she did come, it was very evident
that she had no pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal apology,
for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again,
and was in every respect so altered a creature, that when she went
away I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer.
I pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling
me out as she did; I can safely say that every advance to intimacy
began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she
has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for
her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself farther;
and though \textit{we} know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet
if she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and
so deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she must
feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however,
at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at all cared
about me, we must have met, long ago. He knows of my being in town,
I am certain, from something she said herself; and yet it would seem,
by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade herself that
he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were
not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that
there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will
endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what
will make me happy\mbox{---}your affection, and the invariable kindness
of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley
said something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving
up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention
it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from
our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and
Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.\mbox{---}Yours,
\textit{etc}.'' 
\end{quote}
This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as
she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at
least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She
would not even wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character
sunk on every review of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as
a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really
soon marry Mr.\ Darcy's sister, as by Wickham's account, she would
make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.

Mrs.\ Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise
concerning that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth
had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than
to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were
over, he was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful
enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without
material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity
was satisfied with believing that \textit{she} would have been his
only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten
thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to
whom he was now rendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted
perhaps in this case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him
for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more
natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles
to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable
measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.

All this was acknowledged to Mrs.\ Gardiner; and after relating the
circumstances, she thus went on: {}``I am now convinced, my dear
aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced
that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very
name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only
cordial towards \textit{him}; they are even impartial towards Miss
King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the
least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be
no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though
I certainly should be a more interesting object to all my acquaintances
were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my
comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased
too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart
than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open
to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something
to live on as well as the plain.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 27}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 27}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 27}

With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise
diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty
and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was
to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously
of going thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on
the plan and she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater
pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire
of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr.\ Collins.
There was novelty in the scheme, and as, with such a mother and such
uncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change
was not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give
her a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, she would
have been very sorry for any delay. Everything, however, went on smoothly,
and was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch. She
was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement
of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became
perfect as plan could be.

The only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss
her, and who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going,
that he told her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her
letter.

The farewell between herself and Mr.\ Wickham was perfectly friendly;
on his side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget
that Elizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention,
the first to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his
manner of bidding her \emph{adieu}, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding
her of what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting
their opinion of her\mbox{---}their opinion of everybody\mbox{---}would
always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest which she felt
must ever attach her to him with a most sincere regard; and she parted
from him convinced that, whether married or single, he must always
be her model of the amiable and pleasing.

Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her
think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria,
a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing
to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about
as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities,
but she had known Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing
new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities
were worn out, like his information.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early
as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr.\ Gardiner's
door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when
they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth,
looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and
lovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls,
whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them
to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen
her for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and
kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle
and shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.

Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was
her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply
to her minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support
her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however,
to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs.\ Gardiner gave her
the particulars also of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch Street,
and repeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane
and herself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given
up the acquaintance.

Mrs.\ Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and
complimented her on bearing it so well.

{}``But my dear Elizabeth,'' she added, {}``what sort of girl is
Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.''

{}``Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs,
between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion
end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying
me, because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to
get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that
he is mercenary.''

{}``If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall
know what to think.''

{}``She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of
her.''

{}``But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather's
death made her mistress of this fortune.''

{}``No\mbox{---}what should he? If it were not allowable for him
to gain \textit{my} affections because I had no money, what occasion
could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about,
and who was equally poor?''\ 

{}``But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attentions towards
her so soon after this event.''

{}``A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those
elegant decorums which other people may observe. If \textit{she} does
not object to it, why should \textit{we}?''\ 

{}``\textit{Her} not objecting does not justify \textit{him}. It
only shows her being deficient in something herself\mbox{---}sense
or feeling.''

{}``Well,'' cried Elizabeth, {}``have it as you choose. \textit{He}
shall be mercenary, and \textit{she} shall be foolish.''

{}``No, Lizzy, that is what I do \textit{not} choose. I should be
sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long
in Derbyshire.''

{}``Oh!\ if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men
who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire
are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven!\ I am going
to-morrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality,
who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are
the only ones worth knowing, after all.''

{}``Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.''

Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had
the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and
aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.

{}``We have not determined how far it shall carry us,'' said Mrs.\ 
Gardiner, {}``but, perhaps, to the Lakes.''

No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance
of the invitation was most ready and grateful. {}``Oh, my dear, dear
aunt,'' she rapturously cried, {}``what delight!\ what felicity!
You give me fresh life and vigour. \emph{Adieu} to disappointment
and spleen. What are young men to rocks and mountains? Oh!\ what
hours of transport we shall spend! And when we \textit{do} return,
it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give
one accurate idea of anything. We \textit{will} know where we have
gone\mbox{---}we \textit{will} recollect what we have seen. Lakes,
mountains, and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations;
nor when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin
quarreling about its relative situation. Let \textit{our} first effusions
be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 28}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 28}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 28}

Every object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to
Elizabeth; and her spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had
seen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health,
and the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight.

When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was
in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it
in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side.
Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of
its inhabitants.

At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the
road, the house standing in it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge,
everything declared they were arriving. Mr.\ Collins and Charlotte
appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which
led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles
of the whole party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing
at the sight of each other. Mrs.\ Collins welcomed her friend with
the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied
with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. She
saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage;
his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her
some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all
her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing
out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon
as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with
ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated
all his wife's offers of refreshment.

Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not
help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room,
its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to
her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing
him. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not
able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance, and rather looked with
wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air with such
a companion. When Mr.\ Collins said anything of which his wife might
reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily
turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint
blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting
long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from
the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey,
and of all that had happened in London, Mr.\ Collins invited them
to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out,
and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in this
garden was one of his most respectable pleasures; and Elizabeth admired
the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness
of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible.
Here, leading the way through every walk and cross walk, and scarcely
allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked for, every
view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely
behind. He could number the fields in every direction, and could tell
how many tress there were in the most distant clump. But of all the
views which his garden, or which the country or kingdom could boast,
none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings, afforded by
an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly opposite the
front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well situated
on rising ground.

From his garden, Mr.\ Collins would have led them round his two meadows;
but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white
frost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte
took her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased,
probably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband's
help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything
was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of which
Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr.\ Collins could
be forgotten, there was really an air of great comfort throughout,
and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he
must be often forgotten.

She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country.
It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr.\ Collins
joining in, observed:

{}``Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady
Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not
say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension,
and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her
notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying
she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with
which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear
Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are
never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered
for us. I \textit{should} say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for
she has several.''

{}``Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,''
added Charlotte, {}``and a most attentive neighbour.''

{}``Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort
of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference.''

The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news,
and telling again what had already been written; and when it closed,
Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon Charlotte's
degree of contentment, to understand her address in guiding, and composure
in bearing with, her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done
very well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the
quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious interruptions
of Mr.\ Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse with Rosings.
A lively imagination soon settled it all.

About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready
for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in
confusion; and, after listening a moment, she heard somebody running
upstairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened
the door and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with
agitation, cried out\mbox{---}

{}``Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and come into the dining-room,
for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it
is. Make haste, and come down this moment.''

Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more,
and down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in
quest of this wonder; It was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton
at the garden gate.

{}``And is this all?''\ cried Elizabeth. {}``I expected at least
that the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady
Catherine and her daughter.''

{}``La! my dear,'' said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, {}``it
is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs.\ Jenkinson, who lives
with them; the other is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite
a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin
and small?''\ 

{}``She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all
this wind. Why does she not come in?''\ 

{}``Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of
favours when Miss de Bourgh comes in.''

{}``I like her appearance,'' said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas.
{}``She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well.
She will make him a very proper wife.''

Mr.\ Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation
with the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's high diversion, was
stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the greatness
before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that
way.

At length there was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on,
and the others returned into the house. Mr.\ Collins no sooner saw
the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune,
which Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party
was asked to dine at Rosings the next day.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 29}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 29}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 29}

Mr.\ Collins's triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete.
The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering
visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and
his wife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity
of doing it should be given so soon, was such an instance of Lady
Catherine's condescension, as he knew not how to admire enough.

{}``I confess,'' said he, {}``that I should not have been at all
surprised by her ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend
the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her
affability, that it would happen. But who could have foreseen such
an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive
an invitation to dine there (an invitation, moreover, including the
whole party) so immediately after your arrival!''\ 

{}``I am the less surprised at what has happened,'' replied Sir
William, {}``from that knowledge of what the manners of the great
really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire.
About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon.''

Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but
their visit to Rosings. Mr.\ Collins was carefully instructing them
in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many
servants, and so splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them.

When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth\mbox{---}

{}``Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel.
Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us
which becomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely
to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest\mbox{---}there
is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the
worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction
of rank preserved.''

While they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different
doors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much
objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts
of her ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria
Lucas who had been little used to company, and she looked forward
to her introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father
had done to his presentation at St.\ James's.

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a
mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects;
and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be
in such raptures as Mr.\ Collins expected the scene to inspire, and
was but slightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front
of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had
originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.

When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every
moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm.
Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady
Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous
virtue, and the mere stateliness of money or rank she thought she
could witness without trepidation.

From the entrance-hall, of which Mr.\ Collins pointed out, with a
rapturous air, the fine proportion and the finished ornaments, they
followed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady
Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs.\ Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship,
with great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs.\ Collins
had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should
be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those
apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.

In spite of having been at St.\ James's Sir William was so completely
awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage
enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a
word; and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on
the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found
herself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies
before her composedly. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with
strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her
air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such
as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered
formidable by silence; but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative
a tone, as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr.\ Wickham immediately
to Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation of the day altogether,
she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he represented.

When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment
she soon found some resemblance of Mr.\ Darcy, she turned her eyes
on the daughter, she could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment
at her being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor
face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and
sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she
spoke very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs.\ Jenkinson, in
whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely
engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the
proper direction before her eyes.

After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows
to admire the view, Mr.\ Collins attending them to point out its
beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much
better worth looking at in the summer.

The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants
and all the articles of plate which Mr.\ Collins had promised; and,
as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the
table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life
could furnish nothing greater. He carved, and ate, and praised with
delighted alacrity; and every dish was commended, first by him and
then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever
his son-in-law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine
could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive
admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish
on the table proved a novelty to them. The party did not supply much
conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening,
but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh\mbox{---}the
former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the
latter said not a word to her all dinner-time. Mrs.\ Jenkinson was
chiefly employed in watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing
her to try some other dish, and fearing she was indisposed. Maria
thought speaking out of the question, and the gentlemen did nothing
but eat and admire.

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, there was little to
be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any
intermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every
subject in so decisive a manner, as proved that she was not used to
have her judgement controverted. She inquired into Charlotte's domestic
concerns familiarly and minutely, gave her a great deal of advice
as to the management of them all; told her how everything ought to
be regulated in so small a family as hers, and instructed her as to
the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing
was beneath this great lady's attention, which could furnish her with
an occasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse
with Mrs.\ Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria
and Elizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose connections
she knew the least, and who she observed to Mrs.\ Collins was a very
genteel, pretty kind of girl. She asked her, at different times, how
many sisters she had, whether they were older or younger than herself,
whether any of them were likely to be married, whether they were handsome,
where they had been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what
had been her mother's maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the impertinence
of her questions but answered them very composedly. Lady Catherine
then observed,

{}``Your father's estate is entailed on Mr.\ Collins, I think. For
your sake,'' turning to Charlotte, {}``I am glad of it; but otherwise
I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was
not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family. Do you play
and sing, Miss Bennet?''\ 

{}``A little.''

{}``Oh!\ then\mbox{---}some time or other we shall be happy to
hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to\mbox{---}
You shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing?''\ 

{}``One of them does.''

{}``Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The
Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as
yours. Do you draw?''\ 

{}``No, not at all.''

{}``What, none of you?''\ 

{}``Not one.''

{}``That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your
mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit
of masters.''

{}``My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London.''

{}``Has your governess left you?''\ 

{}``We never had any governess.''

{}``No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up
at home without a governess! I never heard of such a thing. Your mother
must have been quite a slave to your education.''

Elizabeth could hardly help smiling as she assured her that had not
been the case.

{}``Then, who taught you?\ who attended to you? Without a governess,
you must have been neglected.''

{}``Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us
as wished to learn never wanted the means. We were always encouraged
to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose
to be idle, certainly might.''

{}``Aye, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent, and
if I had known your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously
to engage one. I always say that nothing is to be done in education
without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess
can give it. It is wonderful how many families I have been the means
of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well
placed out. Four nieces of Mrs.\ Jenkinson are most delightfully
situated through my means; and it was but the other day that I recommended
another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me,
and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs.\ Collins, did I
tell you of Lady Metcalf's calling yesterday to thank me? She finds
Miss Pope a treasure. `Lady Catherine,' said she, `you have given
me a treasure.' Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?''\ 

{}``Yes, ma'am, all.''

{}``All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second.
The younger ones out before the elder ones are married! Your younger
sisters must be very young?''\ 

{}``Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps \textit{she} is full
young to be much in company. But really, ma'am, I think it would be
very hard upon younger sisters, that they should not have their share
of society and amusement, because the elder may not have the means
or inclination to marry early. The last-born has as good a right to
the pleasures of youth at the first. And to be kept back on \textit{such}
a motive! I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly
affection or delicacy of mind.''

{}``Upon my word,'' said her ladyship, {}``you give your opinion
very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?''\ 

{}``With three younger sisters grown up,'' replied Elizabeth, smiling,
{}``your ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.''

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer;
and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever
dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.

{}``You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, therefore you need
not conceal your age.''

{}``I am not one-and-twenty.''

When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card-tables
were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Collins
sat down to quadrille; and as Miss de Bourgh chose to play at cassino,
the two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs.\ Jenkinson to make
up her party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable
was uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs.\ Jenkinson
expressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh's being too hot or too cold,
or having too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at
the other table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking\mbox{---}stating
the mistakes of the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself.
Mr.\ Collins was employed in agreeing to everything her ladyship
said, thanking her for every fish he won, and apologising if he thought
he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his
memory with anecdotes and noble names.

When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose,
the tables were broken up, the carriage was offered to Mrs.\ Collins,
gratefully accepted and immediately ordered. The party then gathered
round the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they
were to have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned
by the arrival of the coach; and with many speeches of thankfulness
on Mr.\ Collins's side and as many bows on Sir William's they departed.
As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on
by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings,
which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than it really
was. But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could
by no means satisfy Mr.\ Collins, and he was very soon obliged to
take her ladyship's praise into his own hands.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 30}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 30}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 30}

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long
enough to convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled,
and of her possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were
not often met with. While Sir William was with them, Mr.\ Collins
devoted his morning to driving him out in his gig, and showing him
the country; but when he went away, the whole family returned to their
usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that they did
not see more of her cousin by the alteration, for the chief of the
time between breakfast and dinner was now passed by him either at
work in the garden or in reading and writing, and looking out of the
window in his own book-room, which fronted the road. The room in which
the ladies sat was backwards. Elizabeth had at first rather wondered
that Charlotte should not prefer the dining-parlour for common use;
it was a better sized room, and had a more pleasant aspect; but she
soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did,
for Mr.\ Collins would undoubtedly have been much less in his own
apartment, had they sat in one equally lively; and she gave Charlotte
credit for the arrangement.

From the drawing-room they could distinguish nothing in the lane,
and were indebted to Mr.\ Collins for the knowledge of what carriages
went along, and how often especially Miss de Bourgh drove by in her
phaeton, which he never failed coming to inform them of, though it
happened almost every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage,
and had a few minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely
ever prevailed upon to get out.

Very few days passed in which Mr.\ Collins did not walk to Rosings,
and not many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise;
and till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings
to be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many
hours. Now and then they were honoured with a call from her ladyship,
and nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room during
these visits. She examined into their employments, looked at their
work, and advised them to do it differently; found fault with the
arrangement of the furniture; or detected the housemaid in negligence;
and if she accepted any refreshment, seemed to do it only for the
sake of finding out that Mrs.\ Collins's joints of meat were too
large for her family.

Elizabeth soon perceived, that though this great lady was not in commission
of the peace of the county, she was a most active magistrate in her
own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by
Mr.\ Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to
be quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth into
the village to settle their differences, silence their complaints,
and scold them into harmony and plenty.

The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a
week; and, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only
one card-table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart
of the first. Their other engagements were few, as the style of living
in the neighbourhood in general was beyond Mr.\ Collins's reach.
This, however, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent
her time comfortably enough; there were half-hours of pleasant conversation
with Charlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that
she had often great enjoyment out of doors. Her favourite walk, and
where she frequently went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine,
was along the open grove which edged that side of the park, where
there was a nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value but
herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity.

In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away.
Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it was to bring an
addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must
be important. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival that Mr.\ Darcy
was expected there in the course of a few weeks, and though there
were not many of her acquaintances whom she did not prefer, his coming
would furnish one comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties,
and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designs
on him were, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently
destined by Lady Catherine, who talked of his coming with the greatest
satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and
seemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen
by Miss Lucas and herself.

His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage; for Mr.\ Collins was
walking the whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford
Lane, in order to have the earliest assurance of it, and after making
his bow as the carriage turned into the Park, hurried home with the
great intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings
to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require
them, for Mr.\ Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam,
the younger son of his uncle Lord \mbox{------}, and, to the great
surprise of all the party, when Mr.\ Collins returned, the gentlemen
accompanied him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room,
crossing the road, and immediately running into the other, told the
girls what an honour they might expect, adding:

{}``I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr.\ Darcy
would never have come so soon to wait upon me.''

Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment,
before their approach was announced by the door-bell, and shortly
afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam,
who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and
address most truly the gentleman. Mr.\ Darcy looked just as he had
been used to look in Hertfordshire\mbox{---}paid his compliments,
with his usual reserve, to Mrs.\ Collins, and whatever might be his
feelings toward her friend, met her with every appearance of composure.
Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him without saying a word.

Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness
and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but his cousin,
after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden
to Mrs.\ Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anybody.
At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to inquire
of Elizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the
usual way, and after a moment's pause, added:

{}``My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you
never happened to see her there?''\ 

She was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see
whether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between
the Bingleys and Jane, and she thought he looked a little confused
as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss
Bennet. The subject was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon
afterwards went away.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 31}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 31}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 31}

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were very much admired at the Parsonage,
and the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasures
of their engagements at Rosings. It was some days, however, before
they received any invitation thither\mbox{---}for while there were
visitors in the house, they could not be necessary; and it was not
till Easter-day, almost a week after the gentlemen's arrival, that
they were honoured by such an attention, and then they were merely
asked on leaving church to come there in the evening. For the last
week they had seen very little of Lady Catherine or her daughter.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonage more than once during
the time, but Mr.\ Darcy they had seen only at church.

The invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour they joined
the party in Lady Catherine's drawing-room. Her ladyship received
them civilly, but it was plain that their company was by no means
so acceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact,
almost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy,
much more than to any other person in the room.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; anything was a
welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs.\ Collins's pretty friend
had moreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himself by
her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling
and staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never
been half so well entertained in that room before; and they conversed
with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine
herself, as well as of Mr.\ Darcy. \textit{His} eyes had been soon
and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity; and that
her ladyship, after a while, shared the feeling, was more openly acknowledged,
for she did not scruple to call out:

{}``What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are
talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it
is.''

{}``We are speaking of music, madam,'' said he, when no longer able
to avoid a reply.

{}``Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight.
I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music.
There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment
of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt,
I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health
had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed
delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?''\ 

Mr.\ Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's proficiency.

{}``I am very glad to hear such a good account of her,'' said Lady
Catherine; {}``and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect
to excel if she does not practice a good deal.''

{}``I assure you, madam,'' he replied, {}``that she does not need
such advice. She practises very constantly.''

{}``So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next
write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.
I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired
without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times,
that she will never play really well unless she practises more; and
though Mrs.\ Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I
have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the
pianoforte in Mrs.\ Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way,
you know, in that part of the house.''

Mr.\ Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's ill-breeding, and
made no answer.

When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having
promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument.
He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song,
and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked
away from her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the
pianoforte stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair
performer's countenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the
first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said:

{}``You mean to frighten me, Mr.\ Darcy, by coming in all this state
to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sister \textit{does}
play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear
to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at
every attempt to intimidate me.''

{}``I shall not say you are mistaken,'' he replied, {}``because
you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming
you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough
to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions
which in fact are not your own.''

Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to
Colonel Fitzwilliam, {}``Your cousin will give you a very pretty
notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly
unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real character,
in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some
degree of credit. Indeed, Mr.\ Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you
to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire\mbox{---}and,
give me leave to say, very impolitic too\mbox{---}for it is provoking
me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations
to hear.''

{}``I am not afraid of you,'' said he, smilingly.

{}``Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,'' cried Colonel
Fitzwilliam. {}``I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.''

{}``You shall hear then\mbox{---}but prepare yourself for something
very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire,
you must know, was at a ball\mbox{---}and at this ball, what do you
think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce;
and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting
down in want of a partner. Mr.\ Darcy, you cannot deny the fact.''

{}``I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the
assembly beyond my own party.''

{}``True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. Well,
Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.''

{}``Perhaps,'' said Darcy, {}``I should have judged better, had
I sought an introduction; but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself
to strangers.''

{}``Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?''\ said Elizabeth,
still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. {}``Shall we ask him why a
man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill
qualified to recommend himself to strangers?''\ 

{}``I can answer your question,'' said Fitzwilliam, {}``without
applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.''

{}``I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,''
said Darcy, {}``of conversing easily with those I have never seen
before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested
in their concerns, as I often see done.''

{}``My fingers,'' said Elizabeth, {}``do not move over this instrument
in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not
the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression.
But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault\mbox{---}because
I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not
believe \textit{my} fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior
execution.''

Darcy smiled and said, {}``You are perfectly right. You have employed
your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing
you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.''

Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know
what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again.
Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes,
said to Darcy:

{}``Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if she practised more,
and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good
notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne
would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her
to learn.''

Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his
cousin's praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other could
she discern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour
to Miss de Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that
he might have been just as likely to marry \textit{her}, had she been
his relation.

Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's performance, mixing
with them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received
them with all the forbearance of civility, and, at the request of
the gentlemen, remained at the instrument till her ladyship's carriage
was ready to take them all home.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 32}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 32}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 32}

Elizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to
Jane while Mrs.\ Collins and Maria were gone on business into the
village, when she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain
signal of a visitor. As she had heard no carriage, she thought it
not unlikely to be Lady Catherine, and under that apprehension was
putting away her half-finished letter that she might escape all impertinent
questions, when the door opened, and, to her very great surprise,
Mr.\ Darcy, and Mr.\ Darcy only, entered the room.

He seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and apologised for
his intrusion by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies
were to be within.

They then sat down, and when her inquiries after Rosings were made,
seemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely
necessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergence
recollecting \textit{when} she had seen him last in Hertfordshire,
and feeling curious to know what he would say on the subject of their
hasty departure, she observed:

{}``How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November,
Mr.\ Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr.\ Bingley
to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went
but the day before. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you
left London?''\ 

{}``Perfectly so, I thank you.''

