# Pride and Prejudice (B1 edition)

*Jane Austen*

## Chapter 1

It is a truth that everybody accepts: a single man who has a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

When such a man first comes to live in a neighbourhood, people may know very little about his feelings or his views. But this truth is so firmly fixed in the minds of the families around him that they think of him as the rightful property of one of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” his wife said to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” she answered. “Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Don’t you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“*You* want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Well, my dear, you must know that Mrs. Long says Netherfield has been taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England. He came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place. He was so delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately. He is to move in before Michaelmas, and some of his servants will be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! Single, my dear, of course! A single man of large fortune, with four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can it affect them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”

“Is that his plan in settling here?”

“Plan! Nonsense, how can you talk like that! But it is very likely that he *may* fall in love with one of them. So you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no reason for that. You and the girls may go. Or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be even better. You are as handsome as any of them, so Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly *have* had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything special now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to stop thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman does not often have much beauty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you really must go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.”

“That is more than I can promise, I assure you.”

“But think of your daughters. Only think what a good marriage it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, only for that reason. In general, you know, they never visit new people. You really must go, because it will be impossible for *us* to visit him if you do not.”

“You worry too much about what is proper, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you. And I will send a few lines with you. I will tell him he has my full permission to marry whichever of the girls he chooses. But I must add a good word for my little Lizzy.”

“I wish you would do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others. I am sure she is not half as handsome as Jane, nor half as good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving *her* the preference.”

“None of them have much to recommend them,” he replied. “They are all silly and ignorant, like other girls. But Lizzy is a little quicker than her sisters.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you insult your own children like that? You enjoy annoying me. You have no pity for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a great respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you talk about them with care for twenty years at least.”

“Ah! You do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it. I hope you will live to see many young men with four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us if twenty of them come, since you will not visit them.”

“You can be sure of it, my dear: when there are twenty, I will visit them all.”

Mr. Bennet was such a strange mixture of quick intelligence, sarcastic humour, reserve and changing moods that his wife still did not understand his character. Twenty-three years of marriage had not been enough to teach her. *Her* mind was less difficult to understand. She was a woman of little intelligence, little knowledge and an uncertain temper. When she was unhappy, she believed that she was suffering from her nerves. The business of her life was to get her daughters married. Its comfort was visiting and news.

### Glossary

- **fortune**: a large amount of money that a person owns
- **let**: rented to someone for money
- **chaise and four**: a light carriage pulled by four horses
- **Michaelmas**: a church holiday on 29 September; a usual day to start renting a house
- **a year**: money received every year; “four thousand a year” is a very good income
- **flatter**: to praise someone more than is true, to please them
- **nerves**: Mrs. Bennet’s word for feeling upset, nervous or ill
- **sarcastic**: saying the opposite of what you mean, to make fun of someone
- **reserve**: the habit of not showing your feelings

## Chapter 2

Mr. Bennet was among the first people who went to visit Mr. Bingley. He had always meant to visit him. But until the very end he kept telling his wife that he would not go. So she knew nothing about it until the evening after the visit. Then she found out in this way. Mr. Bennet saw his second daughter busy trimming a hat. Suddenly he said to her,

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”

“We have no way of knowing *what* Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother angrily, “since we are not going to visit him.”

“But you forget, mama,” said Elizabeth, “that we shall meet him at the assemblies. And Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.”

“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no good opinion of her.”

“Neither have I,” said Mr. Bennet. “And I am glad to find that you do not depend on her help.”

Mrs. Bennet did not think him worth an answer. But she could not control herself, so she began to scold one of her daughters.

“Don’t keep coughing like that, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little pity on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Kitty has no sense in her coughs,” said her father. “She chooses the wrong times for them.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty crossly.

“When is your next ball, Lizzy?”

“Two weeks from tomorrow.”

“Yes, so it is,” cried her mother. “And Mrs. Long does not come back until the day before. So it will be impossible for her to introduce him, because she will not know him herself.”

“Then, my dear, you may get ahead of your friend. You can introduce Mr. Bingley to *her*.”

“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I do not know him myself. How can you be so teasing?”

“I respect your caution. Two weeks of acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is after only two weeks. But if *we* do not try, somebody else will. After all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must have their chance too. She will think it a kindness. So if you refuse the job, I will do it myself.”

The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, “Nonsense, nonsense!”

“What can you mean by that strong cry?” he said. “Do you think that the rules of introduction, and the importance people give them, are nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you *there*. What do you say, Mary? I know you are a young lady of deep thought. You read great books and copy out passages from them.”

Mary wanted to say something very sensible, but she did not know how.

“While Mary is putting her ideas in order,” he went on, “let us return to Mr. Bingley.”

“I am sick of Mr. Bingley,” cried his wife.

“I am sorry to hear *that*. But why didn’t you tell me so before? If I had known it this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky. But I have actually paid the visit now, so we cannot escape knowing him.”

The ladies were as surprised as he wished them to be. Mrs. Bennet was perhaps the most surprised of all. But when the first noisy joy was over, she began to say that she had expected it all the time.

“How good of you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I would persuade you in the end. I was sure you loved your girls too much to miss such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke, too, that you went this morning and never said a word about it till now.”

“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Bennet. And as he spoke, he left the room. He was tired of his wife’s wild delight.

“What an excellent father you have, girls,” she said, when the door was shut. “I do not know how you will ever repay him for his kindness. Or me either, for that matter. At our age, I can tell you, it is not so pleasant to make new acquaintances every day. But for your sakes we would do anything. Lydia, my love, you *are* the youngest, but I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh!” said Lydia boldly, “I am not afraid. I *am* the youngest, but I’m the tallest.”

They spent the rest of the evening guessing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet’s visit. They also decided when they should ask him to dinner.

### Glossary

- **trimming a hat**: decorating a hat with ribbons, flowers or lace
- **assemblies**: big public evening parties with dancing
- **introduce**: to tell two people each other’s names so they can know each other
- **hypocritical**: pretending to be good or kind when you are not
- **scold**: to speak angrily to someone because they did something wrong
- **caution**: being careful to avoid mistakes or danger
- **return his visit**: to visit someone after they have visited you, as good manners
- **acquaintance**: a person you know a little; also, knowing someone

## Chapter 3

Mrs. Bennet asked her husband many questions about Mr. Bingley, and her five daughters helped her. But all their questions were not enough to get a satisfactory description of him. They attacked him in different ways. They asked open questions, made clever guesses and tried distant hints. But he escaped all their skill. In the end they had to accept the news second-hand, from their neighbour Lady Lucas. Her report was very good. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young and wonderfully handsome. He was extremely agreeable. And best of all, he meant to come to the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a sure step towards falling in love. So they had very lively hopes of winning Mr. Bingley’s heart.

“If I can only see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” Mrs. Bennet said to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing more to wish for.”

In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit. He sat with him for about ten minutes in his library. He had hoped to see the young ladies, because he had heard a lot about their beauty. But he saw only the father. The ladies were a little luckier. From an upper window they were able to see that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.

