Chapter 50

Pride and Prejudice

by Jane Austen

CHAPTER 50, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by Jane Austen

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 of 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--
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 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-- 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.

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.

"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 ----'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.--
Yours, etc.,
"E. GARDINER."

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of
Wickham's removal from the ----shire as clearly as Mr.
Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased
with it. Lydia's being settled in the North, just when she had
expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had
by no means given up her plan of their residing in 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 ----'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 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 ----, 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 enquiring after his acquaintance in
that neighbourhood, with a good humoured ease which she felt
very unable to equal in her replies. They seemed each of them
to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the
past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily to
subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for the
world.

"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I
went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there
have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious!
when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married
till I came back again! though I thought it would be very good
fun if I was."

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. 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 here abouts know I am married
to-day? I was afraid they might not; and we overtook William
Goulding in his curricle, so I was 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 shew her ring, and boast of
being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.

"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the
breakfast room, "and what do you think of my husband? Is not
he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I
only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to
Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it
is, mamma, we did not all go."

"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear
Lydia, I don't at all like your going such a way off. Must it
be so?"

"Oh, lord! yes; -- there is nothing in that. I shall like it
of all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down
and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I
dare say there will be some balls, and I will take care to get
good partners for them all."

"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.

"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my
sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for
them before the winter is over."

"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth;
"but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands."

Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them.
Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London,
and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so
short; and she made the most of the time by 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 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! -- 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 -- unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to
remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary; and
then I must endeavour to be satisfied with ignorance."

"Not that I shall, though," she added to herself, as she
finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me
in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks
and stratagems to find it out."

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to
Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was
glad of it; -- till it appeared whether her inquiries would
receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a
confidante.


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.

"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.

MY DEAR NIECE,

I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing
will not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess
myself surprised by your application; I did not expect it from
you. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let
you know that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary
on your side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive
my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am --
and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned
would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are
really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the
very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a
most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up
with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so
my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as your's seems to
have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out
where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen
and talked with them both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once.
From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after
ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for
them. The motive professed was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so
well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of
character to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the
whole to his mistaken pride, and 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 had
another motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He
had been some days in town, before he was able to discover
them; but he had something to direct his search, which was more
than we had; and the consciousness of this was another reason
for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and
was dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation,
though he did not say what. She then took a large house in
Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by letting
lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted
with Wickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him as
soon as he got to town. But it was two or three days before he
could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her
trust, I suppose, without bribery and corruption, for she
really did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham
indeed had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and
had she been able to receive them into her house, they would
have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in
---- street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing
Lydia. His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to
persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and
return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to
receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go.
But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she
was. She cared for none of her friends; she wanted no help of
his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they
should be married some time or other, and it did not much
signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained,
he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which, in his
very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had
never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave
the regiment, on account of some debts of honour, which were
very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences
of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. He meant to resign
his commission immediately; and as to his future situation, he
could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere,
but he did not know where, and he knew he should have nothing
to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very
rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his
situation must have been benefited by marriage. But he found,
in reply to this question, that Wickham still cherished the
hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage in some
other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not
likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief.
They met several times, for there was much to be discussed.
Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at length
was reduced to be reasonable. Every thing being settled
between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle
acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch-street
the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be
seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that your father
was still with him, but would quit town the next 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 I saw him too. It was not all settled
before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent off to
Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy,
Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character,
after all. He has been accused of many faults at different
times, but this is the true one. Nothing was to be done that
he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it
to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it), your uncle
would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the
gentleman or lady 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 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 this; though I doubt whether his reserve,
or anybody's reserve, can be answerable for the event. But
in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest
perfectly assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if
we had not given him credit for another interest in the
affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again to
his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was
agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding
took place, and all money matters were then to receive the last
finish. I believe I have now told you every thing. It is a
relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise;
I hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure.
Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant admission to the
house. He was exactly what he had been when I knew him in
Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was
satisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us, if I
had not perceived, by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her
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 that, if he marry prudently,
his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly; -- he hardly
ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray
forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do not
punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I shall never be
quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low
phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very
thing. But I must write no more. The children have been
wanting me this half hour. Your's, very sincerely,

M. GARDINER."

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter
of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether
pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and
unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what
Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match,
which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness
too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be
just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their
greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to
town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and 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
-- for a woman who had already refused him -- as able to
overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against
relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of 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
-- not turned out well. At such a distance as that, you
know, things are strangely misrepresented."

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she
had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,

"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed
each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing
there."

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said
Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there
at this time of year."

"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton?
I thought I understood from the Gardiners that you had."

"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."

"And do you like her?"

"Very much."

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within
this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very
promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn
out well."

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."

"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"

"I do not recollect that we did."

"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have
had. A most delightful place! -- Excellent Parsonage House!
It would have suited me in every respect."

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my
duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought
not to repine; -- but, to be sure, it would have been such a
thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such a life would
have answered all my ideas of happiness! But it was not to be.
Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance, when you were
in Kent?"