She found that she was to receive no other answer, and, after a short
pause added:

{}``I think I have understood that Mr.\ Bingley has not much idea
of ever returning to Netherfield again?''\ 

{}``I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may
spend very little of his time there in the future. He has many friends,
and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually
increasing.''

{}``If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better
for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for
then we might possibly get a settled family there. But, perhaps, Mr.\ Bingley
did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood
as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the
same principle.''

{}``I should not be surprised,'' said Darcy, {}``if he were to
give it up as soon as any eligible purchase offers.''

Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his
friend; and, having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave
the trouble of finding a subject to him.

He took the hint, and soon began with, {}``This seems a very comfortable
house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr.\ Collins
first came to Hunsford.''

{}``I believe she did\mbox{---}and I am sure she could not have
bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.''

{}``Mr.\ Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a
wife.''

{}``Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in his having met with
one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or
have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding\mbox{---}though
I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr.\ Collins as the
wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and
in a prudential light it is certainly a very good match for her.''

{}``It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy
a distance of her own family and friends.''

{}``An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.''

{}``And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a
day's journey. Yes, I call it a \textit{very} easy distance.''

{}``I should never have considered the distance as one of the \textit{advantages}
of the match,'' cried Elizabeth. {}``I should never have said Mrs.\ Collins
was settled \textit{near} her family.''

{}``It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything
beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear
far.''

As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she
understood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and Netherfield,
and she blushed as she answered:

{}``I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near
her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many
varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses
of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not
the case \textit{here}. Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Collins have a comfortable
income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys\mbox{---}and
I am persuaded my friend would not call herself \textit{near} her
family under less than \textit{half} the present distance.''

Mr.\ Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, {}``\textit{You}
cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. \textit{You}
cannot have been always at Longbourn.''

Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change
of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table,
and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice:

{}``Are you pleased with Kent?''\ 

A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side
calm and concise\mbox{---}and soon put an end to by the entrance
of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from her walk. The tete-a-tete
surprised them. Mr.\ Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned
his intruding on Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer
without saying much to anybody, went away.

{}``What can be the meaning of this?''\ said Charlotte, as soon
as he was gone. {}``My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you,
or he would never have called us in this familiar way.''

But when Elizabeth told of his silence; it did not seem very likely,
even to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after various conjectures,
they could at last only suppose his visit to proceed from the difficulty
of finding anything to do, which was the more probable from the time
of year. All field sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine,
books, and a billiard-table, but gentlemen cannot always be within
doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the pleasantness of
the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the two cousins
found a temptation from this period of walking thither almost every
day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately,
sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt. It
was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had
pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended
him still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction
in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her, of
her former favourite George Wickham; and though, in comparing them,
she saw there was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam's
manners, she believed he might have the best informed mind.

But why Mr.\ Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult
to understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there
ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak,
it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice\mbox{---}a
sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared
really animated. Mrs.\ Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel
Fitzwilliam's occasionally laughing at his stupidity, proved that
he was generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not
have told her; and as she would liked to have believed this change
the effect of love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza,
she set herself seriously to work to find it out. She watched him
whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but
without much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal,
but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest,
steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration
in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind.

She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his
being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and
Mrs.\ Collins did not think it right to press the subject, from the
danger of raising expectations which might only end in disappointment;
for in her opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's
dislike would vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.

In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying
Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the most pleasant man;
he certainly admired her, and his situation in life was most eligible;
but, to counterbalance these advantages, Mr.\ Darcy had considerable
patronage in the church, and his cousin could have none at all.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 33}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 33}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 33}

More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly
meet Mr.\ Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that
should bring him where no one else was brought, and, to prevent its
ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was
a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore,
was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful
ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was
not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away,
but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her.
He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of
talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their
third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions\mbox{---}about
her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and
her opinion of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Collins's happiness; and that in speaking
of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed
to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying
\textit{there} too. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel
Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he
must mean and allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed
her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in
the pales opposite the Parsonage.

She was engaged one day as she walked, in perusing Jane's last letter,
and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written
in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr.\ Darcy,
she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting
away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said:

{}``I did not know before that you ever walked this way.''

{}``I have been making the tour of the park,'' he replied, {}``as
I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the
Parsonage. Are you going much farther?''\ 

{}``No, I should have turned in a moment.''

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage
together.

{}``Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?''\ said she.

{}``Yes\mbox{---}if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at
his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.''

{}``And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has
at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody
who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr.\ Darcy.''

{}``He likes to have his own way very well,'' replied Colonel Fitzwilliam.
{}``But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having
it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor.
I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial
and dependence.''

{}``In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little
of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial
and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from
going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?''\ 

{}``These are home questions\mbox{---}and perhaps I cannot say that
I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of
greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot
marry where they like.''

{}``Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very
often do.''

{}``Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are too
many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention
to money.''

{}``Is this,'' thought Elizabeth, {}``meant for me?''\ and she
coloured at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone,
{}``And pray, what is the usual price of an earl's younger son? Unless
the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above
fifty thousand pounds.''

He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt
a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed,
she soon afterwards said:

{}``I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the
sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry,
to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister
does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care,
he may do what he likes with her.''

{}``No,'' said Colonel Fitzwilliam, {}``that is an advantage which
he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of
Miss Darcy.''

{}``Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make?
Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are
sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy
spirit, she may like to have her own way.''

As she spoke she observed him looking at her earnestly; and the manner
in which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely
to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or
other got pretty near the truth. She directly replied:

{}``You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and
I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in the world.
She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance,
Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you
know them.''

{}``I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike
man\mbox{---}he is a great friend of Darcy's.''

{}``Oh!\ yes,'' said Elizabeth drily; {}``Mr.\ Darcy is uncommonly
kind to Mr.\ Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.''

{}``Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy \textit{does} take care
of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that
he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very
much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no
right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.''

{}``What is it you mean?''\ 

{}``It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally
known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would
be an unpleasant thing.''

{}``You may depend upon my not mentioning it.''

{}``And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to
be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated
himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of
a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other
particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing
him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from
knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.''

{}``Did Mr.\ Darcy give you reasons for this interference?''\ 

{}``I understood that there were some very strong objections against
the lady.''

{}``And what arts did he use to separate them?''\ 

{}``He did not talk to me of his own arts,'' said Fitzwilliam, smiling.
{}``He only told me what I have now told you.''

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation.
After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so
thoughtful.

{}``I am thinking of what you have been telling me,'' said she.
{}``Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to
be the judge?''\ 

{}``You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?''\ 

{}``I do not see what right Mr.\ Darcy had to decide on the propriety
of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone,
he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be
happy. But,'' she continued, recollecting herself, {}``as we know
none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not
to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.''

{}``That is not an unnatural surmise,'' said Fitzwilliam, {}``but
it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly.''

This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture
of Mr.\ Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer, and
therefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on indifferent
matters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own
room, as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without
interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed
that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was
connected. There could not exist in the world \textit{two} men over
whom Mr.\ Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had
been concerned in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane
she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley
the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however,
did not mislead him, \textit{he} was the cause, his pride and caprice
were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued
to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the
most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say
how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.

{}``There were some very strong objections against the lady,'' were
Colonel Fitzwilliam's words; and those strong objections probably
were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another
who was in business in London.

{}``To Jane herself,'' she exclaimed, {}``there could be no possibility
of objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is!\mbox{---}her
understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating.
Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with
some peculiarities, has abilities Mr.\ Darcy himself need not disdain,
and respectability which he will probably never each.'' When she
thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she would
not allow that any objections \textit{there} had material weight with
Mr.\ Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper
wound from the want of importance in his friend's connections, than
from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that
he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly
by the wish of retaining Mr.\ Bingley for his sister.

The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a
headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening, that, added
to her unwillingness to see Mr.\ Darcy, it determined her not to
attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea.
Mrs.\ Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her
to go and as much as possible prevented her husband from pressing
her; but Mr.\ Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady
Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 34}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 34}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 34}

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself
as much as possible against Mr.\ Darcy, chose for her employment
the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since
her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there
any revival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering.
But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of
that cheerfulness which had been used to characterise her style, and
which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself
and kindly disposed towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded.
Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness,
with an attention which it had hardly received on the first perusal.
Mr.\ Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict,
gave her a keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation
to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the
next\mbox{---}and, a still greater, that in less than a fortnight
she should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute to
the recovery of her spirits, by all that affection could do.

She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent without remembering that
his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it
clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she
did not mean to be unhappy about him.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of
the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea
of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called
late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after
her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently
affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr.\ Darcy walk into
the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after
her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were
better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few
moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was
surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes,
he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

{}``In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not
be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire
and love you.''

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured,
doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement;
and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately
followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of
the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject
of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority\mbox{---}of
its being a degradation\mbox{---}of the family obstacles which had
always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed
due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend
his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible
to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions
did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he
was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language,
she lost all compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself
to answer him with patience, when he should have done. He concluded
with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in
spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and
with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance
of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no
doubt of a favourable answer. He \textit{spoke} of apprehension and
anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance
could only exasperate farther, and, when he ceased, the colour rose
into her cheeks, and she said:

{}``In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode
to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however
unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should
be felt, and if I could \textit{feel} gratitude, I would now thank
you. But I cannot\mbox{---}I have never desired your good opinion,
and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to
have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done,
however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which,
you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard,
can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.''

Mr.\ Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes
fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment
than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance
of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the
appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed
himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings
dreadful. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

{}``And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting!
I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little \textit{endeavour}
at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.''

{}``I might as well inquire,'' replied she, {}``why with so evident
a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that
you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against
your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I \textit{was}
uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my
feelings decided against you\mbox{---}had they been indifferent,
or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration
would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining,
perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?''\ 

As she pronounced these words, Mr.\ Darcy changed colour; but the
emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt
her while she continued:

{}``I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive
can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted \textit{there}.
You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if
not the only means of dividing them from each other\mbox{---}of exposing
one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the
other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both
in misery of the acutest kind.''

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening
with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.
He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.

{}``Can you deny that you have done it?''\ she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: {}``I have no wish of
denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from
your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards \textit{him}
I have been kinder than towards myself.''

Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection,
but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.

{}``But it is not merely this affair,'' she continued, {}``on which
my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of
you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which
I received many months ago from Mr.\ Wickham. On this subject, what
can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here
defend yourself? or under what misrepresentation can you here impose
upon others?''\ 

{}``You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,'' said
Darcy, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.

{}``Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling
an interest in him?''\ 

{}``His misfortunes!''\ repeated Darcy contemptuously; {}``yes,
his misfortunes have been great indeed.''

{}``And of your infliction,'' cried Elizabeth with energy. {}``You
have reduced him to his present state of poverty\mbox{---}comparative
poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have
been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life
of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You
have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune
with contempt and ridicule.''

{}``And this,'' cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across
the room, {}``is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which
you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according
to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,'' added he, stopping
in his walk, and turning towards her, {}``these offenses might have
been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession
of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design.
These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater
policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief
of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason,
by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.
Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and
just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?\mbox{---}to
congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life
is so decidedly beneath my own?''\ 

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried
to the utmost to speak with composure when she said:

{}``You are mistaken, Mr.\ Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of
your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared the
concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in
a more gentlemanlike manner.''

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:

{}``You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible
way that would have tempted me to accept it.''

Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression
of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:

{}``From the very beginning\mbox{---}from the first moment, I may
almost say\mbox{---}of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing
me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your
selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the
groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built
so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt
that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed
on to marry.''

{}``You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your
feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.
Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my
best wishes for your health and happiness.''

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard
him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

The tumult of her mind, was now painfully great. She knew not how
to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for
half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed,
was increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer
of marriage from Mr.\ Darcy! That he should have been in love with
her for so many months! So much in love as to wish to marry her in
spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friend's
marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force
in his own case\mbox{---}was almost incredible! It was gratifying
to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride,
his abominable pride\mbox{---}his shameless avowal of what he had
done with respect to Jane\mbox{---}his unpardonable assurance in
acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner
in which he had mentioned Mr.\ Wickham, his cruelty towards whom
he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame the pity which the consideration
of his attachment had for a moment excited. She continued in very
agitated reflections till the sound of Lady Catherine's carriage made
her feel how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte's observation,
and hurried her away to her room.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 35}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 35}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 35}

Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations
which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from
the surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything
else; and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after
breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding
directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr.\ Darcy's
sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park,
she turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road.
The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed
one of the gates into the ground.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she
was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates
and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in
Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day was
adding to the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of
continuing her walk, when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within
the sort of grove which edged the park; he was moving that way; and,
fearful of its being Mr.\ Darcy, she was directly retreating. But
the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping
forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had turned away;
but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to
be Mr.\ Darcy, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time
reached it also, and, holding out a letter, which she instinctively
took, said, with a look of haughty composure, {}``I have been walking
in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me
the honour of reading that letter?''\ And then, with a slight bow,
turned again into the plantation, and was soon out of sight.

With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity,
Elizabeth opened the letter, and, to her still increasing wonder,
perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written
quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise
full. Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated
from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning, and was as follows:\mbox{---}

\begin{quotation}
{}``Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension
of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of
those offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without
any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes
which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and
the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must
occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it
to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with
which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow
it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.

{}``Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal
magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was,
that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr.\ Bingley
from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various
claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity
and blasted the prospects of Mr.\ Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly
to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite
of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than
on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion,
would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons,
whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear
no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last
night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall
hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my
actions and their motives has been read. If, in the explanation of
them, which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating
feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am
sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be
absurd.

{}``I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common
with others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other
young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the
dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a
serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball,
while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted,
by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bingley's attentions
to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage.
He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be
undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively;
and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was
beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched.
Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but
without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from
the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with
pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment.
If \textit{you} have not been mistaken here, \textit{I} must have
been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the
latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error
to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable.
But I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister's
countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer
a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely
to be easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent
is certain\mbox{---}but I will venture to say that my investigation
and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did
not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed
it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My
objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last night
acknowledged to have the utmost force of passion to put aside, in
my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an evil
to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugnance;
causes which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree
in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they
were not immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though
briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable,
was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently,
so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters,
and occasionally even by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend
you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations,
and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you
consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to
avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed
on you and your elder sister, than it is honourable to the sense and
disposition of both. I will only say farther that from what passed
that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement
heightened which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from
what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for
London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with
the design of soon returning.

{}``The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters' uneasiness
had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was
soon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in
detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly
in London. We accordingly went\mbox{---}and there I readily engaged
in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such
a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this
remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I
do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage,
had it not been seconded by the assurance that I hesitated not in
giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her
to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But
Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my
judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had
deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against
returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given,
was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having
done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair
on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended
to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's
being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley;
but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met
without ill consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not
appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger.
Perhaps this concealment, this disguise was beneath me; it is done,
however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing
more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's
feelings, it was unknowingly done and though the motives which governed
me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt
to condemn them.

{}``With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having
injured Mr.\ Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the
whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has \textit{particularly}
accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate,
I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.

{}``Mr.\ Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for
many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose
good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father
to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson,
his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported
him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge\mbox{---}most important
assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of
his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education.
My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manner
were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and
hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for
him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began
to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities\mbox{---}the
want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge
of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man
of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of
seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr.\ Darcy could not have.
Here again shall give you pain\mbox{---}to what degree you only can
tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr.\ Wickham has created,
a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his
real character\mbox{---}it adds even another motive.

{}``My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment
to Mr.\ Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly
recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner
that his profession might allow\mbox{---}and if he took orders, desired
that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant.
There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did
not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr.\ Wickham
wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders,
he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some
more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by
which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added,
of studying law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand
pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished,
than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready
to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr.\ Wickham ought not to
be a clergyman; the business was therefore soon settled\mbox{---}he
resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that
he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return
three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved.
I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his
society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying
the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint,
his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years
I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the
living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by
letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and
I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had
found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved
on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question\mbox{---}-of
which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured
that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten
my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing
to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to
it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances\mbox{---}and
he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his
reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance
was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again
most painfully obtruded on my notice.

{}``I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget
myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce
me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no
doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior,
was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam,
and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment
formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who
presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr.\ Wickham,
undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance
between him and Mrs.\ Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily
deceived; and by her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself
to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression
of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe
herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but
fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence,
I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined
them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement, and
then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending
a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the
whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for
my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but
I wrote to Mr.\ Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs.\ Younge
was of course removed from her charge. Mr.\ Wickham's chief object
was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds;
but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on
me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

{}``This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which
we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject
it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards
Mr.\ Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood
he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered
at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either,
detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not
in your inclination.

{}``You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night;
but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought
to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal
more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from
our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one
of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted
with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of
\textit{me} should make \textit{my} assertions valueless, you cannot
be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that
there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour
to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the
course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.''

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{Fitzwilliam}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Darcy}}}'' 
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 36}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 36}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 36}

If Elizabeth, when Mr.\ Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect
it to contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation
at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed
how eagerly she went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion
they excited. Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined.
With amazement did she first understand that he believed any apology
to be in his power; and steadfastly was she persuaded, that he could
have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not
conceal. With a strong prejudice against everything he might say,
she began his account of what had happened at Netherfield. She read
with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension, and
from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was
incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes. His
belief of her sister's insensibility she instantly resolved to be
false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to the match,
made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He expressed
no regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style was
not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr.\ Wickham\mbox{---}when
she read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of events which,
if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and
which bore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself\mbox{---}her
feelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.
Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished
to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, {}``This must be
false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!''---and
when she had gone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing
anything of the last page or two, put it hastily away, protesting
that she would not regard it, that she would never look in it again.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on
nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the
letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could,
she again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham,
and commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.
The account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly
what he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr.\ Darcy,
though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with
his own words. So far each recital confirmed the other; but when she
came to the will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said
of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very
words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity
on one side or the other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself
that her wishes did not err. But when she read and re-read with the
closest attention, the particulars immediately following of Wickham's
resigning all pretensions to the living, of his receiving in lieu
so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds, again was she forced
to hesitate. She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance with
what she meant to be impartiality\mbox{---}deliberated on the probability
of each statement\mbox{---}but with little success. On both sides
it was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more
clearly that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that
any contrivance could so represent as to render Mr.\ Darcy's conduct
in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him
entirely blameless throughout the whole.

The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay
at Mr.\ Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as
she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of
him before his entrance into the \mbox{------}shire Militia, in which
he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man who, on meeting
him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance.
Of his former way of life nothing had been known in Hertfordshire
but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information
been in her power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His countenance,
voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of
every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some
distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue
him from the attacks of Mr.\ Darcy; or at least, by the predominance
of virtue, atone for those casual errors under which she would endeavour
to class what Mr.\ Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of
many years' continuance. But no such recollection befriended her.
She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air and
address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the
general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his
social powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing on this point
a considerable while, she once more continued to read. But, alas!\ the
story which followed, of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some
confirmation from what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and
herself only the morning before; and at last she was referred for
the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself\mbox{---}from
whom she had previously received the information of his near concern
in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no reason
to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to him,
but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and
at length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr.\ Darcy would
never have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured
of his cousin's corroboration.

She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation
between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr.\ Phillips's.
Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was \textit{now}
struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger,
and wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of
putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his
professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of
having no fear of seeing Mr.\ Darcy\mbox{---}that Mr.\ Darcy might
leave the country, but that \textit{he} should stand his ground; yet
he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered
also that, till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he
had told his story to no one but herself; but that after their removal
it had been everywhere discussed; that he had then no reserves, no
scruples in sinking Mr.\ Darcy's character, though he had assured
her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing
the son.

How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned!
His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely
and hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved
no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp
at anything. His behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable
motive; he had either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or
had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference which
she believed she had most incautiously shown. Every lingering struggle
in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and in farther justification
of Mr.\ Darcy, she could not but allow Mr.\ Bingley, when questioned
by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that
proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole
course of their acquaintance\mbox{---}an acquaintance which had latterly
brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with
his ways\mbox{---}seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled
or unjust\mbox{---}anything that spoke him of irreligious or immoral
habits; that among his own connections he was esteemed and valued\mbox{---}that
even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had
often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove
him capable of \textit{some} amiable feeling; that had his actions
been what Mr.\ Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of
everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world;
and that friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable
man as Mr.\ Bingley, was incomprehensible.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham
could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced,
absurd.

{}``How despicably I have acted!''\ she cried; {}``I, who have
prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities!\ who
have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified
my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this
discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could
not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been
my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the
neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I
have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away,
where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.''

From herself to Jane\mbox{---}from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts
were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr.\ Darcy's
explanation \textit{there} had appeared very insufficient, and she
read it again. Widely different was the effect of a second perusal.
How could she deny that credit to his assertions in one instance,
which she had been obliged to give in the other? He declared himself
to be totally unsuspicious of her sister's attachment; and she could
not help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been. Neither
could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that
Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there
was a constant complacency in her air and manner not often united
with great sensibility.

When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were
mentioned in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense
of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly
for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded
as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his
first disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on
his mind than on hers.

The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed,
but it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been
self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered that
Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations,
and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such
impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had
ever known before.

After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every
variety of thought\mbox{---}re-considering events, determining probabilities,
and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden
and so important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence,
made her at length return home; and she entered the house with the
wish of appearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing
such reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.

She was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each
called during her absence; Mr.\ Darcy, only for a few minutes, to
take leave\mbox{---}but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting
with them at least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving
to walk after her till she could be found. Elizabeth could but just
\textit{affect} concern in missing him; she really rejoiced at it.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer an object; she could think only
of her letter.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 37}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 37}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 37}

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr.\ Collins
having been in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance,
was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing
in very good health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected,
after the melancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings
he then hastened, to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and
on his return brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from
her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her
very desirous of having them all to dine with her.

Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that,
had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her
as her future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what
her ladyship's indignation would have been. {}``What would she have
said?\ how would she have behaved?''\ were questions with which
she amused herself.

Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. {}``I
assure you, I feel it exceedingly,'' said Lady Catherine; {}``I
believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am
particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be so much
attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always
are. The dear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last;
but Darcy seemed to feel it most acutely, more, I think, than last
year. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases.''

Mr.\ Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here,
which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.

Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out
of spirits, and immediately accounting for it by herself, by supposing
that she did not like to go home again so soon, she added:

{}``But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg
that you may stay a little longer. Mrs.\ Collins will be very glad
of your company, I am sure.''

{}``I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,''
replied Elizabeth, {}``but it is not in my power to accept it. I
must be in town next Saturday.''

{}``Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I
expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs.\ Collins so before you
came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs.\ Bennet
could certainly spare you for another fortnight.''

{}``But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.''