Soon afterwards they sent him an invitation to dinner. Mrs. Bennet had already planned the dishes that would show what a good housekeeper she was. Then an answer arrived which put it all off. Mr. Bingley had to be in town the next day. So he was unable to accept the honour of their invitation, and so on. Mrs. Bennet was quite upset. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after he had arrived in Hertfordshire. She began to fear that he might always be flying about from one place to another. Perhaps he would never settle at Netherfield as he ought to. Lady Lucas calmed her fears a little. She suggested that he had gone to London only to get a large party for the ball. Soon a report followed that Mr. Bingley would bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls were sad about such a large number of ladies. But the day before the ball they were comforted to hear that he had brought only six from London, not twelve. They were his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room, there were only five of them altogether. They were Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the elder sister, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and had the manners of a gentleman. He had a pleasant face and easy, natural manners. His sisters were fine women who were clearly very fashionable. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, only looked like a gentleman. But his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the whole room. He was tall, with a fine figure, handsome features and a noble look. And within five minutes of his arrival everybody was saying that he had ten thousand a year. The gentlemen said that he was a fine figure of a man. The ladies said that he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley. For about half the evening people looked at him with great admiration. Then his manners disgusted everyone, and his popularity disappeared. People discovered that he was proud. He thought himself above everyone there, and above being pleased. After that, even his large estate in Derbyshire could not save him. Now everyone thought he had a most unfriendly, disagreeable face. They said he was not good enough to be compared with his friend.

Mr. Bingley had soon got to know all the important people in the room. He was lively and open. He danced every dance. He was angry that the ball ended so early, and he talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such pleasant qualities speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley. He refused to be introduced to any other lady. He spent the rest of the evening walking about the room and sometimes speaking to one of his own party. Everyone decided what kind of man he was. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. One of the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet. She disliked his behaviour in general. But she felt especially angry because he had insulted one of her daughters.

There were not enough gentlemen, so Elizabeth Bennet had to sit down for two dances. During part of that time, Mr. Darcy was standing near her. He was so near that she could overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley had left the dance for a few minutes to persuade his friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” he said, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid way. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I hate it, unless I know my partner well. At an assembly like this, it would be unbearable. Your sisters are already dancing with others. There is not another woman in the room that I could dance with without feeling it a punishment.”

“I would not be as fussy as you are,” cried Bingley, “not for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening. And several of them, you see, are unusually pretty.”

“*You* are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever saw! But one of her sisters is sitting just behind you. She is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which one do you mean?” Mr. Darcy turned round and looked for a moment at Elizabeth. When she caught his eye, he looked away. Then he said coldly, “She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt *me*. And just now I am in no mood to give importance to young ladies whom other men ignore. You had better go back to your partner and enjoy her smiles. You are wasting your time with me.”

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off, and Elizabeth was left with no very friendly feelings towards him. But she told the story to her friends with great spirit. She had a lively, playful nature, and she loved anything ridiculous.

On the whole, the evening passed pleasantly for the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen the Netherfield party admire her eldest daughter very much. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and his sisters had paid her special attention. Jane was as pleased by this as her mother, but in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard someone tell Miss Bingley that she was the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood. And Catherine and Lydia had been lucky enough never to be without partners. That was all they had learnt to care about at a ball so far. So they returned in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived. They were its most important family. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he forgot all about the time. And on this occasion he was quite curious about the evening. It had raised such great hopes. He had rather hoped that all his wife’s plans for the stranger would fail. But he soon found that he was going to hear a very different story.

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

“If he had had any pity for *me*,” cried her husband impatiently, “he would not have danced half so much! For God’s sake, say no more about his partners. Oh! I wish he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!”

“Oh! My dear,” Mrs. Bennet went on, “I am quite delighted with him. He is so very handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace on Mrs. Hurst’s gown——”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet refused to listen to any description of fine clothes. So she had to find another part of the subject. With great bitterness and some exaggeration, she told him about the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lizzy does not lose much by not pleasing *him*. He is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. He was so proud and so vain that nobody could bear him! He walked here, and he walked there, thinking himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to put him in his place with one of your sharp remarks. I really hate the man.”

### Glossary

- **assembly**: a big public evening party with dancing
- **ten thousand a year**: an income of ten thousand pounds every year; a very large amount
- **estate**: a large area of land with a big house, owned by one family
- **tolerable**: good enough, but not special
- **tempt**: to make someone want to do something
- **accomplished**: having many skills, such as music, drawing and languages
- **the Boulanger**: a kind of dance, often danced near the end of a ball
- **sprained his ankle**: hurt his ankle by turning it badly
- **put him in his place**: to tell a proud person something that makes him feel less important

## Chapter 4

Before this, Jane had been careful not to praise Mr. Bingley too much. But when she and Elizabeth were alone, she told her sister how very much she admired him.

“He is just what a young man ought to be,” she said. “He is sensible, good-humoured and lively. And I never saw such happy manners! He is so relaxed, and yet so perfectly well-bred!”

“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man ought to be too, if he possibly can. So his character is complete.”

“I was very flattered when he asked me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Didn’t you? *I* expected it for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take *you* by surprise, and *me* never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. He does not deserve any thanks for his politeness there. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you permission to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”

“Dear Lizzy!”

“Oh! You know you are much too ready to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. The whole world is good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak badly of a human being in my life.”

“I try not to be quick to criticise anyone. But I always say what I think.”

“I know you do, and *that* is what makes it so surprising. You have such good sense, and yet you are so honestly blind to the foolishness and nonsense of others! Many people pretend to be fair and generous to everyone. One meets that everywhere. But to be truly generous, without showing off and without a plan, is yours alone. You take the good in everybody’s character and make it even better. And you say nothing about the bad. And so you like this man’s sisters too, do you? Their manners are not as good as his.”

“Certainly not, at first. But they are very pleasing women when you talk with them. Miss Bingley is going to live with her brother and run his house. And I am very much mistaken if we do not find a very charming neighbour in her.”

Elizabeth listened in silence, but she was not convinced. The sisters’ behaviour at the assembly had not been meant to please people in general. Elizabeth noticed things more quickly than her sister, and her temper was less easy to bend. Also, the sisters had paid no special attention to her, so nothing had softened her judgement. She did not feel like approving of them. They were in fact very fine ladies. They could be good-humoured when they were pleased. They could also be agreeable when they chose. But they were proud and vain. They were rather handsome. They had been educated at one of the best private schools in London. They had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. They usually spent more than they should, and they mixed with people of high rank. So in every way they had the right to think well of themselves and poorly of others. They came from a respectable family in the north of England. They remembered this fact much better than the fact that their brother’s fortune and their own had come from trade.

Mr. Bingley had inherited property worth nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father. His father had meant to buy an estate, but he did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley meant to buy one too, and sometimes he chose which county it would be in. But now he had a good house and the right to hunt on its land. Many of the people who knew best how easy-going he was wondered if he might spend the rest of his days at Netherfield and leave the buying to the next generation.

