 Chapter fifty-two of Pride and Prejudice. 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 cops, 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. Grace Church Street, September 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 did not imagine such inquiries 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 is 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 wracked as yours seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardner 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. Young, 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. Young 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 Blank 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 returned to her friend 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 an expediter 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 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. Everything being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Grace Church Street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name, and till the next day it was only known that a gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again, your father was gone, your uncle at home, and as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and then 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, Lizzie, 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, Lizzie, 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 any body's reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzie, 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 everything. 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 stayed with us. If I had not perceived by Jane's letter last Wednesday that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a peace 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 slinus 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 fate in, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this half-hour. Yours very sincerely. M. Gardner. 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 he 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 attended 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 meat, frequently meat, 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, everything 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 going in the carriage to Merritton. 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 had gone into the army, and she was afraid had—not turned out well. At such a distance is 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 could be doing there. Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Mr. Berg, 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 Lampton? I thought I understood from the gardeners 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 Kimpton? 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 excursion would 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 some and making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present, that you actually declared a resolution of never taking orders, and that the business had been compromised accordingly. You did? 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 always be of one mind. She held out her hand, he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew where 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 twelve-month. Oh, my dear Lydia! she cried, when shall we meet again? Oh, Lord, I don't know, not these two or three years, perhaps. Write to me very often, my dear. As often as I can, but you know married women have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me, they will have nothing else to do. Mr. Wickham's adduce 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. Indeed, it is 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. Nichols was in Merritton 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 duck 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 today, Lizzie, 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 impartial 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 twelve-month 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 and running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again. Well, all I know is that it will be imbominably 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 missed as long and the goldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so they will be just rumoured 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 anything 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 Hartfordshire, 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, Amar," 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. Watts's 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 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 Darbyshire, 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 show Mrs. Gardner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane he could only be a man whose proposal 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 Darbyshire. The colour which had been driven from her face returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added luster 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, 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 complacence. 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 Hartfordshire than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But perhaps he could not, in her mother's presence, be what he was before her aunt and uncle. 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 curtsy and a dress to his friend. Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill-applied. Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardner did, a question which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. He was not seated by her. Perhaps that was the reason of his silence, but it had not been so in Darbyshire. 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 her 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 had 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 inquired after his sister, but could do no more. It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet. He readily agreed to it. I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely at Mikkelmas, but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas has 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 Esquire to Miss Lydia Bennet, without there being a syllable set of her father, or the place where she lived or anything. It was my brother Gardner'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 away 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 blankshire, 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 leveled at Mr. Darcy, was in such a 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'll 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, everything 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 rekindled the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in he had spoken to Herbert 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 gentleman 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 to 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. Then they 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 anything 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? Teasing, teasing, man! I will think no more about him. Her resolution was, for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of her sister, who joined her with cheerful look, which showed her better satisfied with their visitors than Elizabeth. Now! said she, that this first meeting is over I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen that on both sides we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance. Yes, very indifferent indeed, said Elizabeth laughingly. Oh, Jane, take care! My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak as to be in danger now. I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever. They did not see the gentleman 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, forebore to invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room he seemed to hesitate, but Jane happened to look round and happened to smile. It was decided. He placed himself by her. Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy with an expression of half- laughing alarm. His behaviour to her sister was such during dinner-time as showed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded Elizabeth that if left holy to himself, Jane's happiness and his own would be speedily secured. Though she dared not to 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 anything 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 gentleman came, was weirsome and dull to a degree that made her almost 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, she said, I shall give him up for ever. The gentleman 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 gentleman'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 could 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 revived a little, 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. Annasley is with her, the others have 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. She 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, and the ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be joined by him when all her views were overthrown by seeing him fall a victim to her mother's repacity 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 everything is passed off uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The venison was roasting to a turn, and everybody said they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucas's last week, and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged that the partridges were remarkably well done. 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 with one another. I hope we may often meet again." Elizabeth smiled. Lizzie, 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 had never any design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with greatest sweetness of a dress, 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 at 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 confidant. 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, etc., etc., and if she would give him leave would take an early opportunity of waiting on them. Can you come to-morrow? Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow, and her invitation was accepted with alacrity. He came, and in such very good time that the ladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room in her dressing-gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out, My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He has come! Mr. Bingley has 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 Lizzie'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 upstairs half an hour ago. Oh, hang, Kitty! What is 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 upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat down 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, Mama? 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 sang to Kitty, Come here, my love, I want to speak to you! took her out of the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her entreaty that she would not give into it. In a few minutes Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out, Lizzie, my dear, I want to speak with you! Elizabeth was forced to go. We may as well leave them by themselves, you know," said her mother as soon as she was in the hall. Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room. Elizabeth made no attempt reason with her mother, but remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned to the drawing-room. Mrs. Bennet's schemes for the day were ineffectual. Bingley was everything that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. Lizzie's 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 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 everybody 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 hers, 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 everybody not as happy?' Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane, but she would not allow herself to stay with her sister or say half that remained to be said for the present. "'I must go instantly to my mother,' she cried. "'I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude, or allow her to hear it from anyone but myself. He has gone to my father already. "'Oh, Lizzie, 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 upstairs with Kitty. Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which such 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 friends' anxious circumspection, of all his sisters' 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 upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I daresay.' 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 and 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 him at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was. Not a word, however, passed his lips and 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 be ever 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 heart for her last year. I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen! Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness which she might in future be able to dispense. Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield, and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter. Bingley from this time was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn, coming frequently before breakfast and always remaining till after supper, unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough detested, had given him an invitation to dinner which he thought himself obliged to accept. Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister, for while he was present Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else, but she found herself considerably useful to both of them in those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane he always attached himself to Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking with 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, said 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 the brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again, though he 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, Lizzie, 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 panageric from Jane on his diffidence, and the little value he put in 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 prejudiced her against him. I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed! cried Jane. Oh, Lizzie, 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 could never be so happy as you, till I have your disposition, your goodness, I can never 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 long-born family could not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Phillips, and she ventured without any permission to do the same by all her neighbours in Maritain. 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. End of chapter 55 Chapter 56 of Pride and Prejudice This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. 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 shez and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipoise 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 Berg. 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 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 Rosing's 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 and 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 anything, and then rising up, said to Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company." Go, my dear," cried her mother, and show her ladyship about the various 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 downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlor 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 cops. 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 a nephew? said she as she looked in her face. As soon as they entered the cops, 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 was your sister 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 dispose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place that I might make my sentiment 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. You're coming to Longbourn to see me and my family, said Elizabeth Cooley. We'll 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 about? 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 language such as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and I 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'll 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 hers, 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 unalied to the family. Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends, to his tacit engagement with Mr. Berg? 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 Mr. Berg. 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 he not to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may I not 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 willfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace. Your name will never even be mentioned by any of us. These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine. Obstinate! headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you. Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose, nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment. 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 fathers 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. 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 and 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 important 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 expense 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 further 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 further to say. You know my sentiments. You are then resolved to have him. I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner which will in my own opinion constitute my 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 upstairs. 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 pedidously civil, for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collins's were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so, passing through Merriton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzie. Elizabeth was forced to give in to a little falsehood here, for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible. CHAPTER 57 The discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit through 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 everybody eager for another, to supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her sister must bring them more frequently together, and her neighbours at Lucas Lodge, therefore, for through their communication with the Collins's, 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 entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through town, and his engagement to Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way. If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his friend within a few days, she added, I shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his constancy. 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 teasing on the subject. The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand. See! 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 fireplace, 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. For 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 Lizzie, who is meant by this? This young gentleman is blessed in a peculiar way with everything 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 precipitated closure with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course, you'll be inclined to take immediate advantage of. Have you any idea, Lizzie, 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 Berg, does not look on the match with a friendly eye. Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man. Now, Lizzie, 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 lime more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and you 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. Why 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 became apparent that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give a 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 well 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 Liddy'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. 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 situation, and his expectation of a young olive branch. But, Liddy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be mis-ish, 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' 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, Lizzie, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to review 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 XVIII 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 Mariah, 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, can not how much I may be wounding yours. 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. Gardner was so little to be trusted. You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed 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 eluded, 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 important 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, particularly denoted her perverseness and assurance, in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrary wise. It taught me to hope, said he, as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly. Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations. What did you say of me that I did not deserve? For though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without aborance. We will not quarrel for the greater shame of blame and acts to that evening, said Elizabeth. The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable. But since then we have both, I hope, improved in civility. I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. You're a proof, so well applied, I shall never forget. Had you behaved in a more gentlemen-like manner, those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive how they have tortured me, though it was some time I confessed before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice. I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their ever being felt in such a way. I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling. I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me. Oh, do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it." Darcy mentioned his letter. Did it, said he? Did it soon make you think better of me? Did you on reading it give any credit to its contents? She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed. I knew, said he, that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dredge or having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might dustily make you hate me. The letter shall certainly be burnt if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard, but though we have both reason to think my opinion is not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies. When I wrote that letter, replied Darcy, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. The letter perhaps began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they then were, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past, as its remembrance gives you pleasure. I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach that the contentment arising from them is not a philosophy, but what is much better, of innocence. But with me it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what is right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son, for many years an only child, I was spoiled by my parents, who though good themselves, my father particularly all that was benevolent and amiable, allowed and encouraged almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was from eight to eight and twenty, and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. What do I not owe you? You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Had you then persuaded yourself that I should? Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believe you to be wishing, expecting my addresses. My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening? Hate you? I was angry, perhaps, at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction. I was almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming. No, indeed. I felt nothing but surprise. Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confessed that I did not expect to receive more than my due. My object, then, replied Darcy, was to show you by every civility in my power that I was not so mean as to resent the past, and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill-opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you. He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption, which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend. She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each to be dwelt on further. After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home. What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane? was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement. His friend had given him the earliest information of it. I must ask whether you were surprised, said Elizabeth. Not at all. When I went away I felt that it would soon happen. That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much. And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case. On the evening before my going to London, said he, I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him, and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together. Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend. Did you speak from your own observation? said she, when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring. From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here, and I was convinced of her affection. And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him? It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had preventing his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which, for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger I am persuaded lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now. Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend, so easily guided that his worth was invaluable. But she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which, of course, was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. CHAPTER 59 My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to? was a question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered their room, and from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say and reply that they had wandered about till she was beyond her own knowledge. She colored as she spoke, but neither that nor anything else awakened a suspicion of the truth. The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth, and Elizabeth agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy, than felt herself to be so. For besides the immediate embarrassment there were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in the family when her situation became known. She was aware that no one liked him but Jane, and even feared that with the others it was a dislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away. At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here. You are joking, Lizzie! This cannot be! Engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me! I know it to be impossible!" This is a wretched beginning indeed! My soul-dependent was on you, and I am sure nobody else will believe me if you do not. Yet indeed I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged." Jane looked at her doubtingly. Oh, Lizzie! It cannot be! I know how much you dislike him. You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself. Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again and more seriously assured her of its truth. Good Heaven! Can it really be so? Yet now I must believe you! cried Jane. My dear, dear Lizzie! I would—I do congratulate you. But are you certain? Forgive the question. Are you quite certain that you can be happy with him? There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother? Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. But we considered it. We talked of it as impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzie! Do anything rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do? Oh, yes. You will only think I feel more than I ought to do when I tell you all. What do you mean? Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry. My dearest sister! Now be serious! I want to talk very seriously. Let me know everything that I am to know without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him? It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley. Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the desired effect, and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish. Now I am quite happy, said she. For you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed him. But now, as Bingley's friend and your husband, there can only be Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But Lizzie, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton. I owe all that I know of it to another, not to you. Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to mention Bingley, and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made her equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no longer conceal from her his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation. Good gracious! cried Mrs. Bennet as she stood at a window the next morning. If that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with our dear Bingley, what can he mean by being so tiresome as to always be coming here? I had no notion, but he would go with shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzie, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way. Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal, yet was really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an apathit. As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information, and he soon afterwards said aloud, Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzie may lose her way again today? I advise Mr. Darcy and Lizzie and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view. It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley, but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won't it, Kitty? Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the mount, and Elizabeth silently consented. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying, I am quite sorry, Lizzie, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself, but I hope you'll not mind it. It is all for Jane's sake, you know, and there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then, so do not put yourself to inconvenience. During their walk it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent should be asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the application for her mother's. She could not determine how her mother would take it, sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill-adapted to do credit to her sense, and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy than the first vehemence of her disapprobation. In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy, and that it should be through her means that she, his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him with fears and regrets and disposing of her, was a wretched reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when looking at him she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty, and while pretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, Go to your father. He wants you in the library. She was gone directly. Her father was walking about the room looking grave and anxious. Lizzie! said he. What are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be accepting this fan? Have you not always hated him? How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate? It would have spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give, but they were now necessary, and she assured him with some confusion of her attachment to Mr. Darcy. Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane, but will they make you happy? Have you any other objection? said Elizabeth, then your belief of my indifference. None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man, but this would be nothing if you really liked him. I do. I do like him, she replied with tears in her eyes. I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is. Then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms. Lizzie, said her father, I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzie. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband, unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about." Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply, and at length by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months' suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she did conquer her father's incredulity and reconcile him to the match. Well, my dear," said he when she ceased speaking,--"I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you." I could not have parted with you, my Lizzie, to any one less worthy. To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment. This is an evening of wonders indeed! And so Darcy did everything, made of the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debt, and got him his commission. So much the better! It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him. But these violent young lovers carry everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow. He will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter." He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading Mr. Collins' letter, and after laughing at her some time, allowed her at last to go, saying, as she quitted the room,--"If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite a leisure." Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight, and after half an hour's quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away. There was no longer anything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time. When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary, for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she could comprehend what she heard, though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself. God gracious! Lord bless me! Only think, dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it? And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzie! How rich and how great you will be! What pin-money! What jewels! What carriages you will have! James is nothing to it! Nothing at all! Ah! I am so pleased, so happy! Such a charming man, so handsome, so tall! Oh, my dear Lizzie, pray you apologize for my having disliked him so much before! I hope you will overlook it! Dear, dear Lizzie! A house in town, everything that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me? I shall go distracted! This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted, and Elizabeth rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself, soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room, her mother followed her. My dearest child! she cried, I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year and very likely more! Tis as good as a Lord! And a special license! You must and shall be married by a special license! But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it to-morrow. This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman himself might be, and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected, for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get acquainted with him, and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising every hour in his esteem. I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he, wiccan perhaps is my favourite, but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's. Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. How could you begin, said she? I can comprehend your going uncharmingly when once you had made a beginning, but what could set you off in the first place? I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners, my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere, did you admire me for my impertinence? For the liveliness of your mind, I did. You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is that you were sick of civility, of deference, of a vicious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it. But in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just, and in your heart you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There! I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it, and really all things considered I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure you knew no actual good of me, but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love. Was there no good new affectionate behaviour to Jane while she was ill at another field? Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible, and in return it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be. And I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me? Because you were grave, and silent, and gave me no encouragement. But I was embarrassed, and so was I. You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner. A man who had felt less might. How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it. But I wonder how long you would have gone on if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken if I had not asked you. My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid, for what becomes of the moral of our comfort springs from a breach of promise. For I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do. You need not to stress yourself. The moral be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know everything. Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed, or had you intended any more serious consequence? My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I vowed to myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made. Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her? I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth, but it ought to be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly. And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected. From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been overrated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardner's long letter. But now, having that to communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her uncle and aunt had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as follows. I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done, for your long kind satisfactory detail of particulars. But to say the truth I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. But now, suppose as much as you choose, give a loose reign to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and pray some a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you again and again for not going to the lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it? Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the park every day." I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane. She only smiles. I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that he can spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc. Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style, and still different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to his last. Dear sir, I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Can so, Lady Catherine, as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give. Yours sincerely, etc. Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother on his approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected, and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved. The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information was as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight and all her earnest desire of being loved by her sister. Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife, the long-born family heard that the Collins's were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of the sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte—really rejoicing in the match—was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their meeting she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight. Mrs. Phillips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax on his forbearance, and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet whenever she did speak she must be vulgar, nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification, and though the uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future, and she looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley. CHAPTER XXXI Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life, though perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she was still occasionally nervous and invariably silly. Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly. His affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected. Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelve-month. So near a vicinity to her mother and maritain relations was not desirable even to his easy temper or her affection at heart. The darling wish of his sisters was then gratified. He bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Darbyshire, and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other. Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia, and removed from the influence of Lydia's example, she became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia's society she was, of course, carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going. Mary was the only daughter who remained at home, and she was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet's being quite unable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but she could still moralise over every morning visit, and as she was no longer mortified by comparisons between her sister's beauty and her own, it was suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without much reluctance. As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from the marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ungratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her, and in spite of everything, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on to make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which Elizabeth received from Lydia on her marriage explained to her that, by his wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to this effect. My dear Lizzy, I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as I do, my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year, but, however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you would rather not. Yours, etc. As it happened, that Elizabeth had much rather not, she endeavored in her answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice of what might be called economy in her own private expenses, she frequently sent them. It had always been evident to her that such an income as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to their support, and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or herself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for her soon sunk into indifference. Hers lasted a little longer, and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her. Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet for Elizabeth's sake he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath, and with the Bingley, say both of them frequently stayed so long, that even Bingley's good humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone. Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's marriage, but as she thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, she dropped all her resentment. Was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as attentive to Darcy as her to four, and paid off every arrear of civility to Elizabeth. Pemberley was now Georgiana's home, and the attachment of the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each other even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth, though at first she often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive manner of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's instructions, she began to comprehend that a woman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother will not always allow, in a sister more than ten years younger than himself. Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew, and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation, and after a little further resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself, and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt, from the city. With the gardeners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them, and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Darbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.