{}``Oh!\ your father of course may spare you, if your mother can.
Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. And if you
will stay another \textit{month} complete, it will be in my power
to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there early in
June, for a week; and as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box,
there will be very good room for one of you\mbox{---}and indeed,
if the weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking
you both, as you are neither of you large.''

{}``You are all kindness, madam; but I believe we must abide by our
original plan.''

Lady Catherine seemed resigned. {}``Mrs.\ Collins, you must send
a servant with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot
bear the idea of two young women travelling post by themselves. It
is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. I have the
greatest dislike in the world to that sort of thing. Young women should
always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation
in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made
a point of her having two men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, the
daughter of Mr.\ Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have
appeared with propriety in a different manner. I am excessively attentive
to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs.\ Collins.
I am glad it occurred to me to mention it; for it would really be
discreditable to \textit{you} to let them go alone.''

{}``My uncle is to send a servant for us.''

{}``Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad
you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change
horses? Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell,
you will be attended to.''

Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey,
and as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary,
which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a mind so occupied,
she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserved
for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as
the greatest relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk,
in which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.

Mr.\ Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart.
She studied every sentence; and her feelings towards its writer were
at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address,
she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly
she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against
herself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion.
His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but
she could not approve him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal,
or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. In her own
past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret;
and in the unhappy defects of her family, a subject of yet heavier
chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with
laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness
of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from
right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had
frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence
of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother's
indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine,
weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance, had
been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and
careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant,
idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would
flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn,
they would be going there forever.

Anxiety on Jane's behalf was another prevailing concern; and Mr.\ Darcy's
explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good opinion,
heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was proved
to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless
any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend.
How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation so desirable
in every respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness,
Jane had been deprived, by the folly and indecorum of her own family!

When to these recollections was added the developement of Wickham's
character, it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which
had seldom been depressed before, were now so much affected as to
make it almost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.

Their engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the last week
of her stay as they had been at first. The very last evening was spent
there; and her ladyship again inquired minutely into the particulars
of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing,
and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right
way, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all
the work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.

When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished
them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next
year; and Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and
hold out her hand to both.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 38}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 38}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 38}

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr.\ Collins met for breakfast
a few minutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity
of paying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.

{}``I know not, Miss Elizabeth,'' said he, {}``whether Mrs.\ Collins
has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us; but
I am very certain you will not leave the house without receiving her
thanks for it. The favor of your company has been much felt, I assure
you. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode.
Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and
the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull
to a young lady like yourself; but I hope you will believe us grateful
for the condescension, and that we have done everything in our power
to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly.''

Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She
had spent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being
with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make
\textit{her} feel the obliged. Mr.\ Collins was gratified, and with
a more smiling solemnity replied:

{}``It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your
time not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most fortunately
having it in our power to introduce you to very superior society,
and, from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying
the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your
Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with
regard to Lady Catherine's family is indeed the sort of extraordinary
advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on what a footing
we are. You see how continually we are engaged there. In truth I must
acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage,
I should not think anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, while
they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.''

Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he
was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite
civility and truth in a few short sentences.

{}``You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire,
my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will be able to
do so. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs.\ Collins you have
been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear
that your friend has drawn an unfortunate\mbox{---}but on this point
it will be as well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss
Elizabeth, that I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal
felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and
one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance
of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for
each other.''

Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness where that
was the case, and with equal sincerity could add, that she firmly
believed and rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry,
however, to have the recital of them interrupted by the lady from
whom they sprang. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to
such society! But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and though
evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did not seem
to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and
her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their
charms.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels
placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate
parting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage
by Mr.\ Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning
her with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks
for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his
compliments to Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner, though unknown. He then
handed her in, Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being
closed, when he suddenly reminded them, with some consternation, that
they had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the ladies at
Rosings.

{}``But,'' he added, {}``you will of course wish to have your humble
respects delivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness
to you while you have been here.''

Elizabeth made no objection; the door was then allowed to be shut,
and the carriage drove off.

{}``Good gracious!''\ cried Maria, after a few minutes' silence,
{}``it seems but a day or two since we first came!\ and yet how
many things have happened!''\ 

{}``A great many indeed,'' said her companion with a sigh.

{}``We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there
twice! How much I shall have to tell!''\ 

Elizabeth added privately, {}``And how much I shall have to conceal!''\ 

Their journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm;
and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr.\ Gardiner's
house, where they were to remain a few days.

Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying
her spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of
her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her,
and at Longbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.

It was not without an effort, meanwhile, that she could wait even
for Longbourn, before she told her sister of Mr.\ Darcy's proposals.
To know that she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly
astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever
of her own vanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was such
a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered but the state
of indecision in which she remained as to the extent of what she should
communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of
being hurried into repeating something of Bingley which might only
grieve her sister further.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 39}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 39}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 39}

It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set
out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of \mbox{------},
in Hertfordshire; and, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr.\ Bennet's
carriage was to meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the
coachman's punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room
upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily
employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on
guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.

After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table
set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming,
{}``Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?''\ 

{}``And we mean to treat you all,'' added Lydia, {}``but you must
lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.''
Then, showing her purchases\mbox{---}{}``Look here, I have bought
this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty; but I thought I might
as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get
home, and see if I can make it up any better.''

And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect unconcern,
{}``Oh!\ but there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and
when I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh,
I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify
what one wears this summer, after the \mbox{------}shire have left
Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight.''

{}``Are they indeed!''\ cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.

{}``They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want
papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious
scheme; and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would
like to go too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else
we shall have!''\ 

{}``Yes,'' thought Elizabeth, {}``\textit{That} would be a delightful
scheme indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton,
and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already
by one poor regiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!''\ 

{}``Now I have got some news for you,'' said Lydia, as they sat
down at table. {}``What do you think? It is excellent news\mbox{---}capital
news\mbox{---}and about a certain person we all like!''\ 

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he
need not stay. Lydia laughed, and said:

{}``Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought
the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears
worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow!
I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well,
but now for my news; it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter,
is it not? There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's
for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay.
Wickham is safe.''

{}``And Mary King is safe!''\ added Elizabeth; {}``safe from a
connection imprudent as to fortune.''

{}``She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.''

{}``But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,'' said
Jane.

{}``I am sure there is not on \textit{his}. I will answer for it,
he never cared three straws about her\mbox{---}who could about such
a nasty little freckled thing?''\ 

Elizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such coarseness
of \textit{expression} herself, the coarseness of the \textit{sentiment}
was little other than her own breast had harboured and fancied liberal!

As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was
ordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their
boxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's
and Lydia's purchases, were seated in it.

{}``How nicely we are all crammed in,'' cried Lydia. {}``I am glad
I bought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another bandbox!
Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh
all the way home. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened
to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have
you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have
got a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid
soon, I declare. She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed
I should be of not being married before three-and-twenty! My aunt
Phillips wants you so to get husbands, you can't think. She says Lizzy
had better have taken Mr.\ Collins; but \textit{I} do not think there
would have been any fun in it. Lord! how I should like to be married
before any of you; and then I would chaperon you about to all the
balls. Dear me!\ we had such a good piece of fun the other day at
Colonel Forster's. Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs.\ Forster
promised to have a little dance in the evening; (by the bye, Mrs.\ Forster
and me are \textit{such} friends!)\ and so she asked the two Harringtons
to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself;
and then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in
woman's clothes on purpose to pass for a lady, only think what fun!
Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs.\ Forster, and Kitty and
me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her gowns;
and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, and Wickham,
and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did not
know him in the least. Lord!\ how I laughed!\ and so did Mrs.\ Forster.
I thought I should have died. And \textit{that} made the men suspect
something, and then they soon found out what was the matter.''

With such kinds of histories of their parties and good jokes, did
Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse
her companions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little
as she could, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's
name.

Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs.\ Bennet rejoiced to see
Jane in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did
Mr.\ Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth:

{}``I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.''

Their party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases
came to meet Maria and hear the news; and various were the subjects
that occupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiring of Maria, after the welfare
and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs.\ Bennet was doubly engaged,
on one hand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane,
who sat some way below her, and, on the other, retailing them all
to the younger Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any
other person's, was enumerating the various pleasures of the morning
to anybody who would hear her.

{}``Oh!\ Mary,'' said she, {}``I wish you had gone with us, for
we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and I drew up the blinds,
and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I should have gone
so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick; and when we got to the
George, I do think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the
other three with the nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you
would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came
away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the
coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all
the way home!\ we talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might
have heard us ten miles off!''\ 

To this Mary very gravely replied, {}``Far be it from me, my dear
sister, to depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial
with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would have
no charms for \textit{me}---I should infinitely prefer a book.''

But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom listened to
anybody for more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at
all.

In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk
to Meryton, and to see how everybody went on; but Elizabeth steadily
opposed the scheme. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could
not be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers.
There was another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing
Mr.\ Wickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible.
The comfort to \textit{her} of the regiment's approaching removal
was indeed beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to go\mbox{---}and
once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on
his account.

She had not been many hours at home before she found that the Brighton
scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under
frequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw directly that
her father had not the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers
were at the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though
often disheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 40}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 40}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 40}

Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could
no longer be overcome; and at length, resolving to suppress every
particular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to
be surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the
scene between Mr.\ Darcy and herself.

Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly
partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly
natural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She
was sorry that Mr.\ Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in
a manner so little suited to recommend them; but still more was she
grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's refusal must have given
him.

{}``His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,'' said she, {}``and
certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must
increase his disappointment!''\ 

{}``Indeed,'' replied Elizabeth, {}``I am heartily sorry for him;
but he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his
regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?''\ 

{}``Blame you! Oh, no.''

{}``But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?''\ 

{}``No\mbox{---}I do not know that you were wrong in saying what
you did.''

{}``But you \textit{will} know it, when I tell you what happened
the very next day.''

She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents
as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for
poor Jane!\ who would willingly have gone through the world without
believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind,
as was here collected in one individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication,
though grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such
discovery. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability
of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the other.

{}``This will not do,'' said Elizabeth; {}``you never will be able
to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you
must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit
between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of late
it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined
to believe it all Darcy's; but you shall do as you choose.''

It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.

{}``I do not know when I have been more shocked,'' said she. {}``Wickham
so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr.\ Darcy! Dear
Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment!\ and
with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too!\ and having to relate
such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure
you must feel it so.''

{}``Oh!\ no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing
you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that
I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion
makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart
will be as light as a feather.''

{}``Poor Wickham!\ there is such an expression of goodness in his
countenance!\ such an openness and gentleness in his manner!''\ 

{}``There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education
of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other
all the appearance of it.''

{}``I never thought Mr.\ Darcy so deficient in the \textit{appearance}
of it as you used to do.''

{}``And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided
a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius,
such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be
continually abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always
be laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.''

{}``Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not
treat the matter as you do now.''

{}``Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say unhappy.
And with no one to speak to about what I felt, no Jane to comfort
me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical
as I knew I had! Oh!\ how I wanted you!''\ 

{}``How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions
in speaking of Wickham to Mr.\ Darcy, for now they \textit{do} appear
wholly undeserved.''

{}``Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is
a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging.
There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told
whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general
understand Wickham's character.''

Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, {}``Surely there can
be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?''\ 

{}``That it ought not to be attempted. Mr.\ Darcy has not authorised
me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular
relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to
myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his
conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr.\ Darcy
is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people
in Meryton to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal
to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify
to anyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found
out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before.
At present I will say nothing about it.''

{}``You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin
him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and
anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.''

The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation. She
had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight,
and was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might
wish to talk again of either. But there was still something lurking
behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate
the other half of Mr.\ Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister
how sincerely she had been valued by her friend. Here was knowledge
in which no one could partake; and she was sensible that nothing less
than a perfect understanding between the parties could justify her
in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery. {}``And then,''
said she, {}``if that very improbable event should ever take place,
I shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more
agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine
till it has lost all its value!''\ 

She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real
state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished
a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself
in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment,
and, from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first
attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance,
and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all
her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check
the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to
her own health and their tranquillity.

{}``Well, Lizzy,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet one day, {}``what is your
opinion \textit{now} of this sad business of Jane's? For my part,
I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister
Phillips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw anything
of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young man\mbox{---}and
I do not suppose there's the least chance in the world of her ever
getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again
in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely
to know.''

{}``I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more.''

{}``Oh well!\ it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come.
Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if
I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I
am sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry
for what he has done.''

But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation,
she made no answer.

{}``Well, Lizzy,'' continued her mother, soon afterwards, {}``and
so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only
hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte
is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her
mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in \textit{their}
housekeeping, I dare say.''

{}``No, nothing at all.''

{}``A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. \textit{They}
will take care not to outrun their income. \textit{They} will never
be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I
suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead.
They look upon it as quite their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.''

{}``It was a subject which they could not mention before me.''

{}``No; it would have been strange if they had; but I make no doubt
they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy
with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better.
I should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 41}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 41}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 41}

The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It
was the last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the young
ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was
almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to
eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments.
Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty
and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend
such hard-heartedness in any of the family.

{}``Good Heaven!\ what is to become of us? What are we to do?''\ would
they often exclaiming the bitterness of woe. {}``How can you be smiling
so, Lizzy?''\ 

Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what
she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years
ago.

{}``I am sure,'' said she, {}``I cried for two days together when
Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I thought I should have broken
my heart.''

{}``I am sure I shall break \textit{mine},'' said Lydia.

{}``If one could but go to Brighton!''\ observed Mrs.\ Bennet.

{}``Oh, yes!\mbox{---}if one could but go to Brighton! But papa
is so disagreeable.''

{}``A little sea-bathing would set me up forever.''

{}``And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do \textit{me} a great
deal of good,'' added Kitty.

Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through
Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense
of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr.\ Darcy's
objections; and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his
interference in the views of his friend.

But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she
received an invitation from Mrs.\ Forster, the wife of the colonel
of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend
was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in
good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each
other, and out of their \textit{three} months' acquaintance they had
been intimate \textit{two}.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs.\ Forster,
the delight of Mrs.\ Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are
scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings,
Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone's
congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than
ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repined at
her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

{}``I cannot see why Mrs.\ Forster should not ask \textit{me} as
well as Lydia,'' said she, {}``Though I am \textit{not} her particular
friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more
too, for I am two years older.''

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to
make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so
far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia,
that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of
common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make
her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father
not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of
Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from
the friendship of such a woman as Mrs.\ Forster, and the probability
of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton,
where the temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her attentively,
and then said:

{}``Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some
public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so
little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present
circumstances.''

{}``If you were aware,'' said Elizabeth, {}``of the very great
disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of
Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner\mbox{---}nay, which has already
arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair.''

{}``Already arisen?''\ repeated Mr.\ Bennet. {}``What, has she
frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not
be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected
with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the
list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly.''

{}``Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It
is not of particular, but of general evils, which I am now complaining.
Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by
the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which
mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you,
my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant
spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to
be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of
amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen,
be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family
ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation;
without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from
the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off
any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration
will excite. In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow
wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled!
Oh!\ my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not
be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters
will not be often involved in the disgrace?''\ 

Mr.\ Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately
taking her hand said in reply:

{}``Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are
known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to
less advantage for having a couple of\mbox{---}or I may say, three\mbox{---}very
silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not
go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man,
and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too
poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of
less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The
officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore,
that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any
rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to
lock her up for the rest of her life.''

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion
continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was
not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling
on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret
over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of
her disposition.

Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with
her father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in
their united volubility. In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton
comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the
creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered
with officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and
to scores of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the
camp\mbox{---}its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of
lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet;
and, to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent,
tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

Had she known her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and
such realities as these, what would have been her sensations? They
could have been understood only by her mother, who might have felt
nearly the same. Lydia's going to Brighton was all that consoled her
for her melancholy conviction of her husband's never intending to
go there himself.

But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures
continued, with little intermission, to the very day of Lydia's leaving
home.

Elizabeth was now to see Mr.\ Wickham for the last time. Having been
frequently in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty
well over; the agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had
even learnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted
her, an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present
behaviour to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure,
for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those intentions
which had marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve,
after what had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern
for him in finding herself thus selected as the object of such idle
and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could
not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however
long, and for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her
vanity would be gratified, and her preference secured at any time
by their renewal.

On the very last day of the regiment's remaining at Meryton, he dined,
with other of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth
disposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making some
inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford,
she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr.\ Darcy's having both
spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted
with the former.

He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection
and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen him often;
and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her
how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an
air of indifference he soon afterwards added:

{}``How long did you say he was at Rosings?''\ 

{}``Nearly three weeks.''

{}``And you saw him frequently?''\ 

{}``Yes, almost every day.''

{}``His manners are very different from his cousin's.''

{}``Yes, very different. But I think Mr.\ Darcy improves upon acquaintance.''

{}``Indeed!''\ cried Mr.\ Wickham with a look which did not escape
her. {}``And pray, may I ask?\mbox{---}'' But checking himself,
he added, in a gayer tone, {}``Is it in address that he improves?
Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?\mbox{---}for
I dare not hope,'' he continued in a lower and more serious tone,
{}``that he is improved in essentials.''

{}``Oh, no!''\ said Elizabeth. {}``In essentials, I believe, he
is very much what he ever was.''

While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to
rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a
something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive
and anxious attention, while she added:

{}``When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean
that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that,
from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.''

Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated
look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking off his embarrassment,
he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of accents:

{}``You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr.\ Darcy, will readily
comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to
assume even the \textit{appearance} of what is right. His pride, in
that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others,
for it must only deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered
by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine,
have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of
whose good opinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of
her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good
deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss
de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.''

Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only
by a slight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage
her on the old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humour
to indulge him. The rest of the evening passed with the \textit{appearance},
on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to
distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility,
and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.

When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs.\ Forster to Meryton,
from whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation
between her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was
the only one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy.
Mrs.\ Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her
daughter, and impressive in her injunctions that she should not miss
the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible\mbox{---}advice
which there was every reason to believe would be well attended to;
and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell,
the more gentle \emph{adieu}s of her sisters were uttered without
being heard.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 42}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 42}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 42}

Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could
not have formed a very pleasing opinion of conjugal felicity or domestic
comfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance
of good humour which youth and beauty generally give, had married
a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early
in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,
esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of
domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr.\ Bennet was not of a
disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence
had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console
the unfortunate for their folly of their vice. He was fond of the
country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal
enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than
as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This
is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to
owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting,
the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her
father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain;
but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment
of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook,
and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal
obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt
of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never
felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children
of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils
arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, which,
rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of
his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.

When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure she found little
other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties
abroad were less varied than before, and at home she had a mother
and sister whose constant repinings at the dullness of everything
around them threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though
Kitty might in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the
disturbers of her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose
disposition greater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened
in all her folly and assurance by a situation of such double danger
as a watering-place and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she found,
what has been sometimes been found before, that an event to which
she had been looking with impatient desire did not, in taking place,
bring all the satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently
necessary to name some other period for the commencement of actual
felicity\mbox{---}to have some other point on which her wishes and
hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying the pleasure of anticipation,
console herself for the present, and prepare for another disappointment.
Her tour to the Lakes was now the object of her happiest thoughts;
it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which
the discontentedness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and
could she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would
have been perfect.

{}``But it is fortunate,'' thought she, {}``that I have something
to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment
would be certain. But here, by carrying with me one ceaseless source
of regret in my sister's absence, I may reasonably hope to have all
my expectations of pleasure realised. A scheme of which every part
promises delight can never be successful; and general disappointment
is only warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation.''

When Lydia went away she promised to write very often and very minutely
to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected,
and always very short. Those to her mother contained little else than
that they were just returned from the library, where such and such
officers had attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful
ornaments as made her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new
parasol, which she would have described more fully, but was obliged
to leave off in a violent hurry, as Mrs.\ Forster called her, and
they were going off to the camp; and from her correspondence with
her sister, there was still less to be learnt\mbox{---}for her letters
to Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under
the words to be made public.

After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good
humour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. Everything
wore a happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter
came back again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs.\ Bennet
was restored to her usual querulous serenity; and, by the middle of
June, Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without
tears; an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that
by the following Christmas she might be so tolerably reasonable as
not to mention an officer above once a day, unless, by some cruel
and malicious arrangement at the War Office, another regiment should
be quartered in Meryton.

The time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now fast
approaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter
arrived from Mrs.\ Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement
and curtailed its extent. Mr.\ Gardiner would be prevented by business
from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London
again within a month, and as that left too short a period for them
to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to
see it with the leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged
to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour, and,
according to the present plan, were to go no farther northwards than
Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to occupy the
chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs.\ Gardiner it had a peculiarly
strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years
of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably
as great an object of her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties
of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.

Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on seeing
the Lakes, and still thought there might have been time enough. But
it was her business to be satisfied\mbox{---}and certainly her temper
to be happy; and all was soon right again.

With the mention of Derbyshire there were many ideas connected. It
was impossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley
and its owner. {}``But surely,'' said she, {}``I may enter his
county without impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars without
his perceiving me.''

The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass
away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did pass away,
and Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner, with their four children, did at length
appear at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years
old, and two younger boys, were to be left under the particular care
of their cousin Jane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady
sense and sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to
them in every way\mbox{---}teaching them, playing with them, and
loving them.

The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off the
next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One
enjoyment was certain\mbox{---}that of suitableness of companions;
a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences\mbox{---}cheerfulness
to enhance every pleasure\mbox{---}and affection and intelligence,
which might supply it among themselves if there were disappointments
abroad.

It is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire,
nor of any of the remarkable places through which their route thither
lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham, \textit{etc}.\ are
sufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present
concern. To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs.\ Gardiner's
former residence, and where she had lately learned some acquaintance
still remained, they bent their steps, after having seen all the principal
wonders of the country; and within five miles of Lambton, Elizabeth
found from her aunt that Pemberley was situated. It was not in their
direct road, nor more than a mile or two out of it. In talking over
their route the evening before, Mrs.\ Gardiner expressed an inclination
to see the place again. Mr.\ Gardiner declared his willingness, and
Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.

{}``My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have
heard so much?''\ said her aunt; {}``a place, too, with which so
many of your acquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all his youth
there, you know.''

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley,
and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She must
own that she was tired of seeing great houses; after going over so
many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.

Mrs.\ Gardiner abused her stupidity. {}``If it were merely a fine
house richly furnished,'' said she, {}``I should not care about
it myself; but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest
woods in the country.''

Elizabeth said no more\mbox{---}but her mind could not acquiesce.
The possibility of meeting Mr.\ Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly
occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea, and
thought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run
such a risk. But against this there were objections; and she finally
resolved that it could be the last resource, if her private inquiries
to the absence of the family were unfavourably answered.

Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid
whether Pemberley were not a very fine place?\ what was the name
of its proprietor?\ and, with no little alarm, whether the family
were down for the summer? A most welcome negative followed the last
question\mbox{---}and her alarms now being removed, she was at leisure
to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself; and when
the subject was revived the next morning, and she was again applied
to, could readily answer, and with a proper air of indifference, that
she had not really any dislike to the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore,
they were to go.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 43}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 43}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 43}

Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of
Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned
in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They
entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through
a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.

Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired
every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for
half-a-mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable
eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught
by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into
which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome
stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge
of high woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance
was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its
banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted.
She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where
natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.
They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment
she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door;
and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all her apprehension
of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid had
been mistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into
the hall; and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure
to wonder at her being where she was.

The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking elderly woman, much less
fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They
followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well proportioned
room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it,
went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood,
which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the
distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground
was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees
scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as she
could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms these
objects were taking different positions; but from every window there
were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their
furniture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor; but Elizabeth
saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly
fine; with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture
of Rosings.

{}``And of this place,'' thought she, {}``I might have been mistress!
With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead
of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my
own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But no,''---recollecting
herself\mbox{---}{}``that could never be; my uncle and aunt would
have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.''

This was a lucky recollection\mbox{---}it saved her from something
very like regret.

She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really
absent, but had not the courage for it. At length however, the question
was asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs.\ Reynolds
replied that he was, adding, {}``But we expect him to-morrow, with
a large party of friends.'' How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their
own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached and saw
the likeness of Mr.\ Wickham, suspended, amongst several other miniatures,
over the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked
it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was a picture of
a young gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been
brought up by him at his own expense. {}``He is now gone into the
army,'' she added; {}``but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.''

Mrs.\ Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could
not return it.

{}``And that,'' said Mrs.\ Reynolds, pointing to another of the
miniatures, {}``is my master\mbox{---}and very like him. It was
drawn at the same time as the other\mbox{---}about eight years ago.''

{}``I have heard much of your master's fine person,'' said Mrs.\
Gardiner, looking at the picture; {}``it is a handsome face. But,
Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.''

Mrs.\ Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation
of her knowing her master.

{}``Does that young lady know Mr.\ Darcy?''\ 

Elizabeth coloured, and said: {}``A little.''

{}``And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?''\ 

{}``Yes, very handsome.''

{}``I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs
you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was
my late master's favourite room, and these miniatures are just as
they used to be then. He was very fond of them.''

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr.\ Wickham's being among them.

Mrs.\ Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy,
drawn when she was only eight years old.

{}``And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?''\ said Mrs.\ Gardiner.

{}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}the handsomest young lady that ever was seen;
and so accomplished!\mbox{---}She plays and sings all day long. In
the next room is a new instrument just come down for her\mbox{---}a
present from my master; she comes here to-morrow with him.''

Mr.\ Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant, encouraged
her communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs.\ Reynolds,
either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking
of her master and his sister.

{}``Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?''\ 

{}``Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare say he may spend
half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months.''

{}``Except,'' thought Elizabeth, {}``when she goes to Ramsgate.''

{}``If your master would marry, you might see more of him.''

{}``Yes, sir; but I do not know when \textit{that} will be. I do
not know who is good enough for him.''

Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying,
{}``It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think
so.''

{}``I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows
him,'' replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty
far; and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper
added, {}``I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and
I have known him ever since he was four years old.''

This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to
her ideas. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest
opinion. Her keenest attention was awakened; she longed to hear more,
and was grateful to her uncle for saying:

{}``There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are
lucky in having such a master.''

{}``Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could
not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who
are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up;
and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy
in the world.''

Elizabeth almost stared at her. {}``Can this be Mr.\ Darcy?''\ thought
she.

{}``His father was an excellent man,'' said Mrs.\ Gardiner.

{}``Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like
him\mbox{---}just as affable to the poor.''

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more.
Mrs.\ Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She related
the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the
price of the furniture, in vain, Mr.\ Gardiner, highly amused by
the kind of family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive
commendation of her master, soon led again to the subject; and she
dwelt with energy on his many merits as they proceeded together up
the great staircase.

{}``He is the best landlord, and the best master,'' said she, {}``that
ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing
but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but will
give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I
never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does
not rattle away like other young men.''

{}``In what an amiable light does this place him!''\ thought Elizabeth.

{}``This fine account of him,'' whispered her aunt as they walked,
{}``is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.''

{}``Perhaps we might be deceived.''

{}``That is not very likely; our authority was too good.''

On reaching the spacious lobby above they were shown into a very pretty
sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness
than the apartments below; and were informed that it was but just
done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the
room when last at Pemberley.

{}``He is certainly a good brother,'' said Elizabeth, as she walked
towards one of the windows.

Mrs.\ Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight, when she should
enter the room. {}``And this is always the way with him,'' she added.
{}``Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done
in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.''

The picture-gallery, and two or three of the principal bedrooms, were
all that remained to be shown. In the former were many good paintings;
but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art; and from such as had been already
visible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of
Miss Darcy's, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting,
and also more intelligible.

In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have
little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth walked in quest
of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it
arrested her\mbox{---}and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr.\ Darcy,
with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes
seen when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture,
in earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted
the gallery. Mrs.\ Reynolds informed them that it had been taken
in his father's lifetime.

There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more gentle
sensation towards the original than she had ever felt at the height
of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs.\ Reynolds
was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise
of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she
considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship!\mbox{---}how
much of pleasure or pain was it in his power to bestow!\mbox{---}how
much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been
brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character,
and as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and
fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper
sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered
its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been
seen, they returned downstairs, and, taking leave of the housekeeper,
were consigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall-door.

As they walked across the hall towards the river, Elizabeth turned
back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and while the
former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner
of it himself suddenly came forward from the road, which led behind
it to the stables.

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his
appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes
instantly met, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest
blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from
surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party,
and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least
of perfect civility.

She had instinctively turned away; but stopping on his approach, received
his compliments with an embarrassment impossible to be overcome. Had
his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture they had just
been examining, been insufficient to assure the other two that they
now saw Mr.\ Darcy, the gardener's expression of surprise, on beholding
his master, must immediately have told it. They stood a little aloof
while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and confused,
scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what answer
she returned to his civil inquiries after her family. Amazed at the
alteration of his manner since they last parted, every sentence that
he uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the
impropriety of her being found there recurring to her mind, the few
minutes in which they continued were some of the most uncomfortable
in her life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his
accent had none of its usual sedateness; and he repeated his inquiries
as to the time of her having left Longbourn, and of her having stayed
in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly spoke
the distraction of his thoughts.

At length every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few
moments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and
took leave.

The others then joined her, and expressed admiration of his figure;
but Elizabeth heard not a word, and wholly engrossed by her own feelings,
followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation.
Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing
in the world! How strange it must appear to him! In what a disgraceful
light might it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had
purposely thrown herself in his way again! Oh!\ why did she come?
Or, why did he thus come a day before he was expected? Had they been
only ten minutes sooner, they should have been beyond the reach of
his discrimination; for it was plain that he was that moment arrived\mbox{--}--that
moment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She blushed again
and again over the perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour,
so strikingly altered\mbox{---}what could it mean? That he should
even speak to her was amazing!\mbox{---}but to speak with such civility,
to inquire after her family! Never in her life had she seen his manners
so little dignified, never had he spoken with such gentleness as on
this unexpected meeting. What a contrast did it offer to his last
address in Rosings Park, when he put his letter into her hand! She
knew not what to think, or how to account for it.

They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and
every step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer
reach of the woods to which they were approaching; but it was some
time before Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered
mechanically to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed
to direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she distinguished
no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that one spot
of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where Mr.\ Darcy then
was. She longed to know what at the moment was passing in his mind\mbox{---}in
what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of everything,
she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only because
he felt himself at ease; yet there had been \textit{that} in his voice
which was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure
in seeing her she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her
with composure.

At length, however, the remarks of her companions on her absence of
mind aroused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like
herself.

They entered the woods, and bidding \emph{adieu} to the river for
a while, ascended some of the higher grounds; when, in spots where
the opening of the trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming
views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods
overspreading many, and occasionally part of the stream. Mr.\ Gardiner
expressed a wish of going round the whole park, but feared it might
be beyond a walk. With a triumphant smile they were told that it was
ten miles round. It settled the matter; and they pursued the accustomed
circuit; which brought them again, after some time, in a descent among
hanging woods, to the edge of the water, and one of its narrowest
parts. They crossed it by a simple bridge, in character with the general
air of the scene; it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet
visited; and the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room
only for the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood
which bordered it. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings; but when
they had crossed the bridge, and perceived their distance from the
house, Mrs.\ Gardiner, who was not a great walker, could go no farther,
and thought only of returning to the carriage as quickly as possible.
Her niece was, therefore, obliged to submit, and they took their way
towards the house on the opposite side of the river, in the nearest
direction; but their progress was slow, for Mr.\ Gardiner, though
seldom able to indulge the taste, was very fond of fishing, and was
so much engaged in watching the occasional appearance of some trout
in the water, and talking to the man about them, that he advanced
but little. Whilst wandering on in this slow manner, they were again
surprised, and Elizabeth's astonishment was quite equal to what it
had been at first, by the sight of Mr.\ Darcy approaching them, and
at no great distance. The walk here being here less sheltered than
on the other side, allowed them to see him before they met. Elizabeth,
however astonished, was at least more prepared for an interview than
before, and resolved to appear and to speak with calmness, if he really
intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed, she felt that he
would probably strike into some other path. The idea lasted while
a turning in the walk concealed him from their view; the turning past,
he was immediately before them. With a glance, she saw that he had
lost none of his recent civility; and, to imitate his politeness,
she began, as they met, to admire the beauty of the place; but she
had not got beyond the words {}``delightful,'' and {}``charming,''
when some unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied that praise
of Pemberley from her might be mischievously construed. Her colour
changed, and she said no more.

Mrs.\ Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her pausing,
he asked her if she would do him the honour of introducing him to
her friends. This was a stroke of civility for which she was quite
unprepared; and she could hardly suppress a smile at his being now
seeking the acquaintance of some of those very people against whom
his pride had revolted in his offer to herself. {}``What will be
his surprise,'' thought she, {}``when he knows who they are? He
takes them now for people of fashion.''

The introduction, however, was immediately made; and as she named
their relationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him, to see
how he bore it, and was not without the expectation of his decamping
as fast as he could from such disgraceful companions. That he was
\textit{surprised} by the connection was evident; he sustained it,
however, with fortitude, and so far from going away, turned his back
with them, and entered into conversation with Mr.\ Gardiner. Elizabeth
could not but be pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling
that he should know she had some relations for whom there was no need
to blush. She listened most attentively to all that passed between
them, and gloried in every expression, every sentence of her uncle,
which marked his intelligence, his taste, or his good manners.

The conversation soon turned upon fishing; and she heard Mr.\ Darcy
invite him, with the greatest civility, to fish there as often as
he chose while he continued in the neighbourhood, offering at the
same time to supply him with fishing tackle, and pointing out those
parts of the stream where there was usually most sport. Mrs.\ Gardiner,
who was walking arm-in-arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive
of wonder. Elizabeth said nothing, but it gratified her exceedingly;
the compliment must be all for herself. Her astonishment, however,
was extreme, and continually was she repeating, {}``Why is he so
altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for \textit{me}---it
cannot be for \textit{my} sake that his manners are thus softened.
My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It is
impossible that he should still love me.''

After walking some time in this way, the two ladies in front, the
two gentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after descending to
the brink of the river for the better inspection of some curious water-plant,
there chanced to be a little alteration. It originated in Mrs.\ Gardiner,
who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found Elizabeth's arm
inadequate to her support, and consequently preferred her husband's.
Mr.\ Darcy took her place by her niece, and they walked on together.
After a short silence, the lady first spoke. She wished him to know
that she had been assured of his absence before she came to the place,
and accordingly began by observing, that his arrival had been very
unexpected\mbox{---}{}``for your housekeeper,'' she added, {}``informed
us that you would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed,
before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately
expected in the country.'' He acknowledged the truth of it all, and
said that business with his steward had occasioned his coming forward
a few hours before the rest of the party with whom he had been travelling.
{}``They will join me early to-morrow,'' he continued, {}``and
among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you\mbox{---}Mr.\ Bingley
and his sisters.''

Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly
driven back to the time when Mr.\ Bingley's name had been the last
mentioned between them; and, if she might judge by his complexion,
\textit{his} mind was not very differently engaged.

{}``There is also one other person in the party,'' he continued
after a pause, {}``who more particularly wishes to be known to you.
Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to
your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?''\ 

The surprise of such an application was great indeed; it was too great
for her to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately
felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted
with her must be the work of her brother, and, without looking farther,
it was satisfactory; it was gratifying to know that his resentment
had not made him think really ill of her.

They now walked on in silence, each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth
was not comfortable; that was impossible; but she was flattered and
pleased. His wish of introducing his sister to her was a compliment
of the highest kind. They soon outstripped the others, and when they
had reached the carriage, Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner were half a quarter
of a mile behind.

He then asked her to walk into the house\mbox{---}but she declared
herself not tired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a
time much might have been said, and silence was very awkward. She
wanted to talk, but there seemed to be an embargo on every subject.
At last she recollected that she had been travelling, and they talked
of Matlock and Dove Dale with great perseverance. Yet time and her
aunt moved slowly\mbox{---}and her patience and her ideas were nearly
worn our before the tete-a-tete was over. On Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner's
coming up they were all pressed to go into the house and take some
refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted on each side with
utmost politeness. Mr.\ Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage;
and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the
house.

The observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them
pronounced him to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected.
{}``He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,'' said
her uncle.

{}``There \textit{is} something a little stately in him, to be sure,''
replied her aunt, {}``but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming.
I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call
him proud, I have seen nothing of it.''

{}``I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was
more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity
for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling.''

{}``To be sure, Lizzy,'' said her aunt, {}``he is not so handsome
as Wickham; or, rather, he has not Wickham's countenance, for his
features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell me that he was
so disagreeable?''\ 

Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that she had
liked him better when they had met in Kent than before, and that she
had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.

{}``But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,''
replied her uncle. {}``Your great men often are; and therefore I
shall not take him at his word, as he might change his mind another
day, and warn me off his grounds.''

Elizabeth felt that they had entirely misunderstood his character,
but said nothing.

{}``From what we have seen of him,'' continued Mrs.\ Gardiner,
{}``I really should not have thought that he could have behaved in
so cruel a way by anybody as he has done by poor Wickham. He has not
an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing
about his mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity
in his countenance that would not give one an unfavourable idea of
his heart. But, to be sure, the good lady who showed us his house
did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly help laughing
aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, and \textit{that}
in the eye of a servant comprehends every virtue.''

Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication
of his behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave them to understand,
in as guarded a manner as she could, that by what she had heard from
his relations in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different
construction; and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor
Wickham's so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire.
In confirmation of this, she related the particulars of all the pecuniary
transactions in which they had been connected, without actually naming
her authority, but stating it to be such as such as might be relied
on.

Mrs.\ Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they were now
approaching the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave way
to the charm of recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing
out to her husband all the interesting spots in its environs to think
of anything else. Fatigued as she had been by the morning's walk they
had no sooner dined than she set off again in quest of her former
acquaintance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions of a
intercourse renewed after many years' discontinuance.

The occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave Elizabeth
much attention for any of these new friends; and she could do nothing
but think, and think with wonder, of Mr.\ Darcy's civility, and,
above all, of his wishing her to be acquainted with his sister.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 44}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 44}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 44}

Elizabeth had settled it that Mr.\ Darcy would bring his sister to
visit her the very day after her reaching Pemberley; and was consequently
resolved not to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning.
But her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after their
arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking about
the place with some of their new friends, and were just returning
to the inn to dress themselves for dining with the same family, when
the sound of a carriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman
and a lady in a curricle driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately
recognizing the livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small
degree of her surprise to her relations by acquainting them with the
honour which she expected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement;
and the embarrassment of her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance
itself, and many of the circumstances of the preceding day, opened
to them a new idea on the business. Nothing had ever suggested it
before, but they felt that there was no other way of accounting for
such attentions from such a quarter than by supposing a partiality
for their niece. While these newly-born notions were passing in their
heads, the perturbation of Elizabeth's feelings was at every moment
increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure; but amongst
other causes of disquiet, she dreaded lest the partiality of the brother
should have said too much in her favour; and, more than commonly anxious
to please, she naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would
fail her.

She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked
up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks
of inquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt as made everything worse.

Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction
took place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see that her new acquaintance
was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her being at Lambton,
she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the observation
of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceedingly
shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond
a monosyllable.

Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though
little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance
womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother; but
there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were
perfectly unassuming and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find
in her as acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr.\ Darcy
had been, was much relieved by discerning such different feelings.

They had not long been together before Mr.\ Darcy told her that Bingley
was also coming to wait on her; and she had barely time to express
her satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's quick
step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room.
All Elizabeth's anger against him had been long done away; but had
she still felt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against
the unaffected cordiality with which he expressed himself on seeing
her again. He inquired in a friendly, though general way, after her
family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that
he had ever done.

To Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting personage
than to herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party
before them, indeed, excited a lively attention. The suspicions which
had just arisen of Mr.\ Darcy and their niece directed their observation
towards each with an earnest though guarded inquiry; and they soon
drew from those inquiries the full conviction that one of them at
least knew what it was to love. Of the lady's sensations they remained
a little in doubt; but that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration
was evident enough.

Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the
feelings of each of her visitors; she wanted to compose her own, and
to make herself agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where
she feared most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to
whom she endeavoured to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour.
Bingley was ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined, to be
pleased.

In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and,
oh!\ how ardently did she long to know whether any of his were directed
in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy that he talked less than
on former occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion
that, as he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But,
though this might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his
behaviour to Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival to Jane. No
look appeared on either side that spoke particular regard. Nothing
occurred between them that could justify the hopes of his sister.
On this point she was soon satisfied; and two or three little circumstances
occurred ere they parted, which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted
a recollection of Jane not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of
saying more that might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He
observed to her, at a moment when the others were talking together,
and in a tone which had something of real regret, that it {}``was
a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her;'' and,
before she could reply, he added, {}``It is above eight months. We
have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing
together at Netherfield.''

Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards
took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest, whether
\textit{all} her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in
the question, nor in the preceding remark; but there was a look and
a manner which gave them meaning.

It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr.\ Darcy himself;
but, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general
complaisance, and in all that he said she heard an accent so removed
from \emph{hauteur} or disdain of his companions, as convinced her
that the improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed
however temporary its existence might prove, had at least outlived
one day. When she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance and courting
the good opinion of people with whom any intercourse a few months
ago would have been a disgrace\mbox{---}when she saw him thus civil,
not only to herself, but to the very relations whom he had openly
disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage\mbox{---}the
difference, the change was so great, and struck so forcibly on her
mind, that she could hardly restrain her astonishment from being visible.
Never, even in the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or
his dignified relations at Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to
please, so free from self-consequence or unbending reserve, as now,
when no importance could result from the success of his endeavours,
and when even the acquaintance of those to whom his attentions were
addressed would draw down the ridicule and censure of the ladies both
of Netherfield as Rosings.

Their visitors stayed with them above half-an-hour; and when they
arose to depart, Mr.\ Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing
their wish of seeing Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to
dinner at Pemberley, before they left the country. Miss Darcy, though
with a diffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations,
readily obeyed. Mrs.\ Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of knowing
how \textit{she}, whom the invitation most concerned, felt disposed
as to its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away her head. Presuming
however, that this studied avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment
than any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who was
fond of society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she ventured
to engage for her attendance, and the day after the next was fixed
on.

Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth
again, having still a great deal to say to her, and many inquiries
to make after all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, construing
all this into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased,
and on this account, as well as some others, found herself, when their
visitors left them, capable of considering the last half-hour with
some satisfaction, though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it
had been little. Eager to be alone, and fearful of inquiries or hints
from her uncle and aunt, she stayed with them only long enough to
hear their favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to
dress.

But she had no reason to fear Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner's curiosity;
it was not their wish to force her communication. It was evident that
she was much better acquainted with Mr.\ Darcy than they had before
any idea of; it was evident that he was very much in love with her.
They saw much to interest, but nothing to justify inquiry.

Of Mr.\ Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and,
as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find.
They could not be untouched by his politeness; and had they drawn
his character from their own feelings and his servant's report, without
any reference to any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to
which he was known would not have recognized it for Mr.\ Darcy. There
was now an interest, however, in believing the housekeeper; and they
soon became sensible that the authority of a servant who had known
him since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated respectability,
was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred in the
intelligence of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen
its weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he
probably had, and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants
of a small market-town where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged,
however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.

With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not
held there in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns
with the son of his patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet
a well-known fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many
debts behind him, which Mr.\ Darcy afterwards discharged.

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more
than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long,
was not long enough to determine her feelings towards \textit{one}
in that mansion; and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to
make them out. She certainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished
long ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling
a dislike against him, that could be so called. The respect created
by the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly
admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feeling;
and it was now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by
the testimony so highly in his favour, and bringing forward his disposition
in so amiable a light, which yesterday had produced. But above all,
above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill
which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude; gratitude, not merely
for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to
forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting
him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He
who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy,
seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance,
and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of
manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting
the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his
sister. Such a change in a man of so much pride exciting not only
astonishment but gratitude\mbox{---}for to love, ardent love, it
must be attributed; and as such its impression on her was of a sort
to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be
exactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to
him, she felt a real interest in his welfare; and she only wanted
to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and
how far it would be for the happiness of both that she should employ
the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing
on her the renewal of his addresses.

It had been settled in the evening between the aunt and the niece,
that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's in coming to see them
on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it
only to a late breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not
be equalled, by some exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently,
that it would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the
following morning. They were, therefore, to go. Elizabeth was pleased;
though when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say
in reply.

Mr.\ Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme
had been renewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of
his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 45}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 45}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 45}

Convinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her
had originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how unwelcome
her appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know
with how much civility on that lady's side the acquaintance would
now be renewed.

On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon,
whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows
opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high
woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish
chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.

In this house they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there
with Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived
in London. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil, but attended
with all the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and
the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves
inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs.\ Gardiner
and her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.

By Mrs.\ Hurst and Miss Bingley they were noticed only by a curtsey;
and, on their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always
be, succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs.\ Annesley,
a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some
kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either
of the others; and between her and Mrs.\ Gardiner, with occasional
help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked
as if she wished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did
venture a short sentence when there was least danger of its being
heard.

Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley,
and that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without
calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her
from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an
inconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity
of saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected
every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She
wished, she feared that the master of the house might be amongst them;
and whether she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine.
After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing
Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a
cold inquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal
indifference and brevity, and the others said no more.

The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the
entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the
finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many
a significant look and smile from Mrs.\ Annesley to Miss Darcy had
been given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for
the whole party\mbox{---}for though they could not all talk, they
could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and
peaches soon collected them round the table.

While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether
she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr.\ Darcy, by the
feelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though
but a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she
began to regret that he came.