His sisters very much wanted him to have an estate of his own. But although he was now only a tenant, Miss Bingley was quite willing to sit at the head of his table. And Mrs. Hurst had married a man with more fashion than money. She was just as ready to treat her brother’s house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had been an adult for less than two years. Then by chance someone recommended Netherfield House to him, and he was tempted to look at it. He looked at it and inside it for half an hour. He liked its position and the main rooms. He was satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and he took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, even though their characters were very different. Darcy was fond of Bingley because he was so easy-going, so open and so easy to influence. No character could be more different from Darcy’s own, but Darcy never seemed unhappy with his own character. Bingley trusted Darcy’s friendship completely, and he had the highest opinion of his judgement. Darcy was the more intelligent of the two. Bingley was certainly not stupid, but Darcy was clever. At the same time Darcy was proud, reserved and hard to please. His manners were well-bred, but not friendly. In that way Bingley had a great advantage. Bingley was sure to be liked wherever he went. Darcy was always offending people.

The way they spoke about the Meryton assembly showed their characters well. Bingley had never met pleasanter people or prettier girls in his life. Everybody had been most kind and attentive to him. There had been no formality and no stiffness. He had soon felt that he knew everyone in the room. As for Miss Bennet, he could not imagine a more beautiful angel. Darcy, on the other hand, had seen a crowd of people with little beauty and no fashion. He had not felt the smallest interest in any of them. None of them had given him either attention or pleasure. He agreed that Miss Bennet was pretty, but she smiled too much.

Mrs. Hurst and her sister agreed that this was true. But still they admired her and liked her. They said she was a sweet girl, and they would not mind knowing her better. So Miss Bennet was officially a sweet girl. After such praise, their brother felt that he had permission to think of her as he chose.

### Glossary

- **well-bred**: having good manners because of a good upbringing
- **flattered**: pleased because someone has praised you or shown you special attention
- **private schools**: schools that parents pay for; these sisters went to a very fine one in London
- **trade**: buying and selling goods to make money; many gentlemen looked down on it
- **inherited**: received money or property from someone after their death
- **tenant**: a person who pays rent to live in a house that belongs to someone else
- **easy-going**: relaxed and happy to agree with others
- **reserved**: not showing your feelings or talking much to others

## Chapter 5

A short walk from Longbourn lived a family that the Bennets were especially close to. Sir William Lucas had once been in trade in Meryton. There he had made a fair fortune. While he was mayor, he had made a speech to the King, and he had been made a knight. Perhaps he had felt this honour too strongly. It had made him dislike his business and his home in a small market town. So he gave up both. He moved with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, and from that time it was called Lucas Lodge. There he could think with pleasure of his own importance. Free from business, he could spend all his time being polite to the whole world. He was proud of his rank, but it did not make him look down on people. On the contrary, he paid attention to everybody. By nature he was harmless, friendly and helpful. Since he had been presented at St. James’s, he had become courteous as well.

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

The Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets simply had to meet and talk over a ball. So the morning after the assembly, the Lucas girls came to Longbourn to hear the news and to share their own.

“*You* began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet to Miss Lucas. She was polite, but it cost her an effort. “*You* were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”

“Yes, but he seemed to like his second choice better.”

“Oh! You mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. Of course that *did* seem as if he admired her. Indeed, I rather believe he *did*. I heard something about it, but I hardly know what. Something about Mr. Robinson.”

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson. Didn’t I tell you about it? Mr. Robinson asked him how he liked our Meryton assemblies. He asked whether he didn’t think there were a great many pretty women in the room. And he asked *which* one he thought the prettiest. Mr. Bingley answered the last question immediately: ‘Oh! The eldest Miss Bennet, without a doubt. There cannot be two opinions about that.’”

“Upon my word! Well, that was very clear indeed. That does seem as if—— But still, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“*My* overhearing was more useful than *yours*, Eliza,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not as worth listening to as his friend, is he? Poor Eliza! To be only just *tolerable*.”

“Please don’t put it into Lizzy’s head to be upset by his rudeness,” said Mrs. Bennet. “He is such a disagreeable man that it would be a real misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour without once opening his mouth.”

“Are you quite sure, Ma’am? Isn’t there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”

“Yes, because in the end she asked him how he liked Netherfield. He could not avoid answering her. But she said he seemed very angry at being spoken to.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never talks much except with his close friends. With *them* he is very agreeable.”

“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was. Everybody says that he is eaten up with pride. I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and that she had come to the ball in a hired carriage.”

“I do not mind that he didn’t talk to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas, “but I wish he had danced with Eliza.”

“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with *him*, if I were you.”

“I believe, Ma’am, I can safely promise you *never* to dance with him.”

“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend *me* as much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. He is such a fine young man, with family, fortune and everything in his favour. One cannot be surprised that he thinks highly of himself. If I may say so, he has a *right* to be proud.”

“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive *his* pride, if he had not hurt *mine*.”

Mary was proud of how serious and solid her thoughts were. “Pride,” she said, “is a very common fault, I believe. From everything I have ever read, I am sure that it is very common indeed. Human nature is especially likely to fall into it. Very few of us do not feel pleased with ourselves because of some quality or other. The quality may be real, or it may be imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though people often use the words as if they meant the same. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride is more about our opinion of ourselves. Vanity is about what we want others to think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas boy who had come with his sisters, “I would not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you should,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And if I saw you doing it, I would take away your bottle at once.”

The boy said that she would not. She kept saying that she would. The argument ended only when the visit did.

### Glossary

- **knight / knighthood**: a man given the title “Sir” by the King, as an honour
- **mayor**: the head of a town’s government
- **St. James’s**: the King’s court in London, where important people were presented to the King
- **courteous**: very polite and respectful
- **tolerable**: good enough, but not special
- **hired carriage**: a carriage you pay to use, because you do not own one
- **vanity**: wanting others to admire you
- **pack of foxhounds**: a group of dogs kept for hunting foxes, an expensive hobby of rich men

## Chapter 6

The ladies of Longbourn soon paid a visit to the ladies of Netherfield. The Netherfield ladies returned the visit in the proper way. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley liked Miss Bennet’s pleasant manners more and more. They found the mother impossible to bear, and the younger sisters were not worth speaking to. But they said they wished to know the two eldest better. Jane received this attention with the greatest pleasure. But Elizabeth still saw that they looked down on everybody, and hardly made an exception even for her sister. She could not like them. Still, their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had some value. Most probably it came from their brother’s admiration for her.

Whenever they met, it was clear to everyone that he *did* admire her. And to Elizabeth it was just as clear that Jane was giving way to the liking she had felt for him from the start. Jane was on the way to being very much in love. But Elizabeth was glad that the world in general would probably not discover it. Jane had very strong feelings. But she also had a calm temper and a manner that was always cheerful. This would protect her from the suspicions of impertinent people. Elizabeth mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.

“It may perhaps be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to hide it from the public in such a case. But sometimes it is a disadvantage to be so very careful. If a woman hides her love from the man too, she may lose her chance to catch him. And then it will be poor comfort to believe that the world knows nothing either. Almost every attachment has a lot of gratitude or vanity in it. So it is never safe to leave one to itself. We can all *begin* freely. A slight preference is natural enough. But very few of us have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show *more* affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister, without a doubt. But he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”

“But she does help him on, as much as her nature allows. If *I* can see that she likes him, he must be a real fool not to see it too.”