"I have heard from authority, which I thought as good,
that it was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the
present patron."

"You have. Yes, there was something in that; I told you so
from the first, you may remember."

"I did hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making
was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that
you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders,
and that the business had been compromised accordingly."

"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may
remember what I told you on that point, when first we talked
of it."

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she
had walked fast to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her
sister's sake, to provoke him, she only said in reply, with
a good-humoured smile,

"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know.
Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we
shall be always of one mind."

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate
gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they
entered the house.

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 me. They will
have nothing else to do."

Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his
wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty
things.

"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were
out of the house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and
makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy
even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable
son-in-law."

The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for
several days.

"I often think," said she, "that there is 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 I never want to
see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to
Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may
happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we
agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so,
is it quite certain he is coming?"

"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs. Nicholls
was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out
myself on purpose to know the truth 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 should be looked at.
I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with
pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone;
because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of
myself, but I dread other people's remarks."

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen
him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of
coming there with no other view than what was acknowledged; but
she still thought him partial to Jane, and she wavered as to
the greater probability of his coming there with his friend's
permission, or being bold enough to come without it.

"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man
cannot come to a house which he has legally hired, without
raising all this speculation! I 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 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 -- she looked, -- she
saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.

"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," said Kitty; "who can it
be?"

"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I
do not know."

"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to
be with him before. Mr. what's-his-name. That tall, proud
man."

"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! -- and so it does, I vow. Well,
any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be
sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him."

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew
but little of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt
for the awkwardness which must attend her sister, in seeing him
almost for the first time after receiving his 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 -- 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 enquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a
question which she could not answer without confusion, said
scarcely any thing. He was not seated by her; perhaps that was
the reason of his silence; but it had not been so in
Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends, when he could
not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed without
bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable
to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised he eyes to his
face, she as often found him looking at Jane as at 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 any one but himself;
and to him she had hardly courage to speak.

She enquired after his sister, but could do no more.

"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

He readily agreed to it. "I began to be afraid you would never come back
again. People 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 The Times and The Courier, I
know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only
said, ``Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,''
without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place
where she lived, or any thing. It was my brother Gardiner's
drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an
awkward business of it. Did you see it?"

Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations.
Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked,
therefore, she could not tell.

"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter
well married," continued her mother, "but at the same time,
Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from
me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward,
it seems, and there they are to stay I do not know how long.
His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his
leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the regulars.
Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so
many as he deserves."

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was
in such misery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat.
It drew from her, however, the exertion of speaking, which
nothing else had so effectually done before; and she asked
Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in the country at
present. A few weeks, he believed.

"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,"
said her mother, "I beg you will come here, and shoot as
many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he
will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the
best of the covies for you."

Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such
officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at
present as had flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was
persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious 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 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?
Teazing, teazing, man! I will think no more about him."

Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by
the approach of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful
look, which shewed her better satisfied with their visitors,
than Elizabeth.

"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over, I feel
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."


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
shewed 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, 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 every one to whom he spoke,
had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee; and
then was enraged against herself for being so silly!

"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish
enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the
sex, who would not protest against such a weakness as a second
proposal to the same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent
to their feelings!"

She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his
coffee cup himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,

"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"

"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to
Scarborough, these three weeks."

She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to
converse with her, he might have better success. He stood by
her, however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on
the young lady's whispering to Elizabeth again, he walked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and the card tables placed,
the ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon
joined by him, when all her views were overthrown by seeing him
fall a victim to her mother's rapacity for whist players, and
in a few moments after seated with the rest of the party. She
now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were confined for
the evening at different tables, and she had nothing to hope,
but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side of the
room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself.

Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen
to supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any
of the others, and she had no opportunity of 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 -- 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 -- 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 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, &c. &c.; and if
she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of
waiting on them.

"Can you come to-morrow?"

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her
invitation was accepted with alacrity.

He came, and in such very good time that the ladies were none
of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room, in
her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,

"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come --
Mr. Bingley is come. -- He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste.
Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on
with her gown. Never mind Miss Lizzy's hair."

"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane; "but I dare say
Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs
half an hour ago."

"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come be quick,
be quick! Where is your sash, my dear?"

But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be 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 intreaty that 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
up stairs to sit in my dressing room."

Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but
remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of
sight, then returned into the drawing room.

Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley
was every thing that was charming, except the 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 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 every body as happy?"

Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a
warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every
sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane.
But she would not allow herself to stay with her sister, or say
half that remained to be said for the present.

"I must go instantly to my mother;" she cried. "I would not on
any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow
her to hear it from any one but myself. He is gone to my
father already. Oh! Lizzy, to know that what I have to relate
will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I
bear so much happiness!"

She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken
up the card party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity
and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had
given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.

"And this," said she, "is the end of all his friend's anxious
circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance!
the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!"

In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose 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
shewed how really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till
their visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he
was gone, he turned to his daughter, and said,

"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his
goodness.