He had been some time with Mr.\ Gardiner, who, with two or three
other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had
left him only on learning that the ladies of the family intended a
visit to Georgiana that morning. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth
wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed; a resolution
the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept,
because she saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened
against them, and that there was scarcely an eye which did not watch
his behaviour when he first came into the room. In no countenance
was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's, in
spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to
one of its objects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and
her attentions to Mr.\ Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on
her brother's entrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth
saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted,
and forwarded as much as possible, every attempt at conversation on
either side. Miss Bingley saw all this likewise; and, in the imprudence
of anger, took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility:

{}``Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the \mbox{------}shire Militia removed
from Meryton? They must be a great loss to \textit{your} family.''

In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's name; but Elizabeth
instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and
the various recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress;
but exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she
presently answered the question in a tolerably detached tone. While
she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened
complexion, earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with
confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known
what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly
would have refrained from the hint; but she had merely intended to
discompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom
she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might
injure her in Darcy's opinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter
of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family
were connected with that corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her
of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed,
where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's
connections her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from
the very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their
becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and
without meaning that it should effect his endeavour to separate him
from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to his
lively concern for the welfare of his friend.

Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion;
and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer
to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to
be able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet,
scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance
which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed
to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully.

Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above
mentioned; and while Mr.\ Darcy was attending them to their carriage
Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's
person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her
brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his judgement
could not err. And he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to
leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than lovely
and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could
not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to
his sister.

{}``How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr.\ Darcy,''
she cried; {}``I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she
is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and
I were agreeing that we should not have known her again.''

However little Mr.\ Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented
himself with coolly replying that he perceived no other alteration
than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling
in the summer.

{}``For my own part,'' she rejoined, {}``I must confess that I
never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion
has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose
wants character\mbox{---}there is nothing marked in its lines. Her
teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her
eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see
anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look,
which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency
without fashion, which is intolerable.''

Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was
not the best method of recommending herself; but angry people are
not always wise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled,
she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however,
and, from a determination of making him speak, she continued:

{}``I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed
we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly
recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield,
`\textit{She} a beauty!\mbox{---}I should as soon call her mother
a wit.' But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe
you thought her rather pretty at one time.''

{}``Yes,'' replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, {}``but
\textit{that} was only when I first saw her, for it is many months
since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintances.''

He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction
of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.

Mrs.\ Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during
their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested
them both. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were
discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention.
They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit\mbox{---}of
everything but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs.\ Gardiner
thought of him, and Mrs.\ Gardiner would have been highly gratified
by her niece's beginning the subject.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 46}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 46}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 46}

Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter
from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment
had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there;
but on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified,
by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was
marked that it had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised
at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.

They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her
uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves.
The one missent must first be attended to; it had been written five
days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties
and engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter
half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation,
gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:

\begin{quotation}{}``Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something
has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid
of alarming you\mbox{---}be assured that we are all well. What I
have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last
night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform
us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to
own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however,
it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent
a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that
his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I
can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it)
marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least,
for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is
sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we
never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget
it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured,
but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was
sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten
miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon.
Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention.
I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid
you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have
written.''\end{quotation}

Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing
what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter instantly seized
the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows:
it had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.

\begin{quotation}{}``By this time, my dearest sister, you have received
my hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but though
not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer
for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write,
but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as
the marriage between Mr.\ Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we
are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but
too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster
came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours
after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs.\ F.\ gave
them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something
was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W.\ never intended
to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel
F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B.\ intending to
trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no further;
for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach, and
dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known
after this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I
know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that
side of London, Colonel F.\ came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously
renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and
Hatfield, but without any success\mbox{---}no such people had been
seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn,
and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his
heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs.\ F., but no one can
throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great.
My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill
of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to
be married privately in town than to pursue their first plan; and
even if \textit{he} could form such a design against a young woman
of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so
lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel
F.\ is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head
when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W.\ was not a man to
be trusted. My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could
she exert herself, it would be better; but this is not to be expected.
And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor
Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was
a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest
Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes;
but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your
return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient.
\emph{Adieu}! 

I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not;
but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you
all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt
so well, that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still
something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London
with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means
to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow
him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel
Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again to-morrow evening. In such
an exigence, my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything
in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and
I rely upon his goodness.''\end{quotation}

{}``Oh!\ where, where is my uncle?''\ cried Elizabeth, darting
from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him,
without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as she reached
the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr.\ Darcy appeared. Her
pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could
recover himself to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded
by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, {}``I beg your pardon, but
I must leave you. I must find Mr.\ Gardiner this moment, on business
that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to loose.''

{}``Good God!\ what is the matter?''\ cried he, with more feeling
than politeness; then recollecting himself, {}``I will not detain
you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr.\ and Mrs.\ 
Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.''

Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt
how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling
back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless
an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and
mistress home instantly.

On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself,
and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to
leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and
commiseration, {}``Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could
take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you
one? You are very ill.''

{}``No, I thank you,'' she replied, endeavouring to recover herself.
{}``There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only
distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.''

She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could
not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say
something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate
silence. At length she spoke again. {}``I have just had a letter
from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone.
My younger sister has left all her friends\mbox{---}has eloped; has
thrown herself into the power of\mbox{---}of Mr.\ Wickham. They
are gone off together from Brighton. \textit{You} know him too well
to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that
can tempt him to\mbox{---}she is lost for ever.''

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. {}``When I consider,'' she added
in a yet more agitated voice, {}``that I might have prevented it!
I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only\mbox{---}some
part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known,
this could not have happened. But it is all\mbox{---}all too late
now.''

{}``I am grieved indeed,'' cried Dar\-cy; {}``grieved \mbox{---}
shocked. But is it certain \mbox{---} absolutely certain?''\ 

{}``Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were
traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone
to Scotland.''

{}``And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?''\ 

{}``My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's
immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour.
But nothing can be done\mbox{---}I know very well that nothing can
be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be
discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!''\ 

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

{}``When \textit{my} eyes were opened to his real character\mbox{---}Oh!\ had
I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not\mbox{---}I
was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!''\ 

Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking
up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his
air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it.
Her power was sinking; everything \textit{must} sink under such a
proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace.
She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest
brought nothing to her consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation
of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make
her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt
that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.

But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia\mbox{---}the
humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed
up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,
Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of
several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by
the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke
compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, {}``I am afraid you have
been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse
of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that
anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer
consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you with vain
wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate
affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing
you at Pemberley to-day.''

{}``Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say
that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy
truth as long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long.''

He readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow
for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at
present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations,
with only one serious, parting look, went away.

As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that
they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality
as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw
a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full
of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those
feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would
formerly have rejoiced in its termination.

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's
change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if
otherwise\mbox{---}if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable
or unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising
on a first interview with its object, and even before two words have
been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she
had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality
for Wickham, and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorise her
to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as
it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what
Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected
on that wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's second letter,
had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one
but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation.
Surprise was the least of her feelings on this development. While
the contents of the first letter remained in her mind, she was all
surprise\mbox{---}all astonishment that Wickham should marry a girl
whom it was impossible he could marry for money; and how Lydia could
ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But now it was
all too natural. For such an attachment as this she might have sufficient
charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging
in an elopement without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty
in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve
her from falling an easy prey.

She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire,
that Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that
Lydia wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes
one officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions
raised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been fluctuating
but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken
indulgence towards such a girl\mbox{---}oh!\ how acutely did she
now feel it!

She was wild to be at home\mbox{---}to hear, to see, to be upon the
spot to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon
her, in a family so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable
of exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and though almost
persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference
seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered the room her
impatience was severe. Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner had hurried back
in alarm, supposing by the servant's account that their niece was
taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she
eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters
aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy,
though Lydia had never been a favourite with them, Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner
could not but be deeply afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned
in it; and after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr.\ Gardiner
promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting
no less, thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being
actuated by one spirit, everything relating to their journey was speedily
settled. They were to be off as soon as possible. {}``But what is
to be done about Pemberley?''\ cried Mrs.\ Gardiner. {}``John
told us Mr.\ Darcy was here when you sent for us; was it so?''\ 

{}``Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement.
\textit{That} is all settled.''

{}``What is all settled?''\ repeated the other, as she ran into
her room to prepare. {}``And are they upon such terms as for her
to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was!''\ 

But wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in
the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been
at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment
was impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share
of business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes
to be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses
for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed;
and Mr.\ Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn,
nothing remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the
misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than
she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to
Longbourn.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 47}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 47}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 47}

{}``I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,'' said her uncle,
as they drove from the town; {}``and really, upon serious consideration,
I am much more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister
does on the matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young
man should form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected
or friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel's family,
that I am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that
her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed
again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His
temptation is not adequate to the risk!''\ 

{}``Do you really think so?''\ cried Elizabeth, brightening up
for a moment.

{}``Upon my word,'' said Mrs.\ Gardiner, {}``I begin to be of
your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency,
honour, and interest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so very
ill of Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as
to believe him capable of it?''\ 

{}``Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest; but of every other
neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But
I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that
had been the case?''\ 

{}``In the first place,'' replied Mr.\ Gardiner, {}``there is
no absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland.''

{}``Oh!\ but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach
is such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be
found on the Barnet road.''

{}``Well, then\mbox{---}supposing them to be in London. They may
be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptional
purpose. It is not likely that money should be very abundant on either
side; and it might strike them that they could be more economically,
though less expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland.''

{}``But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must
their marriage be private? Oh, no, no\mbox{---}this is not likely.
His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded
of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman
without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia\mbox{---}what
attraction has she beyond youth, health, and good humour that could
make him, for her sake, forego every chance of benefiting himself
by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehensions of disgrace
in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I
am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the effects that such
a step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid
it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward; and
he might imagine, from my father's behaviour, from his indolence and
the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going
forward in his family, that \textit{he} would do as little, and think
as little about it, as any father could do, in such a matter.''

{}``But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love
of him as to consent to live with him on any terms other than marriage?''\ 

{}``It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,'' replied Elizabeth,
with tears in her eyes, {}``that a sister's sense of decency and
virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know
not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very
young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and
for the last half-year, nay, for a twelvemonth\mbox{---}she has been
given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed
to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and
to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the \mbox{------}shire
were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and
officers have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her
power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater\mbox{---}what
shall I call it?\ susceptibility to her feelings; which are naturally
lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person
and address that can captivate a woman.''

{}``But you see that Jane,'' said her aunt, {}``does not think
so very ill of Wickham as to believe him capable of the attempt.''

{}``Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever
might be their former conduct, that she would think capable of such
an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well
as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate
in every sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour;
that he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating.''

{}``And do you really know all this?''\ cried Mrs.\ Gardiner,
whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.

{}``I do indeed,'' replied Elizabeth, colouring. {}``I told you,
the other day, of his infamous behaviour to Mr.\ Darcy; and you yourself,
when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who
had behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And
there are other circumstances which I am not at liberty\mbox{---}which
it is not worth while to relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley
family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy I was thoroughly
prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew
to the contrary himself. He must know that she was as amiable and
unpretending as we have found her.''

{}``But does Lydia know nothing of this?\ can she be ignorant of
what you and Jane seem so well to understand?''\ 

{}``Oh, yes!\mbox{---}that, that is the worst of all. Till I was
in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr.\ Darcy and his relation Colonel
Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned
home, the \mbox{------}shire was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's
time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole,
nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what
use could it apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which
all the neighbourhood had of him should then be overthrown? And even
when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs.\ Forster, the
necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me.
That \textit{she} could be in any danger from the deception never
entered my head. That such a consequence as \textit{this} could ensue,
you may easily believe, was far enough from my thoughts.''

{}``When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason,
I suppose, to believe them fond of each other?''\ 

{}``Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on
either side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must
be aware that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away.
When first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him;
but so we all were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses
about him for the first two months; but he never distinguished \textit{her}
by any particular attention; and, consequently, after a moderate period
of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and
others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again
became her favourites.''

\bigskip{} It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty
could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting
subject, by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from
it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts
it was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach,
she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.

They travelled as expeditiously as possible, and, sleeping one night
on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. It was
a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied
by long expectations.

The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing
on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and, when the
carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up
their faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety
of capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.

Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them a hasty kiss,
hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down from
her mother's apartment, immediately met her.

Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled
the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had
been heard of the fugitives.

{}``Not yet,'' replied Jane. {}``But now that my dear uncle is
come, I hope everything will be well.''

{}``Is my father in town?''\ 

{}``Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word.''

{}``And have you heard from him often?''\ 

{}``We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday
to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions,
which I particularly begged him to do. He merely added that he should
not write again till he had something of importance to mention.''

{}``And my mother\mbox{---}how is she? How are you all?''\ 

{}``My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are
greatly shaken. She is upstairs and will have great satisfaction in
seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and
Kitty are, thank Heaven, are quite well.''

{}``But you\mbox{---}how are you?''\ cried Elizabeth. {}``You
look pale. How much you must have gone through!''\ 

Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and
their conversation, which had been passing while Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner
were engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach
of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and
thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.

When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth
had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they
soon found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope
of good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had
not yet deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well,
and that every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia
or her father, to explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce
their marriage.

Mrs.\ Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes'
conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected;
with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous
conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage;
blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the
errors of her daughter must principally be owing.

{}``If I had been able,'' said she, {}``to carry my point in going
to Brighton, with all my family, \textit{this} would not have happened;
but poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters
ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure there was some great
neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to
do such a thing if she had been well looked after. I always thought
they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was overruled,
as I always am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr.\ Bennet gone
away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him and
then he will be killed, and what is to become of us all? The Collinses
will turn us out before he is cold in his grave, and if you are not
kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do.''

They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr.\ Gardiner,
after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family,
told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would
assist Mr.\ Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.

{}``Do not give way to useless alarm,'' added he; {}``though it
is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look
on it as certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton.
In a few days more we may gain some news of them; and till we know
that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not
let us give the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town I shall
go to my brother, and make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street;
and then we may consult together as to what is to be done.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear brother,'' replied Mrs.\ Bennet, {}``that is
exactly what I could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town,
find them out, wherever they may be; and if they are not married already,
\textit{make} them marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them
wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she
chooses to buy them, after they are married. And, above all, keep
Mr.\ Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in,
that I am frighted out of my wits\mbox{---}and have such tremblings,
such flutterings, all over me\mbox{---}such spasms in my side and
pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest
by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to give any directions
about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does not know which
are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know you
will contrive it all.''

But Mr.\ Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours
in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well
in her hopes as her fear; and after talking with her in this manner
till dinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feelings
on the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.

Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real
occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt
to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold
her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged
it better that \textit{one} only of the household, and the one whom
they could most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude
on the subject.

In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had
been too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their
appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her
toilette. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no
change was visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite
sister, or the anger which she had herself incurred in this business,
had given more of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty.
As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth,
with a countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated
at table:

{}``This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much
talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the
wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation.''

Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,
{}``Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this
useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that
one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is
no less brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much
guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.''

Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed
to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with
such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.

In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half-an-hour
by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity
of making any inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to satisfy.
After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel of
this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued
the subject, by saying, {}``But tell me all and everything about
it which I have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What
did Colonel Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before
the elopement took place? They must have seen them together for ever.''

{}``Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,
especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am
so grieved for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost.
He \textit{was} coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern,
before he had any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that
apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey.''

{}``And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he
know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny
himself?''\ 

{}``Yes; but, when questioned by \textit{him}, Denny denied knowing
anything of their plans, and would not give his real opinion about
it. He did not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying\mbox{---}and
from \textit{that}, I am inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood
before.''

{}``And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained
a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?''\ 

{}``How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains?
I felt a little uneasy\mbox{---}a little fearful of my sister's happiness
with him in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been
always quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they
only felt how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with
a very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in
Lydia's last letter she had prepared her for such a step. She had
known, it seems, of their being in love with each other, many weeks.''

{}``But not before they went to Brighton?''\ 

{}``No, I believe not.''

{}``And did Colonel Forster appear to think well of Wickham himself?
Does he know his real character?''\ 

{}``I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he
formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And
since this sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton
greatly in debt; but I hope this may be false.''

{}``Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of
him, this could not have happened!''\ 

{}``Perhaps it would have been better,'' replied her sister. {}``But
to expose the former faults of any person without knowing what their
present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best
intentions.''

{}``Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note
to his wife?''\ 

{}``He brought it with him for us to see.''

Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth.
These were the contents:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Harriet}}},

{}``You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help
laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am
missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who,
I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world
I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so
think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn
of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise
the greater, when I write to them and sign my name `Lydia Wickham.'
What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray
make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing
with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows
all; and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet,
with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn;
but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked
muslin gown before they are packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel
Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

{}``Your affectionate friend,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{Lydia}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Bennet}}}.'' 
\end{quotation}
{}``Oh!\ thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!''\ cried Elizabeth when
she had finished it. What a letter is this, to be written at such
a moment! But at least it shows that \textit{she} was serious on the
subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her
to, it was not on her side a \textit{scheme} of infamy. My poor father!\ how
he must have felt it!''\ 

{}``I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for
full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole
house in such confusion!''\ 

{}``Oh!\ Jane,'' cried Elizabeth, {}``was there a servant belonging
to it who did not know the whole story before the end of the day?''\ 

{}``I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a
time is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured
to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do
so much as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly
happen almost took from me my faculties.''

{}``Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not
look well. Oh that I had been with you!\ you have had every care
and anxiety upon yourself alone.''

{}``Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in
every fatigue, I am sure; but I did not think it right for either
of them. Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that
her hours of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came
to Longbourn on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good
as to stay till Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort
to us all. And Lady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday
morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her
daughters', if they should be of use to us.''

{}``She had better have stayed at home,'' cried Elizabeth; {}``perhaps
she \textit{meant} well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one
cannot see too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossible;
condolence insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and
be satisfied.''

She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had
intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.

{}``He meant I believe,'' replied Jane, {}``to go to Epsom, the
place where they last changed horses, see the postilions and try if
anything could be made out from them. His principal object must be
to discover the number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham.
It had come with a fare from London; and as he thought that the circumstance
of a gentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into another
might be remarked he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could
anyhow discover at what house the coachman had before set down his
fare, he determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not
be impossible to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do
not know of any other designs that he had formed; but he was in such
a hurry to be gone, and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I
had difficulty in finding out even so much as this.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 48}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 48}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 48}

The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr.\ Bennet the next
morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from
him. His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent
and dilatory correspondent; but at such a time they had hoped for
exertion. They were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence
to send; but even of \textit{that} they would have been glad to be
certain. Mr.\ Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he
set off.

When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant
information of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,
to prevail on Mr.\ Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could,
to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only
security for her husband's not being killed in a duel.

Mrs.\ Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a
few days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable
to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs.\ Bennet, and
was a great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other
aunt also visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the
design of cheering and heartening them up\mbox{---}though, as she
never came without reporting some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance
or irregularity, she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited
than she found them.

All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months
before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in
debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured
with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's
family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in
the world; and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted
the appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit
above half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance
of her sister's ruin more certain; and even Jane, who believed still
less of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was
now come when, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before
entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some
news of them.

Mr.\ Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday his wife received
a letter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately
found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street;
that Mr.\ Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival,
but without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was
now determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as
Mr.\ Bennet thought it possible they might have gone to one of them,
on their first coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr.\ Gardiner
himself did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother
was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added that
Mr.\ Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London
and promised to write again very soon. There was also a postscript
to this effect:

{}``I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out,
if possible, from some of the young man's intimates in the regiment,
whether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be likely
to know in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there
were anyone that one could apply to with a probability of gaining
such a clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present
we have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do
everything in his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second
thoughts, perhaps, Lizzy could tell us what relations he has now living,
better than any other person.''

Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference
to her authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any
information of so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved.
She had never heard of his having had any relations, except a father
and mother, both of whom had been dead many years. It was possible,
however, that some of his companions in the \mbox{------}shire might
be able to give more information; and though she was not very sanguine
in expecting it, the application was a something to look forward to.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious
part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters
was the grand object of every morning's impatience. Through letters,
whatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and
every succeeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.

But before they heard again from Mr.\ Gardiner, a letter arrived
for their father, from a different quarter, from Mr.\ Collins; which,
as Jane had received directions to open all that came for him in his
absence, she accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities
his letters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It
was as follows:

\noindent \begin{quotation}\noindent{}{}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{sir}}},

{}``I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation
in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now
suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from
Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs.\ Collins and myself
sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in
your present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because
proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall
be wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune\mbox{---}or
that may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others
the most afflicting to a parent's mind. The death of your daughter
would have been a blessing in comparison of this. And it is the more
to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my dear Charlotte
informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter
has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same
time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs.\ Bennet, I am inclined
to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could
not be guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that
may be, you are grievously to be pitied; in which opinion I am not
only joined by Mrs.\ Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and
her daughter, to whom I have related the affair. They agree with me
in apprehending that this false step in one daughter will be injurious
to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself
condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family?
And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented
satisfaction, on a certain event of last November; for had it been
otherwise, I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace.
Let me then advise you, dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible,
to throw off your unworthy child from your affection for ever, and
leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offense.

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``I am, dear sir, \textit{etc}., \textit{etc}.''
\end{quotation}

Mr.\ Gardiner did not write again till he had received an answer
from Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature
to send. It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with
whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no
near one living. His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since
he had been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms
of particular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore,
who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in
the wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful
motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia's
relations, for it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts
behind him to a very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed
that more than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses
at Brighton. He owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour
were still more formidable. Mr.\ Gardiner did not attempt to conceal
these particulars from the Longbourn family. Jane heard them with
horror. {}``A gamester!''\ she cried. {}``This is wholly unexpected.
I had not an idea of it.''

Mr.\ Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see
their father at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered
spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded
to his brother-in-law's entreaty that he would return to his family,
and leave it to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable
for continuing their pursuit. When Mrs.\ Bennet was told of this,
she did not express so much satisfaction as her children expected,
considering what her anxiety for his life had been before.

{}``What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?''\ she cried.
{}``Sure he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is
to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?''\ 

As Mrs.\ Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that
she and the children should go to London, at the same time that Mr.\ Bennet
came from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their
journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.

Mrs.\ Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and
her Derbyshire friend that had attended her from that part of the
world. His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by
her niece; and the kind of half-expectation which Mrs.\ Gardiner
had formed, of their being followed by a letter from him, had ended
in nothing. Elizabeth had received none since her return that could
come from Pemberley.

The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse
for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could
be fairly conjectured from \textit{that}, though Elizabeth, who was
by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was
perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have
borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better. It would have spared
her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.

When Mr.\ Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual
philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the
habit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him
away, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak
of it.

It was not till the afternoon, when he had joined them at tea, that
Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly
expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, {}``Say
nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own
doing, and I ought to feel it.''