“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane’s character as you do.”

“But if a woman likes a man and does not try to hide it, he must find it out.”

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. Bingley and Jane meet quite often, but never for many hours together. And they always see each other in large mixed parties. So they cannot spend every moment talking to each other. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour when she has his attention. When she is sure of him, there will be time to fall in love as much as she chooses.”

“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “when the only question is the wish to marry well. If I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I would use it. But these are not Jane’s feelings. She is not acting with a plan. So far she cannot even be sure how much she likes him, or whether it is reasonable. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton. She saw him one morning at his own house. Since then she has dined in company with him four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.”

“Not as you describe it. If she had only *dined* with him, she might only have found out whether he had a good appetite. But you must remember that they have also spent four evenings together. And four evenings may do a great deal.”

“Yes. These four evenings have shown them that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce. But about any other important quality, I do not think much has come out.”

“Well,” said Charlotte, “I wish Jane success with all my heart. If she married him tomorrow, I think her chance of happiness would be just as good. It would be as good as if she studied his character for a year. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. The two people may know each other’s characters very well before the wedding. Or they may be very alike. But that does not make them any happier at all. They always grow different enough afterwards to have their share of annoyance. So it is better to know as little as possible about the faults of the person you marry.”

“You make me laugh, Charlotte. But it is not sensible. You know it is not sensible, and you would never act like this yourself.”

Elizabeth was busy watching Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister. So she did not suspect at all that she herself was becoming interesting to his friend. At first Mr. Darcy had hardly agreed that she was pretty. He had looked at her without admiration at the ball. When they next met, he looked at her only to find fault. He made it clear to himself and his friends that her face had hardly one good feature. But almost at once he began to find that her face looked unusually intelligent. This was because of the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. After this discovery came others, which were just as mortifying for him. With a critical eye he had found more than one place where her figure was not perfectly shaped. But he had to admit that her figure was light and pleasing. He kept saying that her manners were not those of fashionable society. But in spite of this, their easy playfulness charmed him. She knew nothing of this. To her he was only the man who made himself pleasant nowhere. He was the man who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.

He began to wish to know more about her. As a step towards talking with her himself, he listened to her conversations with others. This drew her attention. It happened at Sir William Lucas’s house, where a large party had gathered.

“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” she said to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”

“Only Mr. Darcy can answer that question.”

“But if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is doing. He has a very mocking eye. If I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.”

Soon afterwards he came near them, though he did not seem to want to speak. Miss Lucas dared her friend to mention the subject to him. At once this made Elizabeth do it. She turned to him and said,

“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself unusually well just now? I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton.”

“With great energy. But it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”

“You are hard on us.”

“It will soon be *her* turn to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am going to open the piano, Eliza, and you know what comes next.”

“You are a very strange kind of friend! You always want me to play and sing in front of anybody and everybody! If my vanity had been musical, you would have been very useful to me. But as it is, I would really rather not play. These people must be used to hearing the very best performers.” But Miss Lucas kept on asking, and so she added, “Very well. If it must be so, it must.” Then she looked seriously at Mr. Darcy. “There is a fine old saying, which of course everybody here knows: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge.’ And I shall keep mine to make my song louder.”

Her playing was pleasing, though not at all excellent. After a song or two, several people begged her to sing again. But before she could answer, her sister Mary eagerly took her place at the piano. Mary was the only plain one in the family. Because of this, she had worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments. And she was always impatient to show them off.

Mary had neither talent nor taste. Vanity had made her work hard. But it had also given her a pedantic air and a conceited manner. These would have spoiled even a higher level of skill than she had reached. Elizabeth was easy and natural. People had listened to her with much more pleasure, though she did not play half so well. At the end of a long concerto, Mary was glad to buy praise and thanks with Scotch and Irish songs. Her younger sisters had asked for these. They, with some of the Lucases and two or three officers, danced eagerly at one end of the room.

Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent anger at this way of passing the evening, with no conversation at all. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not notice Sir William Lucas beside him. Then Sir William began.

“What a charming amusement this is for young people, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it one of the first signs of a refined society.”

“Certainly, sir. And it also has the advantage of being popular in the less refined societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”

Sir William only smiled. After a pause he saw Bingley join the group. “Your friend dances delightfully,” he went on. “And I am sure that you are an expert in the art yourself, Mr. Darcy.”

“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, and I took no small pleasure in the sight. Do you often dance at St. James’s?”

“Never, sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”

“You have a house in town, I suppose?”

Mr. Darcy bowed.

“I once had some thoughts of settling in town myself, because I am fond of superior society. But I was not quite sure that the London air would agree with Lady Lucas.”

He paused in the hope of an answer. But his companion did not want to give one. At that moment Elizabeth moved towards them. Sir William had the idea of doing a very gallant thing, and he called out to her,

“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must let me present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. I am sure you cannot refuse to dance when so much beauty is in front of you.” He took her hand and was about to give it to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy was extremely surprised, but he was not unwilling to take it. But she drew back at once. A little upset, she said to Sir William,

“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. Please do not think that I came this way to beg for a partner.”

Mr. Darcy, very seriously and politely, asked for the honour of her hand. But it was no use. Elizabeth’s mind was made up. And Sir William’s attempt to persuade her did not change it at all.

“You dance so well, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to refuse me the happiness of watching you. This gentleman dislikes dancing in general. But I am sure he can have no objection to doing us this favour for half an hour.”

“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling.

“He is indeed. But when we think what is tempting him, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder that he is so obliging. For who would object to such a partner?”

Elizabeth gave him a playful look and turned away. Her refusal had not harmed her in the gentleman’s eyes. He was thinking of her with some pleasure when Miss Bingley spoke to him.

“I can guess what you are dreaming about.”

“I should think not.”

“You are thinking how unbearable it would be to spend many evenings like this, in such company. And indeed I quite agree with you. I was never more annoyed! The dullness, and yet the noise! The nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your sharp comments on them!”

“Your guess is completely wrong, I assure you. My mind was busy with something more pleasant. I have been thinking about the very great pleasure that a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can give.”

Miss Bingley at once fixed her eyes on his face. She asked him to tell her which lady deserved the credit for such thoughts. Mr. Darcy answered without any fear,

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am completely astonished. How long has she been such a favourite? And please tell me, when may I wish you joy?”

“That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very quick. It jumps from admiration to love, and from love to marriage, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”

“Well, if you are so serious about it, I shall think the matter is completely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed. And of course she will always be at Pemberley with you.”

He listened to her with complete indifference while she amused herself in this way. His calmness made her feel that all was safe. And so her jokes went on for a long time.