"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I have great pleasure
in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt
of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means
unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will
ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat
you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."

"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters
would be unpardonable in me."

"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife,
"what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a
year, and very likely more." Then addressing her daughter,
"Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I 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 any one else; but she found herself considerably
useful to both of them in those hours of separation that must
sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always attached
himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of her; and
when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means
of relief.

"He has made me so happy," said she, one evening, "by 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
my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down
again!"

"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit
of his modesty."

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his
diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good
qualities. Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not
betrayed the interference of his friend; for, though Jane had
the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, she knew
it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!"
cried Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family,
and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy!
If there were but such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so
happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your 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. Philips, and she ventured, without any permission, to do
the same by all her neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family
in the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had
first run away, they had been generally proved to be marked out
for misfortune.

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 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 shew her ladyship about
the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the
hermitage."

Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her
parasol, attended her noble guest down stairs. As they passed
through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the
dining-parlour and drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a
short survey, to be decent looking rooms, walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her
waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the
gravel walk that led to the copse; Elizabeth was 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: --

"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 you may choose to be, you shall not find 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 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 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 every one 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."

"That will make your ladyship's situation at present more
pitiable; but it will have no effect on me."

"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter
and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended,
on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the
father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient -- though
untitled -- families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid.
They are destined for each other by the voice of every member
of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The
upstart pretensions of a young woman without family,
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 are a gentleman's daughter. But who was your
mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me
ignorant of their condition."

"Whatever my connections may be," said Elizabeth, "if your
nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you."

"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?"

Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging
Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but
say, after a moment's deliberation,

"I am not."

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an
engagement?"

"I will make no promise of the kind."

"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a
more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into
a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you
have given me the assurance I require."

"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be
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! -- 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 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 were excited by his
marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern -- and
the world in general would have too much sense to join in the
scorn."

"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve!
Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss
Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to
try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it,
I will carry my point."

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the
door of the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added,
"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to
your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most
seriously displeased."

Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to 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 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 his being the intimate
friend of Bingley, and her being the sister of Jane, was
enough, at a time when the expectation of one wedding made
every body eager for another, to supply the idea. She had not
herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her sister must
bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at
Lucas lodge, therefore (for through their communication with
the Collinses, the report, she concluded, had reached lady
Catherine), had only set that down as almost certain and
immediate, which she had looked forward to as possible at
some future time.

In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could
not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible 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 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 she could
do; and it was certain that, in enumerating the miseries of a
marriage with one whose immediate connections were so unequal
to his own, his aunt would address him on his weakest side.
With his notions of dignity, he would 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 intreaty of so near a
relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to
be as happy as dignity unblemished could make him. In that
case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see him in
her way through town; and his engagement to Bingley of coming
again to Netherfield must give way.

"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should
come to his friend within a few days," she added, "I shall
know how to understand it. I shall then give over every
expectation, every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied
with only regretting me, when he might have obtained my
affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him at all."


The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their
visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied
it, with the same kind of supposition which had appeased
Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and Elizabeth was spared from much
teazing on the subject.

The next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was met by
her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his
hand.

"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you; come into my
room."

She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he
had to tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being
in some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly
struck her that it might be from Lady Catherine; and she
anticipated with dismay all the consequent 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 your
sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter
is from Mr. Collins."

"From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?"

"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins
with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest
daughter, of which, it seems, he has been told by some of the
good-natured, gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport with your
impatience, by reading what he says on that point. What
relates to yourself, is as follows." "Having thus offered
you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on
this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject
of another; of which we have been advertised by the same
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."

"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?" "This
young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing
the heart of mortal can most desire, -- splendid property,
noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all
these temptations, let me warn my cousin Elizabeth, and
yourself, of what evils you may incur by a precipitate closure
with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course, you will be
inclined to take immediate advantage of."

"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it
comes out."

"My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to
imagine that his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look
on the match with a friendly eye."

"Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I
have surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched
on any man within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name
would have given the lie more effectually to what they related?
Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish,
and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is
admirable!"

Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could
only force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been
directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.

"Are you not diverted?"

"Oh! yes. Pray read on."

"After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her
ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual
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." "Mr. Collins moreover adds," "I am truly rejoiced
that my cousin Lydia's sad business has been so well hushed up,
and am only concerned that their living together before the
marriage took place should be so generally known. I must not,
however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain from
declaring my amazement at hearing that you received the young
couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an
encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn,
I should very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly
to forgive them as a Christian, but never to admit them in your
sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing."
"That is his notion of Christian forgiveness! The rest of
his letter is only about his dear Charlotte's situation, and
his expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look
as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be Missish,
I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For
what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and
laugh at them in our turn?"

"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is
so strange!"

"Yes -- that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on
any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect
indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so
delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not
give up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration.
Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the
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 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 will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself
alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add
force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not
attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as
I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a
short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous to
trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were
last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes
are 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 f