{}``You must not be too severe upon yourself,'' replied Elizabeth.

{}``You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so
prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how
much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by
the impression. It will pass away soon enough.''

{}``Do you suppose them to be in London?''\ 

{}``Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?''\ 

{}``And Lydia used to want to go to London,'' added Kitty.

{}``She is happy then,'' said her father drily; {}``and her residence
there will probably be of some duration.''

Then after a short silence he continued:

{}``Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice
to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness
of mind.''

They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's
tea.

{}``This is a parade,'' he cried, {}``which does one good; it gives
such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I
will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give
as much trouble as I can; or, perhaps, I may defer it till Kitty runs
away.''

{}``I am not going to run away, papa,'' said Kitty fretfully. {}``If
I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.''

{}``\textit{You} go to Brighton. I would not trust you so near it
as Eastbourne for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to
be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever
to enter into my house again, nor even to pass through the village.
Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one
of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors till you can
prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.''

Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.

{}``Well, well,'' said he, {}``do not make yourself unhappy. If
you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review
at the end of them.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 49}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 49}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 49}

Two days after Mr.\ Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking
together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper
coming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to
their mother, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected
summons, when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, {}``I
beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you
might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of
coming to ask.''

{}``What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.''

{}``Dear madam,'' cried Mrs.\ Hill, in great astonishment, {}``don't
you know there is an express come for master from Mr.\ Gardiner?
He has been here this half-hour, and master has had a letter.''

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They
ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; from thence to
the library; their father was in neither; and they were on the point
of seeking him upstairs with their mother, when they were met by the
butler, who said:

{}``If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards
the little copse.''

Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once
more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately
pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.

Jane, who was not so light nor so much in the habit of running as
Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath,
came up with him, and eagerly cried out:

{}``Oh, papa, what news\mbox{---}what news? Have you heard from
my uncle?''\ 

{}``Yes I have had a letter from him by express.''

{}``Well, and what news does it bring\mbox{---}good or bad?''\ 

{}``What is there of good to be expected?''\ said he, taking the
letter from his pocket. {}``But perhaps you would like to read it.''

Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.

{}``Read it aloud,'' said their father, {}``for I hardly know myself
what it is about.''

\begin{quotation}
\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Gracechurch Street,\nopagebreak[4]

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Monday, August 2.\nopagebreak[4]

\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{brother}}}\emph{\noun{,}}\nopagebreak[4]

{}``At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such
as, upon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfaction. Soon after
you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what
part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet;
it is enough to know they are discovered. I have seen them both\mbox{---}'' 
\end{quotation}
\hspace{0.25in}{}``Then it is as I always hoped,'' cried Jane;
{}``they are married!''\ 

Elizabeth read on:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can
I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are willing
to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side,
I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is required of
you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her equal share
of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after the
decease of yourself and my sister; and, moreover, to enter into an
engagement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per
annum. These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no
hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged,
for you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in
bringing me your answer. You will easily comprehend, from these particulars,
that Mr.\ Wickham's circumstances are not so hopeless as they are
generally believed to be. The world has been deceived in that respect;
and I am happy to say there will be some little money, even when all
his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her
own fortune. If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full
powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business,
I will immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper
settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming
to town again; therefore stay quiet at Longbourn, and depend on my
diligence and care. Send back your answer as fast as you can, and
be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best that my niece
should be married from this house, of which I hope you will approve.
She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as anything more
is determined on. Yours, \textit{etc}.,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\noun{Edw}\emph{\noun{.}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Gardiner}}}.'' 
\end{quotation}
{}``Is it possible?''\ cried Elizabeth, when she had finished.
{}``Can it be possible that he will marry her?''\ 

{}``Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we thought him,'' said
her sister. {}``My dear father, I congratulate you.''

{}``And have you answered the letter?''\ cried Elizabeth.

{}``No; but it must be done soon.''

Most earnestly did she then entreat him to lose no more time before
he wrote.

{}``Oh!\ my dear father,'' she cried, {}``come back and write
immediately. Consider how important every moment is in such a case.''

{}``Let me write for you,'' said Jane, {}``if you dislike the trouble
yourself.''

{}``I dislike it very much,'' he replied; {}``but it must be done.''

And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.

{}``And may I ask\mbox{---}'' said Elizabeth; {}``but the terms,
I suppose, must be complied with.''

{}``Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little.''

{}``And they \textit{must} marry! Yet he is \textit{such} a man!''\ 

{}``Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done.
But there are two things that I want very much to know; one is, how
much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about; and the other,
how am I ever to pay him.''

{}``Money! My uncle!''\ cried Jane, {}``what do you mean, sir?''\ 

{}``I mean, that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight
a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after
I am gone.''

{}``That is very true,'' said Elizabeth; {}``though it had not
occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and something still
to remain! Oh!\ it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man,
I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all
this.''

{}``No,'' said her father; {}``Wickham's a fool if he takes her
with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to
think so ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship.''

{}``Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to
be repaid?''\ 

Mr.\ Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued
silent till they reached the house. Their father then went on to the
library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

{}``And they are really to be married!''\ cried Elizabeth, as soon
as they were by themselves. {}``How strange this is! And for \textit{this}
we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance
of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice.
Oh, Lydia!''\ 

{}``I comfort myself with thinking,'' replied Jane, {}``that he
certainly would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her.
Though our kind uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot
believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced.
He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare
half ten thousand pounds?''\ 

{}``If he were ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been,''
said Elizabeth, {}``and how much is settled on his side on our sister,
we shall exactly know what Mr.\ Gardiner has done for them, because
Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and
aunt can never be requited. Their taking her home, and affording her
their personal protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to
her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By
this time she is actually with them! If such goodness does not make
her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting
for her, when she first sees my aunt!''\ 

{}``We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side,''
said Jane: {}``I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting
to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right
way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter
myself they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner,
as may in time make their past imprudence forgotten.''

{}``Their conduct has been such,'' replied Elizabeth, {}``as neither
you, nor I, nor anybody can ever forget. It is useless to talk of
it.''

It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood
perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library,
therefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to
make it known to her. He was writing and, without raising his head,
coolly replied:

{}``Just as you please.''

{}``May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?''\ 

{}``Take whatever you like, and get away.''

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-table, and they went upstairs
together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs.\ Bennet: one communication
would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation for good
news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs.\ Bennet could hardly contain
herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr.\ Gardiner's hope of Lydia's
being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence
added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from
delight, as she had ever been fidgety from alarm and vexation. To
know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed
by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her
misconduct.

{}``My dear, dear Lydia!''\ she cried. {}``This is delightful
indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married
at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew
he would manage everything! How I long to see her!\ and to see dear
Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to
my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to
your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I
will go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things
in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when
we meet!''\ 

Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence
of these transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which
Mr.\ Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.

{}``For we must attribute this happy conclusion,'' she added, {}``in
a great measure to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged
himself to assist Mr.\ Wickham with money.''

{}``Well,'' cried her mother, {}``it is all very right; who should
do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I
and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it is the
first time we have ever had anything from him, except a few presents.
Well! I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter married.
Mrs.\ Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last
June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I can't
write; so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with
your father about the money afterwards; but the things should be ordered
immediately.''

She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin,
and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders,
had not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till
her father was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay, she observed,
would be of small importance; and her mother was too happy to be quite
so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into her head.

{}``I will go to Meryton,'' said she, {}``as soon as I am dressed,
and tell the good, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back,
I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs.\ Long. Kitty, run down and order
the carriage. An airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure.
Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill!
My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to
be married; and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at
her wedding.''

Mrs.\ Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received
her congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly,
took refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.

Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was
no worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though,
in looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity
could be justly expected for her sister, in looking back to what they
had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what
they had gained.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 50}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 50}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 50}

Mr.\ Bennet had very often wished before this period of his life
that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual
sum for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if
she survived him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his
duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle
for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The
satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men
in Great Britain to be her husband might then have rested in its proper
place.

He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to
anyone should be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law,
and he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his
assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.

When first Mr.\ Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly
useless, for, of course, they were to have a son. The son was to join
in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the
widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five
daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come;
and Mrs.\ Bennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain
that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was
then too late to be saving. Mrs.\ Bennet had no turn for economy,
and her husband's love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding
their income.

Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs.\ Bennet
and the children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst
the latter depended on the will of the parents. This was one point,
with regard to Lydia, at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr.\ Bennet
could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In
terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother,
though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect
approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the
engagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed
that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would
be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present
arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by the
hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket
allowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her
through her mother's hands, Lydia's expenses had been very little
within that sum.

That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too,
was another very welcome surprise; for his wish at present was to
have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first
transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her
were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His
letter was soon dispatched; for, though dilatory in undertaking business,
he was quick in its execution. He begged to know further particulars
of what he was indebted to his brother, but was too angry with Lydia
to send any message to her.

The good news spread quickly through the house, and with proportionate
speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent
philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage
of conversation had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the
happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant
farmhouse. But there was much to be talked of in marrying her; and
the good-natured wishes for her well-doing which had proceeded before
from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton lost but a little of their
spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband
her misery was considered certain.

It was a fortnight since Mrs.\ Bennet had been downstairs; but on
this happy day she again took her seat at the head of her table, and
in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to
her triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first
object of her wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point
of accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those
attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants.
She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a proper situation
for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering what their income
might be, rejected many as deficient in size and importance.

{}``Haye Park might do,'' said she, {}``if the Gouldings could
quit it\mbox{---}or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room
were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not bear to have
her ten miles from me; and as for Pulvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.''

Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption while the
servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her: {}``Mrs.\ Bennet,
before you take any or all of these houses for your son and daughter,
let us come to a right understanding. Into \textit{one} house in this
neighbourhood they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage
the impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn.''

A long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr.\ Bennet was firm.
It soon led to another; and Mrs.\ Bennet found, with amazement and
horror, that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes
for his daughter. He protested that she should receive from him no
mark of affection whatever on the occasion. Mrs.\ Bennet could hardly
comprehend it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of
inconceivable resentment as to refuse his daughter a privilege without
which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all she could
believe possible. She was more alive to the disgrace which her want
of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any
sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight
before they took place.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress
of the moment, been led to make Mr.\ Darcy acquainted with their
fears for her sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give
the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal
its unfavourable beginning from all those who were not immediately
on the spot.

She had no fear of its spreading farther through his means. There
were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;
but, at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister's
frailty would have mortified her so much\mbox{---}not, however, from
any fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself, for, at
any rate, there seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's
marriage been concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to
be supposed that Mr.\ Darcy would connect himself with a family where,
to every other objection, would now be added an alliance and relationship
of the nearest kind with a man whom he so justly scorned.

From such a connection she could not wonder that he would shrink.
The wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of
his feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive
such a blow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented,
though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem,
when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to
hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence.
She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it
was no longer likely they should meet.

What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the
proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would
now have been most gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous,
she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex; but while he was
mortal, there must be a triumph.

She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition
and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though
unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union
that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness,
his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from
his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have
received benefit of greater importance.

But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude
what connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency,
and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed
in their family.

How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence,
she could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could
belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions
were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.

\bigskip{} Mr.\ Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr.\ Bennet's
acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurance of his eagerness
to promote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with entreaties
that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal
purport of his letter was to inform them that Mr.\ Wickham had resolved
on quitting the militia.

\begin{quotation}
{}``It was greatly my wish that he should do so,'' he added, {}``as
soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with
me, in considering the removal from that corps as highly advisable,
both on his account and my niece's. It is Mr.\ Wickham's intention
to go into the regulars; and among his former friends, there are still
some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the
promise of an ensigncy in General \mbox{------}'s regiment, now quartered
in the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part
of the kingdom. He promises fairly; and I hope among different people,
where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be
more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of
our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the
various creditors of Mr.\ Wickham in and near Brighton, with assurances
of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give
yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors
in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list according to his information?
He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived
us. Haggerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a
week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited
to Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs.\ Gardiner, that my niece
is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves the South. She
is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to you and your mother.\mbox{---}Yours,
\textit{etc}.,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}\emph{{}``}\noun{E}\emph{\noun{.}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Gardiner}}}.'' 
\end{quotation}
Mr.\ Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's
removal from the \mbox{------shire} as clearly as Mr.\ Gardiner
could do. But Mrs.\ Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's
being settled in the North, just when she had expected most pleasure
and pride in her company, for she had by no means given up her plan
of their residing in Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and,
besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment
where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites.

{}``She is so fond of Mrs.\ Forster,'' said she, {}``it will be
quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young
men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant
in General \mbox{------}'s regiment.''

His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being
admitted into her family again before she set off for the North, received
at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed
in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and consequence,
that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him
so earnestly yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her
husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed
on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their mother
had the satisfaction of knowing that she would be able to show her
married daughter in the neighbourhood before she was banished to the
North. When Mr.\ Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he
sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as
soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth
was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme,
and had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him
would have been the last object of her wishes.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 51}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 51}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 51}

Their sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for
her probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent
to meet them at \mbox{------}, and they were to return in it by dinner-time.
Their arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets, and Jane more
especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended
herself, had she been the culprit, and was wretched in the thought
of what her sister must endure.

They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room to receive
them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs.\ Bennet as the carriage drove
up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters,
alarmed, anxious, uneasy.

Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open,
and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her,
and welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand, with an affectionate
smile, to Wickham, who followed his lady; and wished them both joy
with an alacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.

Their reception from Mr.\ Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not
quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and
he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple,
indeed, was enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even
Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed,
wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding
their congratulations; and when at length they all sat down, looked
eagerly round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it,
and observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had
been there.

Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners
were always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been
exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he
claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth
had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she
sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to
the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed; but
the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation
of colour.

There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither
of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near Elizabeth,
began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with
a good humoured ease which she felt very unable to equal in her replies.
They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world.
Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily
to subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for the world.

{}``Only think of its being three months,'' she cried, {}``since
I went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have
been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious!\ when I went
away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back
again!\ though I thought it would be very good fun if I was.''

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked
expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw any thing
of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, {}``Oh!\ mamma,
do the people hereabouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they
might not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I
was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass
next to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon
the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed
and smiled like any thing.''

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the
room; and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the
hall to the dining parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see
Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand, and
hear her say to her eldest sister, {}``Ah!\ Jane, I take your place
now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman.''

It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment
from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good
spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs.\ Phillips, the Lucases,
and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called {}``Mrs.\ Wickham''
by each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to show
her ring, and boast of being married, to Mrs.\ Hill and the two housemaids.

{}``Well, mamma,'' said she, when they were all returned to the
breakfast room, {}``and what do you think of my husband? Is not he
a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope
they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That
is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not
all go.''

{}``Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia,
I don't at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?''\ 

{}``Oh, lord!\ yes;\mbox{---}there is nothing in that. I shall
like it of all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down
and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say
there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good partners
for them all.''

{}``I should like it beyond any thing!''\ said her mother.

{}``And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters
behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the
winter is over.''

{}``I thank you for my share of the favour,'' said Elizabeth; {}``but
I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands.''

Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr.\ Wickham
had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join
his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

No one but Mrs.\ Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short;
and she made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter,
and having very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable
to all; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as
did think, than such as did not.

Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected
to find it; not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed
her present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things,
that their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love,
rather than by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently
caring for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt
certain that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances;
and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity
of having a companion.

Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every
occasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every
thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds
on the first of September, than any body else in the country.

One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her
two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth:

{}``Lizzy, I never gave \textit{you} an account of my wedding, I
believe. You were not by, when I told mamma and the others all about
it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?''\ 

{}``No really,'' replied Elizabeth; {}``I think there cannot be
too little said on the subject.''

{}``La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off.
We were married, you know, at St.\ Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings
were in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there
by eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and
the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came,
and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something
would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted.
And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and
talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not
hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of
my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his
blue coat.''

{}``Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would
never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle
and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll
believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was
there a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure
London was rather thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open.
Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called
away upon business to that horrid man Mr.\ Stone. And then, you know,
when once they get together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so
frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me
away; and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all
day. But, luckily, he came back again in ten minutes' time, and then
we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been
prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr.\ Darcy
might have done as well.''

{}``Mr.\ Darcy!''\ repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.

{}``Oh, yes!\mbox{---}he was to come there with Wickham, you know.
But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about
it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to
be such a secret!''\ 

{}``If it was to be secret,'' said Jane, {}``say not another word
on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further.''

{}``Oh!\ certainly,'' said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity;
{}``we will ask you no questions.''

{}``Thank you,'' said Lydia, {}``for if you did, I should certainly
tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry.''

On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of
her power, by running away.

But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least
it was impossible not to try for information. Mr.\ Darcy had been
at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among
people, where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation
to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried
into her brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased
her, as placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable.
She could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,
wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what
Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had
been intended.

{}``You may readily comprehend,'' she added, {}``what my curiosity
must be to know how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively
speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at
such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it\mbox{---}unless
it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia
seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied
with ignorance.''

{}``Not that I \textit{shall}, though,'' she added to herself, as
she finished the letter; {}``and my dear aunt, if you do not tell
me in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks
and stratagems to find it out.''

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth
privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it;\mbox{---}till
it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any satisfaction,
she had rather be without a confidante.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 52}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 52}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 52}

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter
as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of
it than, hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely
to be interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches and prepared
to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did
not contain a denial.

\begin{quotation}
\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Gracechurch street,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Sept.\ 6.

\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Niece}}}\emph{\noun{,}}

{}``I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a \textit{little} writing
will not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised
by your application; I did not expect it from \textit{you}. Don't
think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know that I had
not imagined such inquiries to be necessary on \textit{your} side.
If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your
uncle is as much surprised as I am\mbox{---}and nothing but the belief
of your being a party concerned would have allowed him to act as he
has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant, I must be more
explicit.

{}``On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle
had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.\ Darcy called, and was shut up
with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so my curiosity
was not so dreadfully racked as \textit{your's} seems to have been.
He came to tell Mr.\ Gardiner that he had found out where your sister
and Mr.\ Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them
both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once. From what I can collect, he
left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and came to town with
the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his conviction
of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not
been so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of
character to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole
to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it
beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on
by himself. If he \textit{had} \textit{another} motive, I am sure
it would never disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before
he was able to discover them; but he had something to direct his search,
which was more than \textit{we} had; and the consciousness of this
was another reason for his resolving to follow us.

{}``There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs.\ Younge, who was some time
ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on
some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then
took a large house in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself
by letting lodgings. This Mrs.\ Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted
with Wickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him as soon as
he got to town. But it was two or three days before he could get from
her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without
bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was
to be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her on their first arrival
in London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in \mbox{------}
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His
first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to
quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her friends
as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his
assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved
on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she
wanted no help of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She
was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not
much signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained,
he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which, in his very
first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had never been \textit{his}
design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment, on account
of some debts of honour, which were very pressing; and scrupled not
to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly
alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his
future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must
go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on.

{}``Mr.\ Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister at once.
Though Mr.\ Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would have
been able to do something for him, and his situation must have been
benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this question, that
Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune
by marriage in some other country. Under such circumstances, however,
he was not likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate
relief.

{}``They met several times, for there was much to be discussed. Wickham
of course wanted more than he could get; but at length was reduced
to be reasonable.

{}``Every thing being settled between \textit{them}, Mr.\ Darcy's
next step was to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first
called in Gracechurch street the evening before I came home. But Mr.\ Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr.\ Darcy found, on further inquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning.
He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly
consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him
till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name,
and till the next day it was only known that a gentleman had called
on business.

{}``On Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at
home, and, as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together.

{}``They met again on Sunday, and then \textit{I} saw him too. It
was not all settled before Monday: as soon as it was, the express
was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy,
Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character, after all.
He has been accused of many faults at different times, but \textit{this}
is the true one. Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself;
though I am sure (and I do not speak it to be thanked, therefore say
nothing about it), your uncle would most readily have settled the
whole.

{}``They battled it together for a long time, which was more than
either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last
your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be
of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable
credit of it, which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe
your letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required
an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than
yourself, or Jane at most.

{}``You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young
people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably
more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to her own
settled upon \textit{her}, and his commission purchased. The reason
why all this was to be done by him alone, was such as I have given
above. It was owing to him, to his reserve and want of proper consideration,
that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently
that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was
some truth in \textit{this}; though I doubt whether \textit{his} reserve,
or \textit{anybody's} reserve, can be answerable for the event. But
in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly
assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given
him credit for \textit{another} \textit{interest} in the affair.

{}``When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends,
who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should
be in London once more when the wedding took place, and all money
matters were then to receive the last finish.

{}``I believe I have now told you every thing. It is a relation which
you tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at least it will
not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham had
constant admission to the house. \textit{He} was exactly what he had
been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how
little I was satisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us,
if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her
conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece with it, and therefore
what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly
in the most serious manner, representing to her all the wickedness
of what she had done, and all the unhappiness she had brought on her
family. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did
not listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected
my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with
her.

{}``Mr.\ Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed
you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was
to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry
with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what
I was never bold enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour
to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and \textit{that}, if he marry \textit{prudently},
his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;\mbox{---}he hardly
ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion.

{}``Pray forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do
not punish me so far as to exclude me from P.\  I shall never be
quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with
a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing.

{}``But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this
half hour.

{}``Yours, very sincerely,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}\emph{{}``}\noun{M}\emph{\noun{.}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Gardiner}}}.'' 
\end{quotation}
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,
in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore
the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty
had produced of what Mr.\ Darcy might have been doing to forward
her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion
of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded
to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their
greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town,
he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant
on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a
woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced
to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe,
the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it
was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl
whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that
he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other
considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient,
when required to depend on his affection for her\mbox{---}for a woman
who had already refused him\mbox{---}as able to overcome a sentiment
so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law
of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He
had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But
he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary
stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been
wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and
though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she
could, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality for her might assist
his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially
concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they
were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return.
They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to
him. Oh!\ how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation
she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed
towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.
Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to
get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of
him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She
was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding
how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection
and confidence subsisted between Mr.\ Darcy and herself.

She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's approach;
and before she could strike into another path, she was overtaken by
Wickham.

{}``I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?''\ 
said he, as he joined her.

{}``You certainly do,'' she replied with a smile; {}``but it does
not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome.''

{}``I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We were always good friends;
and now we are better.''

{}``True. Are the others coming out?''\ 

{}``I do not know. Mrs.\ Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage
to Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find, from our uncle and aunt,
that you have actually seen Pemberley.''

She replied in the affirmative.

{}``I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be
too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And
you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always
very fond of me. But of course she did not mention my name to you.''

{}``Yes, she did.''

{}``And what did she say?''\ 

{}``That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had\mbox{---}not
turned out well. At such a distance as \textit{that}, you know, things
are strangely misrepresented.''

{}``Certainly,'' he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she
had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said:

{}``I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each
other several times. I wonder what he can be doing there.''