### Glossary

- **impertinent**: rude and too bold; not showing proper respect.
- **a fortnight**: two weeks.
- **Vingt-un, Commerce**: two card games that people played in the evening.
- **mortifying**: making someone feel ashamed or hurting their pride.
- **“Keep your breath to cool your porridge”**: an old saying: do not waste your words; save your breath for something useful.
- **concerto**: a long piece of music for one instrument, often very difficult.
- **pedantic**: too interested in showing off small facts and rules that you have learned.
- **St. James’s**: the King’s court in London, where important people went.
- **wish you joy**: say “congratulations”, especially to someone who is going to marry.

## Chapter 7

Almost all of Mr. Bennet’s property was an estate which brought him two thousand pounds a year. Unfortunately for his daughters, it was entailed. Because he had no son, it would go to a distant male relation. Their mother’s fortune was large enough for her position in life. But it could not do much to make up for what his lacked. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four thousand pounds.

She had a sister who was married to a Mr. Philips. He had been a clerk to their father, and had taken over the business after him. She also had a brother who lived in London and worked in a respectable kind of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton. This was a very convenient distance for the young ladies. Three or four times a week they usually felt the wish to go there. They went to pay their respects to their aunt, and to a hat shop just across the road. The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, went there especially often. Their minds were emptier than their sisters’ minds. When nothing better was offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary. It filled their mornings and gave them something to talk about in the evening. However little news there was in the country in general, they always managed to learn some from their aunt. At present, indeed, they had plenty of both news and happiness. A militia regiment had recently arrived in the neighbourhood. It was going to stay the whole winter, and Meryton was its headquarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Philips now brought them the most interesting news. Every day they learned something more about the officers’ names and families. Soon it was no secret where the officers lived, and at last the girls began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips visited them all, and this opened a new source of happiness to his nieces. They could talk of nothing but officers. Mr. Bingley’s large fortune excited their mother whenever it was mentioned. But in their eyes it was worth nothing compared with the uniform of an ensign.

One morning Mr. Bennet listened to their excited talk on this subject. Then he said coolly,

“From all that I can tell by the way you talk, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it for some time, but now I am sure.”

Catherine was upset and made no answer. But Lydia did not care at all. She went on talking about how much she admired Captain Carter. She hoped to see him that day, because he was going to London the next morning.

“I am astonished, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that you are so ready to think your own children silly. If I wanted to think badly of anybody’s children, it would not be my own.”

“If my children are silly, I must hope always to know it.”

“Yes, but as it happens, they are all very clever.”

“This is the only point, I like to think, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our feelings were the same in every detail. But here I must differ from you. I think our two youngest daughters are unusually foolish.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat very much myself. And indeed I still do, in my heart. If a smart young colonel with five or six thousand a year wanted one of my girls, I would not say no to him. And I thought Colonel Forster looked very handsome in his uniform the other night at Sir William’s.”

“Mama,” cried Lydia, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go to Miss Watson’s as often as when they first came. She very often sees them standing in Clarke’s library now.”

Mrs. Bennet could not reply, because the footman came in with a note for Miss Bennet. It came from Netherfield, and the servant was waiting for an answer. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes shone with pleasure. While her daughter read, she called out eagerly,

“Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, hurry and tell us. Hurry, my love.”

“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then she read it aloud.

“My dear Friend,

“If you are not kind enough to dine today with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives. For a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can after you get this. My brother and the gentlemen are going to dine with the officers. Yours ever,

“Caroline Bingley.”

“With the officers!” cried Lydia. “I wonder why my aunt did not tell us about *that*.”

“Dining out,” said Mrs. Bennet. “That is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” said Jane.

“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it looks likely to rain. And then you must stay all night.”

“That would be a good plan,” said Elizabeth, “if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.”

“Oh! But the gentlemen will take Mr. Bingley’s chaise to go to Meryton. And the Hursts have no horses for theirs.”

“I would much rather go in the coach.”

“But, my dear, I am sure your father cannot spare the horses. They are needed on the farm, Mr. Bennet, aren’t they?”

“They are needed on the farm much more often than I can get them.”

“But if you get them today,” said Elizabeth, “my mother’s purpose will be served.”

At last she made her father admit that the horses were busy. So Jane had to go on horseback. Her mother went with her to the door and cheerfully predicted a bad day many times. Her hopes came true. Jane had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her sisters were worried about her, but her mother was delighted. The rain went on all evening without a break. Jane certainly could not come back.

“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs. Bennet more than once. She spoke as if she alone deserved the credit for making it rain. But until the next morning she did not know how successful her plan really was. Breakfast was hardly over when a servant from Netherfield brought this note for Elizabeth:

“My dearest Lizzy,

“I feel very unwell this morning. I suppose this is because I got wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my going home till I am better. They also insist on my seeing Mr. Jones. So do not be alarmed if you hear that he has been to see me. Except for a sore throat and a headache, there is not much the matter with me.

“Yours, etc.”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud. “If your daughter should become dangerously ill, if she should die, it would be a comfort to know one thing. It was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

“Oh! I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little colds. She will be well looked after. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her, if I could have the carriage.”

Elizabeth was really anxious. She was determined to go to her sister, though the carriage was not available. She was not a horsewoman, so walking was her only choice. She announced her decision.

“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such a thing, in all this mud! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”

“I shall be very fit to see Jane, which is all I want.”

“Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,” said her father, “to send for the horses?”

“No, indeed. I do not want to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a reason. It is only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”

“I admire your active kindness,” said Mary. “But every feeling should be guided by reason. And in my opinion, the effort should always be in proportion to what is needed.”

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

“If we hurry,” said Lydia, as they walked along, “perhaps we may see Captain Carter before he goes.”

In Meryton they parted. The two youngest went to the rooms of one of the officers’ wives. Elizabeth went on alone. She crossed field after field at a quick pace. In her impatience she jumped over stiles and puddles. At last she came within sight of the house. Her ankles were tired and her stockings were dirty. Her face was glowing with the warmth of exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast room. Everyone except Jane was there, and her appearance caused a great deal of surprise. She had walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and alone! Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley could hardly believe it. Elizabeth was sure that they looked down on her for it. However, they received her very politely. And in their brother’s manners there was something better than politeness. There was good humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst said nothing at all. Mr. Darcy’s feelings were divided. He admired the brightness that the exercise had given to her skin. But he doubted whether her reason was good enough for coming so far alone. Mr. Hurst was thinking only of his breakfast.

She asked about her sister, but the answers were not very good. Miss Bennet had slept badly. She was up, but she was very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her at once. Jane had wanted such a visit very much. But in her note she had not said so, because she was afraid of causing alarm or trouble. So she was delighted when Elizabeth came in. But she was not well enough to talk much. Miss Bingley left them alone together. Then Jane could say little more than how grateful she was for the great kindness she received. Elizabeth looked after her in silence.

When breakfast was over, the sisters joined them. Elizabeth began to like them herself when she saw how much affection and care they showed for Jane. The apothecary came and examined his patient. He said, as one might expect, that she had caught a violent cold. They must try to get the better of it. He advised her to go back to bed, and promised her some medicine. Everyone followed his advice readily, because her fever grew worse and her head ached badly. Elizabeth did not leave her room for a moment. The other ladies were not often away either. The gentlemen were out, so in fact the ladies had nothing to do anywhere else.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very unwillingly she said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage. Elizabeth needed only a little more pressing to accept it. But Jane showed such worry about parting with her that Miss Bingley had to change her offer. Instead of the chaise, she invited Elizabeth to stay at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth agreed most thankfully. A servant was sent to Longbourn to tell the family about her stay. He was also to bring back some clothes.

### Glossary

- **entailed**: under a legal rule that lets only a male relative inherit the house and land.
- **attorney**: a lawyer.
- **militia regiment**: a large group of soldiers who protect the home country and stay in a town for some months.
- **ensign**: an officer of the lowest rank in the army.
- **red coat**: the red uniform of a soldier; also a soldier himself.
- **tête-à-tête**: (French) a private conversation or time spent alone between two people.
- **chaise**: a light carriage pulled by horses.
- **apothecary**: a person who makes medicines and treats sick people.
- **stiles**: steps that help people climb over a fence or wall between fields.

## Chapter 8

At five o’clock the two ladies went to dress, and at half past six Elizabeth was called to dinner. Everyone politely asked about Jane. Elizabeth was pleased to see that Mr. Bingley’s concern was much greater than the others’. But she could not give a very good answer. Jane was not at all better. When they heard this, the sisters said three or four times how sorry they were. They said how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how much they disliked being ill themselves. Then they thought no more about it. When Jane was not in front of them, they did not care about her. This let Elizabeth enjoy all her first dislike of them again.

Their brother, in fact, was the only one of the party whom she could look on with any pleasure. His worry about Jane was clear, and his attentions to her were very pleasant. Because of them she did not feel so much like an intruder. She believed the others thought of her as one. Hardly anyone but him paid her any attention. Miss Bingley was busy with Mr. Darcy, and her sister was almost as busy with him. Elizabeth sat next to Mr. Hurst. He was a lazy man who lived only to eat, drink and play cards. When he found that she preferred a plain dish to a ragout, he had nothing to say to her.

When dinner was over, she went straight back to Jane. As soon as she was out of the room, Miss Bingley began to criticise her. Her manners were very bad indeed, she said, a mixture of pride and impertinence. She had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added,

“In short, she has nothing to recommend her except being an excellent walker. I shall never forget how she looked this morning. She really looked almost wild.”

“She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep a straight face. It was very silly of her to come at all! Why must *she* run about the country because her sister has a cold? Her hair was so untidy, so blowsy!”

“Yes, and her petticoat! I hope you saw her petticoat. It was six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain. And her gown had been let down to hide it, but it did not do its job.”

“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley, “but I noticed none of it. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. I did not notice her dirty petticoat at all.”

“*You* noticed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley. “And I am inclined to think you would not wish to see *your sister* make such a show of herself.”

“Certainly not.”

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? To me it shows a terrible sort of conceited independence. It shows a country-town carelessness about proper behaviour.”

“It shows a love for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley.

“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley in a half whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “They were brightened by the exercise.” There was a short pause after this, and then Mrs. Hurst began again.

“I like Jane Bennet very much. She is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart that she were well married. But with such a father and mother, and such low relations, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”

“Yes, and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”

“That is excellent,” added her sister, and they both laughed loudly.

“If they had enough uncles to fill *all* of Cheapside,” cried Bingley, “it would not make them one bit less agreeable.”

“But it must greatly lessen their chance of marrying men of any importance in the world,” replied Darcy.

Bingley made no answer to this. But his sisters agreed with it warmly. For some time they had fun laughing at their dear friend’s vulgar relations.

However, with new tenderness they went to her room when they left the dining room. They sat with her till they were called to coffee. She was still very ill. Elizabeth would not leave her at all until late in the evening. Then she had the comfort of seeing her asleep. It seemed right to her, rather than pleasant, that she should go downstairs herself. When she came into the drawing-room, she found the whole party playing loo. They at once invited her to join them. But she suspected that they were playing for a lot of money, so she refused. She used her sister as an excuse. She said she would amuse herself with a book for the short time she could stay downstairs. Mr. Hurst looked at her in astonishment.

“Do you prefer reading to cards?” he said. “That is rather strange.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such blame,” cried Elizabeth. “I am *not* a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”

“I am sure you have pleasure in nursing your sister,” said Bingley. “And I hope that pleasure will soon be greater, when you see her quite well.”

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart. Then she walked towards a table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others, all the books that his library had.

“And I wish my collection were larger, for your benefit and for my own good name. But I am a lazy fellow. I do not have many books, but I have more than I ever look at.”

Elizabeth assured him that the books in the room suited her perfectly.

“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father left such a small collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!”

“It ought to be good,” he replied. “It has been the work of many generations.”

“And then you have added so much to it yourself. You are always buying books.”

“I cannot understand how a family can neglect its library in times like these.”

“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build *your* house, I hope it will be half as delightful as Pemberley.”

“I hope so too.”

“But I would really advise you to buy your land near there, and take Pemberley as a kind of model. There is no finer county in England than Derbyshire.”

“With all my heart. I will buy Pemberley itself, if Darcy will sell it.”

“I am talking about what is possible, Charles.”

“Upon my word, Caroline, I think it would be more possible to get Pemberley by buying it than by copying it.”

Elizabeth was so interested in what was said that she paid very little attention to her book. Soon she put it down completely. She went near the card-table and stood between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister to watch the game.

“Has Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” said Miss Bingley. “Will she be as tall as I am?”

“I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.”

“How I long to see her again! I never met anybody who delighted me so much. Such a face, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her playing on the piano is exquisite.”

“It amazes me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses. I hardly know anyone who cannot do all this. And I am sure of one thing. Whenever I hear of a young lady for the first time, I am told she is very accomplished.”

“Your list of the usual accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth in it. Many a woman gets the word only for netting a purse or covering a screen. But I do not at all agree with your opinion of ladies in general. Among all the people I know, I cannot boast of more than half a dozen who are really accomplished.”

“Nor can I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” said Elizabeth, “your idea of an accomplished woman must include a great deal.”

“Yes, it does include a great deal.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant. “No one can really be thought accomplished unless she is far better than the usual. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages to deserve the word. And besides all this, she must have a certain something in her air and her way of walking. It must be in the tone of her voice, her manners and the way she speaks. Otherwise she will only half deserve the word.”

“All this she must have,” added Darcy. “And to all this she must add something more solid. She must improve her mind by extensive reading.”

“I am no longer surprised that you know *only* six accomplished women. I rather wonder now that you know *any*.”

“Are you so hard on your own sex that you doubt all this is possible?”

“*I* never saw such a woman. *I* never saw such ability, and taste, and hard work, and elegance, as you describe, all together in one person.”

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out that her doubt was unfair. They both declared that they knew many women who fitted this description. Then Mr. Hurst called them to order. He complained bitterly that they were not paying attention to the game. This put an end to all conversation, and soon afterwards Elizabeth left the room.

“Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door had closed behind her, “is one of those young ladies who try to please men by speaking badly of their own sex. And with many men, I dare say, it works. But in my opinion it is a cheap trick, a very low art.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Darcy. The remark was mainly meant for him. “There is something low in *all* the arts that ladies sometimes stoop to use to win a man. Anything that is close to cunning is despicable.”