{}``Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh,'' said
Elizabeth. {}``It must be something particular, to take him there
at this time of year.''

{}``Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought
I understood from the Gardiners that you had.''

{}``Yes; he introduced us to his sister.''

{}``And do you like her?''\ 

{}``Very much.''

{}``I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within
this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising.
I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well.''

{}``I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age.''

{}``Did you go by the village of Kympton?''\ 

{}``I do not recollect that we did.''

{}``I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have
had. A most delightful place!\mbox{---}Excellent Parsonage House!
It would have suited me in every respect.''

{}``How should you have liked making sermons?''\ 

{}``Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty,
and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to repine;\mbox{---}but,
to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The quiet, the
retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas of happiness!
But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance,
when you were in Kent?''\ 

{}``I have heard from authority, which I thought \textit{as} \textit{good},
that it was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present
patron.''

{}``You have. Yes, there was something in \textit{that}; I told you
so from the first, you may remember.''

{}``I \textit{did} hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making
was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you
actually declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that
the business had been compromised accordingly.''

{}``You did!\ and it was not wholly without foundation. You may
remember what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.''

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked
fast to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister's sake, to provoke
him, she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile:

{}``Come, Mr.\ Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do
not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always
of one mind.''

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though
he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 53}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 53}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 53}

Mr.\ Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation that
he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,
by introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that
she had said enough to keep him quiet.

The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs.\ Bennet
was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no
means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was
likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.

{}``Oh!\ my dear Lydia,'' she cried, {}``when shall we meet again?''\ 

{}``Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.''

{}``Write to me very often, my dear.''

{}``As often as I can. But you know married women have never much
time for writing. My sisters may write to \textit{me}. They will have
nothing else to do.''

Mr.\ Wickham's \emph{adieu}s were much more affectionate than his
wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.

{}``He is as fine a fellow,'' said Mr.\ Bennet, as soon as they
were out of the house, {}``as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks,
and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even
Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law.''

The loss of her daughter made Mrs.\ Bennet very dull for several
days.

{}``I often think,'' said she, {}``that there is nothing so bad
as parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without them.''

{}``This is the consequence, you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter,''
said Elizabeth. {}``It must make you better satisfied that your other
four are single.''

{}``It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married,
but only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off.
If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.''

But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly
relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an
article of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper
at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her
master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several
weeks. Mrs.\ Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane,
and smiled and shook her head by turns.

{}``Well, well, and so Mr.\ Bingley is coming down, sister,'' (for
Mrs.\ Phillips first brought her the news). {}``Well, so much the
better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you
know, and I am sure \textit{I} never want to see him again. But, however,
he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who
knows what \textit{may} happen? But that is nothing to us. You know,
sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so,
is it quite certain he is coming?''\ 

{}``You may depend on it,'' replied the other, {}``for Mrs.\ Nicholls
was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself
on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain
true. He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday.
She was going to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in
some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just
fit to be killed.''

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing
colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Elizabeth;
but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said:

{}``I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the
present report; and I know I appeared distressed. But don't imagine
it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because
I felt that I \textit{should} be looked at. I do assure you that the
news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of
one thing, that he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him.
Not that I am afraid of \textit{myself}, but I dread other people's
remarks.''

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in
Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with
no other view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him
partial to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of
his coming there \textit{with} his friend's permission, or being bold
enough to come without it.

{}``Yet it is hard,'' she sometimes thought, {}``that this poor
man cannot come to a house which he has legally hired, without raising
all this speculation! I \textit{will} leave him to himself.''

In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her
feelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily
perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed,
more unequal, than she had often seen them.

The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents,
about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

{}``As soon as ever Mr.\ Bingley comes, my dear,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet,
{}``you will wait on him of course.''

{}``No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised,
if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it
ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again.''

His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention
would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to
Netherfield.

{}``'Tis an etiquette I despise,'' said he. {}``If he wants our
society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend
my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away and
come back again.''

{}``Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do
not wait on him. But, however, that shan't prevent my asking him to
dine here, I am determined. We must have Mrs.\ Long and the Gouldings
soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just
room at table for him.''

Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband's
incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her neighbours
might all see Mr.\ Bingley, in consequence of it, before \textit{they}
did. As the day of his arrival drew near:

{}``I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,'' said Jane to her
sister. {}``It would be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference,
but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother
means well; but she does not know, no one can know, how much I suffer
from what she says. Happy shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield
is over!''\ 

{}``I wish I could say any thing to comfort you,'' replied Elizabeth;
{}``but it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual
satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because
you have always so much.''

Mr.\ Bingley arrived. Mrs.\ Bennet, through the assistance of servants,
contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety
and fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could. She counted
the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent;
hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his
arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him, from her dressing-room window,
enter the paddock and ride towards the house.

Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely
kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother,
went to the window\mbox{---}she looked,\mbox{---}she saw Mr.\ Darcy
with him, and sat down again by her sister.

{}``There is a gentleman with him, mamma,'' said Kitty; {}``who
can it be?''\ 

{}``Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do
not know.''

{}``La!''\ replied Kitty, {}``it looks just like that man that
used to be with him before. Mr.\ what's-his-name. That tall, proud
man.''

{}``Good gracious! Mr.\ Darcy!\mbox{---}and so it does, I vow.
Well, any friend of Mr.\ Bingley's will always be welcome here, to
be sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him.''

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little
of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness
which must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time
after receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable
enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and
their mother talked on, of her dislike of Mr.\ Darcy, and her resolution
to be civil to him only as Mr.\ Bingley's friend, without being heard
by either of them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could
not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to
shew Mrs.\ Gardiner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment
towards him. To Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had
refused, and whose merit she had undervalued; but to her own more
extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole family
were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself
with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and
just as what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming\mbox{---}at
his coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her
again, was almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing
his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.

The colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half
a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre
to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection
and wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure.

{}``Let me first see how he behaves,'' said she; {}``it will then
be early enough for expectation.''

She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring
to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face
of her sister as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked
a little paler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected.
On the gentlemen's appearing, her colour increased; yet she received
them with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally
free from any symptom of resentment or any unnecessary complaisance.

Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat
down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command.
She had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious, as usual;
and, she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire,
than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in
her mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It
was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.

Bingley, she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period
saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs.\ Bennet
with a degree of civility which made her two daughters ashamed, especially
when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her curtsey
and address to his friend.

Elizabeth, particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter
the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy,
was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction
so ill applied.

Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Gardiner did, a
question which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely
any thing. He was not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of
his silence; but it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked
to her friends, when he could not to herself. But now several minutes
elapsed without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally,
unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised he eyes to his
face, she as often found him looking at Jane as at herself, and frequently
on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety
to please, than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was
disappointed, and angry with herself for being so.

{}``Could I expect it to be otherwise!''\ said she. {}``Yet why
did he come?''\ 

She was in no humour for conversation with anyone but himself; and
to him she had hardly courage to speak.

She inquired after his sister, but could do no more.

{}``It is a long time, Mr.\ Bingley, since you went away,'' said
Mrs.\ Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

{}``I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People
\textit{did} say you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas;
but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened
in the neighbourhood, since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and
settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of
it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in \emph{The
Times} and \emph{The Courier}, I know; though it was not put in as
it ought to be. It was only said, `Lately, George Wickham, Esq.\ to
Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a syllable said of her father,
or the place where she lived, or any thing. It was my brother Gardiner's
drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business
of it. Did you see it?''\ 

Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth
dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr.\ Darcy looked, therefore, she
could not tell.

{}``It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well
married,'' continued her mother, {}``but at the same time, Mr.\ Bingley,
it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone
down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they
are to stay I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose
you have heard of his leaving the \mbox{------}shire, and of his
being gone into the regulars. Thank Heaven!\ he has \textit{some}
friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves.''

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr.\ Darcy, was in such
misery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from
her, however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so
effectually done before; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to
make any stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.

{}``When you have killed all your own birds, Mr.\ Bingley,'' said
her mother, {}``I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you
please on Mr.\ Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy
to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.''

Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious
attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as had
flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be
hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant, she felt
that years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for
moments of such painful confusion.

{}``The first wish of my heart,'' said she to herself, {}``is never
more to be in company with either of them. Their society can afford
no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me
never see either one or the other again!''\ 

Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no compensation,
received soon afterwards material relief, from observing how much
the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of her former lover.
When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little; but every
five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found
her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as
unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference
should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded that she
talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged, that she
did not always know when she was silent.

When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs.\ Bennet was mindful of her
intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at Longbourn
in a few days time.

{}``You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr.\ Bingley,'' she added,
{}``for when you went to town last winter, you promised to take a
family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot,
you see; and I assure you, I was very much disappointed that you did
not come back and keep your engagement.''

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something
of his concern at having been prevented by business. They then went
away.

Mrs.\ Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine
there that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she
did not think any thing less than two courses could be good enough
for a man on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite
and pride of one who had ten thousand a year.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 54}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 54}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 54}

As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;
or in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects
that must deaden them more. Mr.\ Darcy's behaviour astonished and
vexed her.

{}``Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,''
said she, {}``did he come at all?''\ 

She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.

{}``He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt,
when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither?
If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing, man! I
will think no more about him.''

Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach
of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which showed her
better satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.

{}``Now,'' said she, {}``that this first meeting is over, I feel
perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed
again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then
be publicly seen that, on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent
acquaintance.''

{}``Yes, very indifferent indeed,'' said Elizabeth, laughingly.
{}``Oh, Jane, take care.''

{}``My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger
now?''\ 

{}``I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in
love with you as ever.''

\bigskip{} They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and
Mrs.\ Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes,
which the good humour and common politeness of Bingley, in half an
hour's visit, had revived.

On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the
two who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality
as sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the dining-room,
Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place,
which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by her sister.
Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to invite
him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to hesitate;
but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was decided.
He placed himself by her.

Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend.
He bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that
Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his
eyes likewise turned towards Mr.\ Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing
alarm.

His behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as showed
an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded
Elizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's happiness, and his
own, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the
consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour.
It gave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she
was in no cheerful humour. Mr.\ Darcy was almost as far from her
as the table could divide them. He was on one side of her mother.
She knew how little such a situation would give pleasure to either,
or make either appear to advantage. She was not near enough to hear
any of their discourse, but she could see how seldom they spoke to
each other, and how formal and cold was their manner whenever they
did. Her mother's ungraciousness, made the sense of what they owed
him more painful to Elizabeth's mind; and she would, at times, have
given any thing to be privileged to tell him that his kindness was
neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the family.

She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of
bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass
away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation
than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious
and uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the
gentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made
her uncivil. She looked forward to their entrance as the point on
which all her chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.

{}``If he does not come to me, \textit{then},'' said she, {}``I
shall give him up for ever.''

The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have
answered her hopes; but, alas!\ the ladies had crowded round the
table, where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out
the coffee, in so close a confederacy that there was not a single
vacancy near her which would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's
approaching, one of the girls moved closer to her than ever, and said,
in a whisper:

{}``The men shan't come and part us, I am determined. We want none
of them; do we?''\ 

Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him
with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience
enough to help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against herself
for being so silly!

{}``A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish
enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex,
who would not protest against such a weakness as a second proposal
to the same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!''\ 

She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee
cup himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying:

{}``Is your sister at Pemberley still?''\ 

{}``Yes, she will remain there till Christmas.''

{}``And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?''\ 

{}``Mrs.\ Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to
Scarborough, these three weeks.''

She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse
with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however,
for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady's whispering
to Elizabeth again, he walked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and the card-tables placed, the
ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by
him, when all her views were overthrown by seeing him fall a victim
to her mother's rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after
seated with the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation
of pleasure. They were confined for the evening at different tables,
and she had nothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned
towards her side of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully
as herself.

Mrs.\ Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to
supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the
others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.

{}``Well girls,'' said she, as soon as they were left to themselves,
{}``What say you to the day? I think every thing has passed off uncommonly
well, I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw.
The venison was roasted to a turn\mbox{---}and everybody said they
never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what
we had at the Lucases' last week; and even Mr.\ Darcy acknowledged,
that the partridges were remarkably well done; and I suppose he has
two or three French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw
you look in greater beauty. Mrs.\ Long said so too, for I asked her
whether you did not. And what do you think she said besides? `Ah!
Mrs.\ Bennet, we shall have her at Netherfield at last.' She did
indeed. I do think Mrs.\ Long is as good a creature as ever lived\mbox{---}and
her nieces are very pretty behaved girls, and not at all handsome:
I like them prodigiously.''

Mrs.\ Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough
of Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get
him at last; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when
in a happy humour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed
at not seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.

{}``It has been a very agreeable day,'' said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth.
{}``The party seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other.
I hope we may often meet again.''

Elizabeth smiled.

{}``Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies
me. I assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation
as an agreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish beyond
it. I am perfectly satisfied, from what his manners now are, that
he never had any design of engaging my affection. It is only that
he is blessed with greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire
of generally pleasing, than any other man.''

{}``You are very cruel,'' said her sister, {}``you will not let
me smile, and are provoking me to it every moment.''

{}``How hard it is in some cases to be believed!''\ 

{}``And how impossible in others!''\ 

{}``But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than
I acknowledge?''\ 

{}``That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all
love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing.
Forgive me; and if you persist in indifference, do not make me your
confidante.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 55}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 55}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 55}

A few days after this visit, Mr.\ Bingley called again, and alone.
His friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return
home in ten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in
remarkably good spirits. Mrs.\ Bennet invited him to dine with them;
but, with many expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged
elsewhere.

{}``Next time you call,'' said she, {}``I hope we shall be more
lucky.''

He should be particularly happy at any time, \textit{etc}.\ \textit{etc}.;
and if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of
waiting on them.

{}``Can you come to-morrow?''\ 

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation
was accepted with alacrity.

He came, and in such very good time that the ladies were none of them
dressed. In ran Mrs.\ Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressing
gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out:

{}``My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come\mbox{---}Mr.\ Bingley
is come. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come
to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind
Miss Lizzy's hair.''

{}``We will be down as soon as we can,'' said Jane; {}``but I dare
say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs half
an hour ago.''

{}``Oh!\ hang Kitty!\ what has she to do with it? Come be quick,
be quick! Where is your sash, my dear?''\ 

But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go
down without one of her sisters.

The same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the
evening. After tea, Mr.\ Bennet retired to the library, as was his
custom, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of
the five being thus removed, Mrs.\ Bennet sat looking and winking
at Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making
any impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when
at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, {}``What is the matter
mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?''\ 

{}``Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you.'' She then sat
still five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion,
she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty, {}``Come here, my love,
I want to speak to you,'' took her out of the room. Jane instantly
gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such premeditation,
and her entreaty that \textit{she} would not give in to it. In a few
minutes, Mrs.\ Bennet half-opened the door and called out:

{}``Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.''

Elizabeth was forced to go.

{}``We may as well leave them by themselves you know;'' said her
mother, as soon as she was in the hall. {}``Kitty and I are going
upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.''

Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained
quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned
into the drawing-room.

Mrs.\ Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was
every thing that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter.
His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to
their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness
of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance
and command of countenance particularly grateful to the daughter.

He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went
away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs.\ Bennet's
means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.

After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word
passed between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went
to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless
Mr.\ Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she
felt tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with
that gentleman's concurrence.

Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr.\ Bennet spent
the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more
agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption
or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him
into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than
the other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to
dinner; and in the evening Mrs.\ Bennet's invention was again at
work to get every body away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth,
who had a letter to write, went into the breakfast room for that purpose
soon after tea; for as the others were all going to sit down to cards,
she could not be wanted to counteract her mother's schemes.

But on returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished,
she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her
mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived
her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged
in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces
of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other,
would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but \textit{her's}
she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either;
and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley,
who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering
a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.

Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would
give pleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the
liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.

{}``'Tis too much!''\ she added, {}``by far too much. I do not
deserve it. Oh!\ why is not everybody as happy?''\ 

Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth,
a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of
kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not
allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to
be said for the present.

{}``I must go instantly to my mother;'' she cried. {}``I would
not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow
her to hear it from anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already.
Oh!\ Lizzy, to know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure
to all my dear family!\ how shall I bear so much happiness!''\ 

She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up
the card party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and
ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them
so many previous months of suspense and vexation.

{}``And this,'' said she, {}``is the end of all his friend's anxious
circumspection!\ of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance!\ the
happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!''\ 

In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with
her father had been short and to the purpose.

{}``Where is your sister?''\ said he hastily, as he opened the
door.

{}``With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare
say.''

He then shut the door, and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes
and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed
her delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands
with great cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had
to listen to all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane's
perfections; and in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed
all his expectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because
they had for basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent
disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste
between her and himself.

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction
of Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face,
as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and
hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs.\ Bennet could not give her consent
or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,
though she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour; and
when Mr.\ Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly
showed how really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their
visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone,
he turned to his daughter, and said:

{}``Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.''

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.

{}``You are a good girl;'' he replied, {}``and I have great pleasure
in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of
your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike.
You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved
on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that
you will always exceed your income.''

{}``I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters
would be unpardonable in me.''

{}``Exceed their income! My dear Mr.\ Bennet,'' cried his wife,
{}``what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a
year, and very likely more.'' Then addressing her daughter, {}``Oh!\ my
dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I shan't get a wink of sleep
all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so, at
last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember,
as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last
year, I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh!\ he
is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!''

Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her
favourite child. At that moment, she cared for no other. Her younger
sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness
which she might in future be able to dispense.

Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty
begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;
coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after
supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough
detested, had given him an invitation to dinner which he thought himself
obliged to accept.

Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister;
for while he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone
else; but she found herself considerably useful to both of them in
those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence
of Jane, he always attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure
of talking of her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought
the same means of relief.

{}``He has made me so happy,'' said she, one evening, {}``by telling
me that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I
had not believed it possible.''

{}``I suspected as much,'' replied Elizabeth. {}``But how did he
account for it?''\ 

{}``It must have been his sister's doing. They were certainly no
friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since
he might have chosen so much more advantageously in many respects.
But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy
with me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good
terms again; though we can never be what we once were to each other.''

{}``That is the most unforgiving speech,'' said Elizabeth, {}``that
I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see
you again the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard.''

{}``Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November,
he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of \textit{my} being
indifferent would have prevented his coming down again!''

{}``He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit
of his modesty.''

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence,
and the little value he put on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was
pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference of his friend;
for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the
world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against
him.

{}``I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!''\
cried Jane. {}``Oh!\ Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family,
and blessed above them all! If I could but see \textit{you} as happy!
If there \textit{were} but such another man for you!''

{}``If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy
as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have
your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if
I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr.\ Collins in time.''

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long
a secret. Mrs.\ Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs.\ Phillips,
and she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her
neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in
the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run
away, they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 56}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 56}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 56}

One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had
been formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together
in the dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window,
by the sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving
up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides,
the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The
horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the
servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain,
however, that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on
Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk
away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures
of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction,
till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lady
Catherine de Bourgh.

They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their astonishment
was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.\ Bennet and
Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to
what Elizabeth felt.

She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made
no other reply to Elizabeth's salutation than a slight inclination
of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned
her name to her mother on her ladyship's entrance, though no request
of introduction had been made.

Mrs.\ Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of
such high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After
sitting for a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to Elizabeth,

{}``I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your
mother.''

Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.

{}``And \textit{that} I suppose is one of your sisters.''

{}``Yes, madam,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet, delighted to speak to a Lady
Catherine. {}``She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all
is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking
with a young man who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family.''

{}``You have a very small park here,'' returned Lady Catherine after
a short silence.

{}``It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say;
but I assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's.''

{}``This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening,
in summer; the windows are full west.''

Mrs.\ Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner,
and then added:

{}``May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left
Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Collins well.''

{}``Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last.''

Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from
Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling.
But no letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.

Mrs.\ Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some
refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely,
declined eating any thing; and then, rising up, said to Elizabeth,

{}``Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little
wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn
in it, if you will favour me with your company.''

{}``Go, my dear,'' cried her mother, {}``and show her ladyship
about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.''

Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol, attended
her noble guest down stairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady
Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and drawing-room,
and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent looking rooms,
walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her waiting-woman
was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led
to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for conversation
with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

{}``How could I ever think her like her nephew?''\ said she, as
she looked in her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following
manner:\mbox{---}

{}``You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason
of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell
you why I come.''

Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.

{}``Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able
to account for the honour of seeing you here.''

{}``Miss Bennet,'' replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, {}``you
ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere
\textit{you} may choose to be, you shall not find \textit{me} so.
My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness,
and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart
from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago.
I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most
advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew,
my own nephew, Mr.\ Darcy. Though I \textit{know} it must be a scandalous
falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the
truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this
place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.''

{}``If you believed it impossible to be true,'' said Elizabeth,
colouring with astonishment and disdain, {}``I wonder you took the
trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?''\ 

{}``At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.''

{}``Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,'' said Elizabeth
coolly, {}``will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such
a report is in existence.''

{}``If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been
industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such
a report is spread abroad?''\ 

{}``I never heard that it was.''

{}``And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for
it?''\ 

{}``I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship.
You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.''

{}``This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied.
Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?''\ 

{}``Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.''

{}``It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of
his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation,
have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family.
You may have drawn him in.''

{}``If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.''

{}``Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed
to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has
in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.''

{}``But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour
as this, ever induce me to be explicit.''

{}``Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the
presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr.\ Darcy
is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?''\ 

{}``Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose
he will make an offer to me.''

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied:

{}``The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their
infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite
wish of \textit{his} mother, as well as of her's. While in their cradles,
we planned the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both
sisters would be accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by
a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and
wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes
of his friends? To his tacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you
lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard
me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?''\ 

{}``Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there
is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly
not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him
to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning
the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr.\ Darcy is
neither by honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not
he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I
accept him?''\ 

{}``Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it.
Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his
family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of
all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected
with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even
be mentioned by any of us.''

{}``These are heavy misfortunes,'' replied Elizabeth. {}``But the
wife of Mr.\ Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness
necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole,
have no cause to repine.''

{}``Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your
gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to
me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet,
that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose;
nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to
any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.''

{}``\textit{That} will make your ladyship's situation at present
more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me.''

{}``I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and
my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal
side, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable,
honourable, and ancient\mbox{---}though untitled\mbox{--}--families.
Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each
other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and
what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without
family, connections, or fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must
not, shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would
not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.''

{}``In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting
that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far
we are equal.''

{}``True. You \textit{are} a gentleman's daughter. But who was your
mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant
of their condition.''

{}``Whatever my connections may be,'' said Elizabeth, {}``if your
nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to \textit{you}.''

{}``Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?''\ 

Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady
Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after
a moment's deliberation:

{}``I am not.''

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

{}``And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?''\ 

{}``I will make no promise of the kind.''

{}``Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a
more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief
that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me
the assurance I require.''

{}``And I certainly \textit{never} shall give it. I am not to be
intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants
Mr.\ Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for
promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to
be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish
to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that
the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application
have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have
widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such
persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference
in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to
concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned
no farther on the subject.''