Miss Bingley was not satisfied enough with this reply to go on with the subject.

Elizabeth came back to them only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley wanted to send for Mr. Jones at once. His sisters were sure that no country doctor could be of any use. They suggested sending an express to London for one of the most famous physicians. Elizabeth would not hear of this. But she was more willing to accept their brother’s idea. So it was agreed that Mr. Jones would be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet were not clearly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable. His sisters said that they were miserable. However, they comforted their misery by singing duets after supper. He could find no better relief for his feelings than giving orders to his housekeeper. Every possible attention was to be paid to the sick lady and her sister.

### Glossary

- **ragout**: a rich French dish of meat and vegetables cooked slowly in a sauce.
- **blowsy**: untidy and red-faced, as if blown about by the wind.
- **petticoat**: a skirt worn under a dress.
- **Cheapside**: a busy business street in London; fine people thought it a low place to live.
- **loo**: a card game, often played for money.
- **accomplished**: having many skills, such as music, drawing and languages.
- **net purses**: make small bags for money out of knotted thread, as a hobby.
- **express**: a very fast, urgent letter carried by a special rider.
- **physician**: a doctor, usually a well-trained and expensive one.

## Chapter 9

Elizabeth spent most of the night in her sister’s room. In the morning people sent to ask about Jane. Very early, Mr. Bingley sent a housemaid. Some time later the two elegant ladies who were his sisters’ maids came too. Elizabeth was glad to be able to send them a fairly good answer. But although Jane was better, Elizabeth asked for a note to be sent to Longbourn. She wanted her mother to visit Jane and judge her condition for herself. The note was sent at once, and her mother did what it asked just as quickly. Mrs. Bennet, with her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.

If Mrs. Bennet had found Jane in any danger that she could see, she would have been very unhappy. But when she saw her, she was satisfied that the illness was not serious. So she did not want her to get well at once. If Jane got well, she would probably have to leave Netherfield. So her mother would not listen when Jane asked to be taken home. The apothecary arrived at about the same time, and he did not think it wise either. They sat with Jane for a little while. Then Miss Bingley appeared and invited them, and the mother and three daughters followed her into the breakfast room. Bingley met them. He hoped that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.

“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is far too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must take advantage of your kindness a little longer.”

“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. I am sure my sister will not hear of her being moved.”

“You may be sure, madam,” said Miss Bingley with cold politeness. “Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she stays with us.”

Mrs. Bennet thanked them again and again.

“I am sure,” she added, “if it was not for such good friends, I do not know what would happen to her. She is very ill indeed and suffers a great deal. But she bears it with the greatest patience in the world. That is always her way, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever known. I often tell my other girls they are nothing compared to *her*. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming view over that gravel path. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. I hope you will not think of leaving it in a hurry, though you have only a short lease.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” he replied. “So if I decided to leave Netherfield, I would probably be gone in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself quite settled here.”

“That is exactly what I would have expected of you,” said Elizabeth.

“You begin to understand me, do you?” he cried, turning towards her.

“Oh! yes, I understand you perfectly.”

“I wish I could take this as a compliment. But I am afraid it is a sad thing to be so easy to see through.”

“That depends. A deep, intricate character is not necessarily better or worse than one like yours.”

“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are. Do not run on in the wild way that you are allowed to at home.”

“I did not know before,” Bingley went on at once, “that you studied character. It must be an amusing study.”

“Yes, but intricate characters are the *most* amusing. They have at least that advantage.”

“In general, the country can give you only a few subjects for such a study,” said Darcy. “In a country neighbourhood you move in a very small society that never changes.”

“But people themselves change so much that there is always something new to notice in them.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet. She was offended by the way he spoke of a country neighbourhood. “I assure you there is quite as much of *that* going on in the country as in town.”

Everybody was surprised. Darcy looked at her for a moment and then turned away in silence. Mrs. Bennet thought she had won a complete victory over him, and she went on with her triumph.

“For my part, I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, except the shops and public places. The country is far pleasanter, isn’t it, Mr. Bingley?”

“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it. And when I am in town, it is much the same. They each have their advantages, and I can be just as happy in either.”

“Yes, that is because you have the right character. But that gentleman,” she said, looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”

“Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite misunderstood Mr. Darcy. He only meant that you do not meet such a variety of people in the country as in town. You must admit that this is true.”

“Certainly, my dear, nobody said you did. But as to not meeting many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.”

Only his concern for Elizabeth helped Bingley to keep a straight face. His sister was less kind. She looked towards Mr. Darcy with a very meaningful smile. Elizabeth wanted to say something that might turn her mother’s thoughts. So she asked her whether Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since *she* left.

“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, isn’t he? So much the man of fashion! So well-bred and so easy! He always has something to say to everybody. *That* is my idea of good breeding. Some people think themselves very important and never open their mouths. They have quite the wrong idea.”

“Did Charlotte dine with you?”

“No, she wanted to go home. I think she was needed for the mince pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, *I* always keep servants who can do their own work. *My* daughters are brought up differently. But everybody must judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not pretty! Not that *I* think Charlotte so *very* plain. But then, she is our special friend.”

“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” said Bingley.

“Oh! dear, yes. But you must admit she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and she envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast about my own child. But Jane... well, one does not often see anybody better looking. Everybody says so. I do not trust my own love for her. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner’s house in town. He was so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would propose before we left. But he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses about her, and very pretty they were.”

“And so his love ended,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “Many people, I think, have got over love in the same way. I wonder who first discovered how well poetry works at driving love away!”

“I have always thought of poetry as the *food* of love,” said Darcy.

“Of a fine, strong, healthy love it may be. Everything feeds what is already strong. But if it is only a slight, thin sort of liking, I am sure of one thing. One good sonnet will starve it away completely.”

Darcy only smiled. Everyone fell silent, and Elizabeth trembled for fear that her mother would make a fool of herself again. She wanted to speak, but could think of nothing to say. After a short silence Mrs. Bennet began to thank Mr. Bingley again for his kindness to Jane. She also apologised for troubling him with Lizzy too. Mr. Bingley answered with natural politeness. He made his younger sister be polite too, and say what was proper. She did her part without much grace, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied. Soon afterwards she ordered her carriage. At this signal, the youngest of her daughters stepped forward. The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit. In the end they had decided that the youngest should remind Mr. Bingley of a promise. When he first came into the country, he had promised to give a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion and a good-humoured face. She was her mother’s favourite. Because of her mother’s love, she had gone out into society at an early age. She had very high spirits and a natural sense of her own importance. The officers liked her because of her uncle’s good dinners and her own easy manners. Their attention had turned her sense of importance into great confidence. So she was quite ready to speak to Mr. Bingley about the ball. She suddenly reminded him of his promise. She added that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to her mother’s ears.

“I am perfectly ready to keep my promise, I assure you. When your sister has recovered, you may name the very day of the ball, if you like. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.”