{}``Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all
the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add.
I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous
elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her was a
patched-up business, at the expence of your father and uncles. And
is such a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is her husband, is the son
of his late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!\mbox{---}of
what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?''\ 

{}``You can now have nothing farther to say,'' she resentfully answered.
{}``You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to
return to the house.''

And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned
back. Her ladyship was highly incensed.

{}``You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew!
Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with
you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?''\ 

{}``Lady Catherine, I have nothing farther to say. You know my sentiments.''

{}``You are then resolved to have him?''\ 

{}``I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that
manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without
reference to \textit{you}, or to any person so wholly unconnected
with me.''

{}``It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey
the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin
him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of
the world.''

{}``Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,'' replied Elizabeth,
{}``have any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle
of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr.\ Darcy. And with
regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignation of the
world, if the former \textit{were} excited by his marrying me, it
would not give me one moment's concern\mbox{---}and the world in
general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.''

{}``And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very
well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that
your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to
find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point.''

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door
of the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added, {}``I take
no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother.
You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.''

Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her ladyship
to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard
the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Her mother impatiently
met her at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine
would not come in again and rest herself.

{}``She did not choose it,'' said her daughter, {}``she would go.''

{}``She is a very fine-looking woman!\ and her calling here was
prodigiously civil!\ for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the
Collinses were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and
so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you.
I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?''\ 

Elizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to
acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 57}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 57}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 57}

The discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth
into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she, for many hours,
learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it appeared,
had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings, for the
sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.\ Darcy.
It was a rational scheme, to be sure!\ but from what the report of
their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;
till she recollected that \textit{his} being the intimate friend of
Bingley, and \textit{her} being the sister of Jane, was enough, at
a time when the expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for
another, to supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel
that the marriage of her sister must bring them more frequently together.
And her neighbours at Lucas lodge, therefore (for through their communication
with the Collinses, the report, she concluded, had reached Lady Catherine),
had only set that down as almost certain and immediate, which she
had looked forward to as possible at some future time.

In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not
help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her
persisting in this interference. From what she had said of her resolution
to prevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must
meditate an application to her nephew; and how \textit{he} might take
a similar representation of the evils attached to a connection with
her, she dared not pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his
affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it
was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her ladyship
than \textit{she} could do; and it was certain that, in enumerating
the miseries of a marriage with \textit{one}, whose immediate connections
were so unequal to his own, his aunt would address him on his weakest
side. With his notions of dignity, he would probably feel that the
arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak and ridiculous, contained
much good sense and solid reasoning.

If he had been wavering before as to what he should do, which had
often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation
might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy
as dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return
no more. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through town; and
his engagement to Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give
way.

{}``If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come
to his friend within a few days,'' she added, {}``I shall know how
to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every
wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me,
when he might have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease
to regret him at all.''

\bigskip{} The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who
their visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied
it, with the same kind of supposition which had appeased Mrs.\ Bennet's
curiosity; and Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.

The next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was met by her
father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

{}``Lizzy,'' said he, {}``I was going to look for you; come into
my room.''

She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to
tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner
connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it
might be from Lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all
the consequent explanations.

She followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down.
He then said,

{}``I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me
exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know
its contents. I did not know before, that I had two daughters on the
brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.''

The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks in the instantaneous
conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt;
and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained
himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed
to herself; when her father continued:

{}``You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such
matters as these; but I think I may defy even \textit{your} sagacity,
to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr.\ Collins.''

{}``From Mr.\ Collins!\ and what can \textit{he} have to say?''

{}``Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with
congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter,
of which, it seems, he has been told by some of the good-natured,
gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading
what he says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows.''
\begin{quote}{}``Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations
of Mrs.\ Collins and myself on this happy event, let me now add a
short hint on the subject of another; of which we have been advertised
by the same authority. Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will
not long bear the name of Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned
it, and the chosen partner of her fate may be reasonably looked up
to as one of the most illustrious personages in this land.''\end{quote}

{}``Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?''\begin{quote}{}``This
young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing the
heart of mortal can most desire,\mbox{---}splendid property, noble
kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations,
let me warn my cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may
incur by a precipitate closure with this gentleman's proposals, which,
of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.''\end{quote}

{}``Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes
out.''

\begin{quote}{}``My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We
have reason to imagine that his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does
not look on the match with a friendly eye.''\end{quote}

{}``\textit{Mr}.\ \textit{Darcy}, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy,
I think I \textit{have} surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have
pitched on any man within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name
would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr.\ Darcy,
who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably
never looked at you in his life! It is admirable!''

Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could only
force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in
a manner so little agreeable to her.

{}``Are you not diverted?''

{}``Oh!\ yes. Pray read on.''

\begin{quote}{}``After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage
to her ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual condescension,
expressed what she felt on the occasion; when it become apparent,
that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cousin,
she would never give her consent to what she termed so disgraceful
a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of
this to my cousin, that she and her noble admirer may be aware of
what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has
not been properly sanctioned.''\end{quote} {}``Mr.\ Collins moreover
adds,'' \begin{quote}{}``I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's
sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that
their living together before the marriage took place should be so
generally known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station,
or refrain from declaring my amazement at hearing that you received
the young couple into your house as soon as they were married. It
was an encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn,
I should very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to
forgive them as a christian, but never to admit them in your sight,
or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.''\end{quote}
{}``That is his notion of christian forgiveness! The rest of his
letter is only about his dear Charlotte's situation, and his expectation
of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy
it. You are not going to be Missish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted
at an idle report. For what do we live, but to make sport for our
neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?''

{}``Oh!''\ cried Elizabeth, {}``I am excessively diverted. But
it is so strange!''

{}``Yes\mbox{---}\textit{that} is what makes it amusing. Had they
fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but \textit{his}
perfect indifference, and \textit{your} pointed dislike, make it so
delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give
up Mr.\ Collins's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when
I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even
over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law.
And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she
call to refuse her consent?''

To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it
had been asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed
by his repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make
her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh,
when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified
her, by what he said of Mr.\ Darcy's indifference, and she could
do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that
perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied
too much.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 58}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 58}

\markboth{Pride and Prejudice}{Chapter 58}

Instead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as
Elizabeth half expected Mr.\ Bingley to do, he was able to bring
Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady
Catherine's visit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs.\ Bennet
had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter
sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane,
proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs.\ Bennet was
not in the habit of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the
remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed
the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth,
Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said
by either; Kitty was too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was
secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing
the same.

They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon
Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern,
when Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the
moment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was
high, she immediately said:

{}``Mr.\ Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake
of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding
your's. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness
to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious
to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the
rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.''

{}``I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,'' replied Darcy, in a tone of
surprise and emotion, {}``that you have ever been informed of what
may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think
Mrs.\ Gardiner was so little to be trusted.''

{}``You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed
to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I
could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again
and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion
which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications,
for the sake of discovering them.''

{}``If you \textit{will} thank me,'' he replied, {}``let it be
for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might
add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt
to deny. But your \textit{family} owe me nothing. Much as I respect
them, I believe I thought only of \textit{you}.''

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,
her companion added, {}``You are too generous to trifle with me.
If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at
once. \textit{My} affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word
from you will silence me on this subject for ever.''

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety
of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though
not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had
undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded,
as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances.
The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably
never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly
and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had
Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how
well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face,
became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and
he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she
was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much
to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.
She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding
to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through
London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and
the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically
on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship's apprehension,
peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that
such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise
from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for
her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

{}``It taught me to hope,'' said he, {}``as I had scarcely ever
allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to
be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against
me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and
openly.''

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, {}``Yes, you know
enough of my frankness to believe me capable of \textit{that}. After
abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in
abusing you to all your relations.''

{}``What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your
accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour
to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable.
I cannot think of it without abhorrence.''

{}``We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to
that evening,'' said Elizabeth. {}``The conduct of neither, if strictly
examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I
hope, improved in civility.''

{}``I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection
of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during
the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful
to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: `had you
behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You
know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;\mbox{---}though
it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow
their justice.''

{}``I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong
an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt
in such a way.''

{}``I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every
proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I
shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you
in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.''

{}``Oh!\ do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will
not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed
of it.''

Darcy mentioned his letter. {}``Did it,'' said he, {}``did it soon
make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit
to its contents?''\ 

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all
her former prejudices had been removed.

{}``I knew,'' said he, {}``that what I wrote must give you pain,
but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There
was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your
having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions
which might justly make you hate me.''

{}``The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential
to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason
to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope,
quite so easily changed as that implies.''

{}``When I wrote that letter,'' replied Darcy, {}``I believed myself
perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written
in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.''

{}``The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end
so. The \emph{adieu} is charity itself. But think no more of the letter.
The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received
it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every
unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must
learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance
gives you pleasure.''

{}``I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your
retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment
arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better,
of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will
intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been
a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.
As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct
my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in
pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only
child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my
father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed,
encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care
for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest
of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and
worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty;
and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth!
What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first,
but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you
without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were
all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.''

{}``Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?''\ 

{}``Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you
to be wishing, expecting my addresses.''

{}``My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I
assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often
lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after \textit{that} evening?''\ 

{}``Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began
to take a proper direction.''

{}``I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we
met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?''\ 

{}``No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.''

{}``Your surprise could not be greater than \textit{mine} in being
noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary
politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive \textit{more}
than my due.''

{}``My object then,'' replied Darcy, {}``was to show you, by every
civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past;
and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion,
by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon
any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe
in about half an hour after I had seen you.''

He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of
her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading
to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution
of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed
before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness
there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose
must comprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject
to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to
know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches,
that it was time to be at home.

{}``What could become of Mr.\ Bingley and Jane!''\ was a wonder
which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted
with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information
of it.

{}``I must ask whether you were surprised?''\ said Elizabeth.

{}``Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.''

{}``That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.''
And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty
much the case.

{}``On the evening before my going to London,'' said he, {}``I
made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long
ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference
in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He
had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that
I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your
sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that
his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness
together.''

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his
friend.

{}``Did you speak from your own observation,'' said she, {}``when
you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information
last spring?''\


{}``From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits
which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection.''

{}``And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction
to him.''

{}``It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had
prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case,
but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess
one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could
not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three
months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from
him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer
than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has
heartily forgiven me now.''

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr.\ Bingley had been a most delightful
friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked
herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at,
and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness
of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he
continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall
they parted.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 59}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 59}

\markboth{PRIDE AND PREJUDICE}{CHAPTER 59}

{}``My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?''\ was a
question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered
their room, and from all the others when they sat down to table. She
had only to say in reply, that they had wandered about, till she was
beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that,
nor any thing else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.

The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extraordinary. The
acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent.
Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;
and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather \textit{knew} that she
was happy than \textit{felt} herself to be so; for, besides the immediate
embarrassment, there were other evils before her. She anticipated
what would be felt in the family when her situation became known;
she was aware that no one liked him but Jane; and even feared that
with the others it was a dislike which not all his fortune and consequence
might do away.

At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far
from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous
here.

{}``You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!\mbox{---}engaged to Mr.\ Darcy!
No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible.''

{}``This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on
you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet,
indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves
me, and we are engaged.''

Jane looked at her doubtingly. {}``Oh, Lizzy!\ it cannot be. I know
how much you dislike him.''

{}``You know nothing of the matter. \textit{That} is all to be forgot.
Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such
cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time
I shall ever remember it myself.''

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more
seriously assured her of its truth.

{}``Good Heaven!\ can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you,''
cried Jane. {}``My dear, dear Lizzy, I would\mbox{---}I do congratulate
you\mbox{---}but are you certain?\ forgive the question\mbox{---}are
you quite certain that you can be happy with him?''

{}``There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already,
that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased,
Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?''

{}``Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself
more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible.
And do you really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy!\ do any
thing rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that
you feel what you ought to do?''

{}``Oh, yes! You will only think I feel \textit{more} than I ought
to do, when I tell you all.''

{}``What do you mean?''

{}``Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley.
I am afraid you will be angry.''

{}``My dearest sister, now \textit{be} serious. I want to talk very
seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay.
Will you tell me how long you have loved him?''\


{}``It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it
began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful
grounds at Pemberley.''

Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the
desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances
of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing
farther to wish.

{}``Now I am quite happy,'' said she, {}``for you will be as happy
as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his
love of you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's
friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more
dear to me. But Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with
me. How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton!
I owe all that I know of it to another, not to you.''

Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling
to mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had
made her equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no
longer conceal from her his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged,
and half the night spent in conversation.

\bigskip{} {}``Good gracious!''\ cried Mrs.\ Bennet, as she stood
at a window the next morning, {}``if that disagreeable Mr.\ Darcy
is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by
being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but
he would go a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us
with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must walk
out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way.''

Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal;
yet was really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such
an epithet.

As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and
shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information;
and he soon afterwards said aloud, {}``Mrs.\ Bennet, have you no
more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?''\


{}``I advise Mr.\ Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,'' said Mrs.\ Bennet,
{}``to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk,
and Mr.\ Darcy has never seen the view.''

{}``It may do very well for the others,'' replied Mr.\ Bingley;
{}``but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won't it, Kitty?''\
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great
curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented.
As she went up stairs to get ready, Mrs.\ Bennet followed her, saying:

{}``I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that
disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it:
it is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for
talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself
to inconvenience.''

During their walk, it was resolved that Mr.\ Bennet's consent should
be asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself
the application for her mother's. She could not determine how her
mother would take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and
grandeur would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But
whether she were violently set against the match, or violently delighted
with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted
to do credit to her sense; and she could no more bear that Mr.\ Darcy
should hear the first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence
of her disapprobation.

\bigskip{} In the evening, soon after Mr.\ Bennet withdrew to the
library, she saw Mr.\ Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation
on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition,
but he was going to be made unhappy; and that it should be through
her means\mbox{---}that \textit{she}, his favourite child, should
be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him with fears
and regrets in disposing of her\mbox{---}was a wretched reflection,
and she sat in misery till Mr.\ Darcy appeared again, when, looking
at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he
approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while
pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, {}``Go to your father,
he wants you in the library.'' She was gone directly.

Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious.
{}``Lizzy,'' said he, {}``what are you doing? Are you out of your
senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?''\


How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been
more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared
her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward
to give; but they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some
confusion, of her attachment to Mr.\ Darcy.

{}``Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich,
to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages
than Jane. But will they make you happy?''\


{}``Have you any other objection,'' said Elizabeth, {}``than your
belief of my indifference?''\


{}``None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of
man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.''

{}``I do, I do like him,'' she replied, with tears in her eyes,
{}``I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly
amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain
me by speaking of him in such terms.''

{}``Lizzy,'' said her father, {}``I have given him my consent.
He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse
any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to \textit{you},
if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think
better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could
be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband;
unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would
place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could
scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the
grief of seeing \textit{you} unable to respect your partner in life.
You know not what you are about.''

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply;
and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr.\ Darcy was really
the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her
estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that
his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of
many months suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities,
she did conquer her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the
match.

{}``Well, my dear,'' said he, when she ceased speaking, {}``I have
no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not
have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.''

To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr.\ Darcy
had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.

{}``This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did every
thing; made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts,
and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a
world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must
and \textit{would} have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry
every thing their own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he
will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end
of the matter.''

He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading
Mr.\ Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed
her at last to go\mbox{---}saying, as she quitted the room, {}``If
any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite
at leisure.''

Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after
half an hour's quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join
the others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for
gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer
any thing material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity
would come in time.

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed
her, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary;
for on first hearing it, Mrs.\ Bennet sat quite still, and unable
to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she
could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to
credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the
shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to
fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless
herself.

{}``Good gracious! Lord bless me!\ only think!\ dear me! Mr.\ Darcy!
Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh!\ my sweetest
Lizzy!\ how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what
jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it\mbox{---}nothing
at all. I am so pleased\mbox{---}so happy. Such a charming man!\mbox{---}so
handsome!\ so tall!\mbox{---}Oh, my dear Lizzy!\ pray apologise
for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook
it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing that is charming!
Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will
become of me. I shall go distracted.''

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted:
and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,
soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,
her mother followed her.

{}``My dearest child,'' she cried, {}``I can think of nothing else!
Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord!
And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a special
licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr.\ Darcy is particularly
fond of, that I may have it to-morrow.''

This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman
himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain
possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations'
consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow
passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs.\ Bennet luckily
stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not
to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention,
or mark her deference for his opinion.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to
get acquainted with him; and Mr.\ Bennet soon assured her that he
was rising every hour in his esteem.

{}``I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,'' said he. {}``Wickham,
perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like \textit{your} husband
quite as well as Jane's.''


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 60}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 60}

\markboth{PRIDE AND PREJUDICE}{CHAPTER 60}

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.\ Darcy
to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. {}``How could
you begin?''\ said she. {}``I can comprehend your going on charmingly,
when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in
the first place?''

{}``I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words,
which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle
before I knew that I \textit{had} begun.''

{}``My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners\mbox{---}my
behaviour to \textit{you} was at least always bordering on the uncivil,
and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than
not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?''

{}``For the liveliness of your mind, I did.''

{}``You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little
less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of
officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always
speaking, and looking, and thinking for \textit{your} approbation
alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike \textit{them}.
Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but
in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings
were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised
the persons who so assiduously courted you. There\mbox{---}I have
saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things
considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure,
you knew no actual good of me\mbox{---}but nobody thinks of \textit{that}
when they fall in love.''

{}``Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane while
she was ill at Netherfield?''

{}``Dearest Jane!\ who could have done less for her? But make a
virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection,
and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return,
it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with
you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what
made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you
so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why,
especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about
me?''

{}``Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.''

{}``But I was embarrassed.''

{}``And so was I.''

{}``You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.''

{}``A man who had felt less, might.''

{}``How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give,
and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how
long you \textit{would} have gone on, if you had been left to yourself.
I wonder when you \textit{would} have spoken, if I had not asked you!
My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly
great effect. \textit{Too} \textit{much}, I am afraid; for what becomes
of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise?\ for
I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do.''

{}``You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair.
Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the
means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present
happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was
not in a humour to wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence
had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.''

{}``Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make
her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come
down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be
embarrassed?\ or had you intended any more serious consequence?''\


{}``My real purpose was to see \textit{you}, and to judge, if I could,
whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what
I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial
to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I
have since made.''

{}``Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what
is to befall her?''\ 

{}``I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth. But
it ought to done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall
be done directly.''

{}``And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you
and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once
did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.''

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr.\ Darcy
had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs.\ Gardiner's
long letter; but now, having \textit{that} to communicate which she
knew would be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her
uncle and aunt had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately
wrote as follows:

\begin{quotation}
{}``I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to
have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars;
but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more
than really existed. But \textit{now} suppose as much as you choose;
give a loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible
flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me actually
married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and
praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you,
again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly
as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round
the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps
other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I
am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr.\ Darcy sends
you all the love in the world that he can spare from me. You are all
to come to Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, \textit{etc}.'' 
\end{quotation}
Mr.\ Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style; and
still different from either was what Mr.\ Bennet sent to Mr.\ Collins,
in reply to his last.

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{Dear}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{Sir}}},\nopagebreak[4]

{}``I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will
soon be the wife of Mr.\ Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as
you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more
to give.

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Yours sincerely, \textit{etc}.'' 
\end{quotation}
Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching
marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote
even to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all
her former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was
affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing
her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information,
was as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper
were insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest
desire of being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr.\ Collins, or any congratulations
to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the Collinses
were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden removal
was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly
angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte, really
rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the storm was
blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend was a sincere
pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their meetings she
must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she saw Mr.\ Darcy
exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her husband.
He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even listen
to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the
brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all
meeting frequently at St.\ James's, with very decent composure. If
he did shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of
sight.

Mrs.\ Phillips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax
on his forbearance; and though Mrs.\ Phillips, as well as her sister,
stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's
good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she \textit{did} speak, she
must be vulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more
quiet, at all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she
could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever
anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom
he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable
feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much
of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked
forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from
society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance
of their family party at Pemberley.


\chapter*{\raggedright Chapter 61}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Chapter 61}

\markboth{PRIDE AND PREJUDICE}{CHAPTER 61}

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs.\ Bennet
got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride
she afterwards visited Mrs.\ Bingley, and talked of Mrs.\ Darcy,
may be guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that
the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so
many of her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a
sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though
perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished
domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally
nervous and invariably silly.

Mr.\ Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection
for her drew him oftener from home than any thing else could do. He
delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.

Mr.\ Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth.
So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable
even to \textit{his} easy temper, or \textit{her} affectionate heart.
The darling wish of his sisters was then gratified; he bought an estate
in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in
addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles
of each other.

Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time
with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had
generally known, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable
a temper as Lydia; and, removed from the influence of Lydia's example,
she became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less
ignorant, and less insipid. From the farther disadvantage of Lydia's
society she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs.\ Wickham
frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise
of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going.

Mary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily
drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs.\ Bennet's being
quite unable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world,
but she could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she
was no longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters' beauty
and her own, it was suspected by her father that she submitted to
the change without much reluctance.

As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution
from the marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction
that Elizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude
and falsehood had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every
thing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed
on to make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which Elizabeth
received from Lydia on her marriage, explained to her that, by his
wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter
was to this effect:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Lizzy}}},

{}``I wish you joy. If you love Mr.\ Darcy half as well as I do
my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to
have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you
will think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very
much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live
upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four
hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Mr.\ Darcy about it,
if you had rather not.

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Yours, \textit{etc}.'' 
\end{quotation}
As it happened that Elizabeth had \textit{much} rather not, she endeavoured
in her answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the
kind. Such relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the
practice of what might be called economy in her own private expences,
she frequently sent them. It had always been evident to her that such
an income as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant
in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient
to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either
Jane or herself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance
towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when
the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in
the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest
of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. His
affection for her soon sunk into indifference; her's lasted a little
longer; and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all
the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.

Though Darcy could never receive \textit{him} at Pemberley, yet, for
Elizabeth's sake, he assisted him farther in his profession. Lydia
was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy
himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them
frequently staid so long, that even Bingley's good humour was overcome,
and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.

Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's marriage; but as
she thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley,
she dropt all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost
as attentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of
civility to Elizabeth.

Pemberley was now Georgiana's home; and the attachment of the sisters
was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each
other even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion
in the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with
an astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive, manner
of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself
a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object
of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before
fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's instructions, she began to comprehend
that a woman may take liberties with her husband which a brother will
not always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew;
and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character
in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent
him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some
time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's
persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek
a reconciliation; and, after a little farther resistance on the part
of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for
him, or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself; and she
condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution
which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such
a mistress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.

With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy,
as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible
of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her
into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them. 
\end{document}