Lydia said she was satisfied. “Oh! yes, it would be much better to wait till Jane is well. And by that time Captain Carter will most likely be at Meryton again. And when you have given *your* ball,” she added, “I shall insist on the officers giving one too. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”

Then Mrs. Bennet and her daughters left. Elizabeth went back to Jane at once. She left her own behaviour and her family’s to the comments of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley made many witty remarks about *fine eyes*. But in spite of them, Mr. Darcy could not be persuaded to join in their criticism of *her*.

### Glossary

- **apothecary**: a person who makes medicines and treats sick people.
- **lease**: an agreement to rent a house or land for a certain time.
- **intricate**: complicated, with many parts that are hard to understand.
- **four and twenty**: an old way of saying “twenty-four”.
- **good breeding**: good manners that come from a good upbringing.
- **mince pies**: small sweet pies filled with dried fruit and spices, often made for Christmas.
- **verses**: lines of poetry; a short poem.
- **sonnet**: a short love poem of fourteen lines.
- **stout**: rather fat and strong.

## Chapter 10

The day passed much like the day before. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley spent some hours of the morning with the sick girl. She was still getting better, though slowly. In the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. But this time the loo table did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing a letter. Miss Bingley sat near him and watched how his letter was going. Again and again she interrupted him with messages for his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were playing piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was watching their game.

Elizabeth took up some sewing. She was quite amused by listening to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The lady kept praising his handwriting, or how even his lines were, or how long his letter was. He received her praise with complete unconcern. Together it made a strange dialogue. It was exactly what Elizabeth would have expected of each of them.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to get such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write unusually fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters you must have to write in a year! Business letters too! How hateful I would find them!”

“It is lucky, then, that they are my job and not yours.”

“Please tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, because you asked me to.”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you, but I always mend my own.”

“How do you manage to write so evenly?”

He was silent.

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear that she is getting better at the harp. And please tell her that I am quite in raptures over her beautiful little design for a table. I think it is far better than Miss Grantley’s.”

“Will you allow me to put off your raptures till I write again? At present I do not have room to do them justice.”

“Oh! it does not matter. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are usually long. But whether they are always charming, it is not for me to say.”

“It is a rule of mine that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write badly.”

“That will not work as a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her brother, “because he does *not* write with ease. He tries too hard to find words of four syllables. Don’t you, Darcy?”

“My style of writing is very different from yours.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way you can imagine. He leaves out half his words and blots the rest.”

“My ideas come so fast that I do not have time to express them. Because of this, my letters sometimes give the people I write to no ideas at all.”

“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must stop anyone from blaming you.”

“Nothing is more deceptive than the appearance of humility,” said Darcy. “It is often only not caring what others think. And sometimes it is an indirect boast.”

“And which of the two do you call *my* little piece of modesty just now?”

“The indirect boast. You are really proud of your faults in writing. You think they come from quick thinking and careless writing. You may not think that admirable, but you think it at least very interesting. People who can do anything quickly always value that power highly. Often they pay no attention to how badly the thing is done. This morning you told Mrs. Bennet that you would leave Netherfield in five minutes, if you ever decided to go. You meant it as a sort of compliment to yourself. And yet what is so admirable about such haste? It must leave very necessary business undone. And it can be of no real use to you or to anyone else.”

“Well,” cried Bingley, “this is too much! You remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed that what I said about myself was true. And I believe it at this moment. So at least I did not pretend to be needlessly hasty just to show off in front of the ladies.”

“I dare say you believed it. But I am not at all sure that you would go so quickly. Your behaviour would depend on chance as much as any man’s I know. Imagine you were getting on your horse. If a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it. You would probably not go. And if he said another word, you might stay a month.”

“You have only proved,” cried Elizabeth, “that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own character. You have shown him off much better now than he did himself.”

“I am very pleased,” said Bingley, “that you turn what my friend says into a compliment on my sweet temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a meaning which that gentleman did not intend at all. He would certainly think better of me in such a case if I said a flat no and rode off as fast as I could.”

“Would Mr. Darcy then think that your rash first plan was made right by your stubbornness in keeping to it?”

“Upon my word, I cannot explain the matter exactly. Darcy must speak for himself.”

“You expect me to explain opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never said I hold. However, let us accept the case as you describe it. Then you must remember one thing, Miss Bennet. The friend wants him to come back to the house and to delay his plan. But the friend has only wished it and asked for it. He has not given one argument for why it is right.”

“So to give in readily, easily, to the *persuasion* of a friend is no merit in your eyes.”

“To give in without being convinced is no compliment to the intelligence of either of them.”

“You seem to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. Respect for the person who asks will often make one agree to a request readily. One does not wait for arguments to reason one into it. I am not speaking especially of the case you have imagined about Mr. Bingley. Perhaps we should wait till it happens before we discuss whether his behaviour is wise. But think of general, ordinary cases between friends. One friend asks the other to change a decision that is not very important. Would you think badly of that person for agreeing, without waiting to be argued into it?”

“Before we go on with this subject, would it not be wise to settle more exactly how important this request is? And also how close the friendship between the two people is?”

“By all means,” cried Bingley. “Let us hear all the details. And let us not forget their height and size compared with each other. That will count for more in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may think. I assure you of this. If Darcy were not such a great tall fellow compared with me, I would not respect him half so much. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy on certain occasions and in certain places. I mean especially at his own house, on a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do.”

Mr. Darcy smiled. But Elizabeth thought she could see that he was rather offended, so she held back her laugh. Miss Bingley was angry about the insult to him. She scolded her brother for talking such nonsense.

“I see what you are doing, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument and want to stop this one.”

“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like quarrels. If you and Miss Bennet will put off yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful. And then you may say whatever you like about me.”

“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice for me. And Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

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

When that was done, he asked Miss Bingley and Elizabeth to be so kind as to play some music. Miss Bingley moved quickly to the piano. She politely asked Elizabeth to go first. Elizabeth refused just as politely and more firmly, and Miss Bingley sat down herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister. While they were singing, Elizabeth turned over some music books that lay on the piano. She could not help noticing how often Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She could hardly believe that so great a man could admire her. And yet it was even stranger that he should look at her because he disliked her. In the end she could only imagine one thing. He noticed her because something about her was more wrong and blameworthy than in anyone else present. That was, by his ideas of what was right. This idea did not hurt her. She liked him too little to care about his approval.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley changed the mood with a lively Scotch tune. Soon afterwards Mr. Darcy came near Elizabeth and said to her,

“Do you not feel a great wish, Miss Bennet, to take this chance to dance a reel?”

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised at her silence.

“Oh!” she said, “I heard you before. But I could not decide at once what to say in reply. I know you wanted me to say ‘Yes,’ so that you could have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I always love to spoil plans of that kind. I love to cheat a person of the contempt they have prepared. So I have made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all. And now despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed I do not dare.”

Elizabeth had rather expected to offend him, and she was amazed at his gallantry. But there was a mixture of sweetness and playful mischief in her manner. This made it difficult for her to offend anybody. And Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed that, if her family connections were not so low, he would be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw enough, or suspected enough, to be jealous. Her great anxiety for her dear friend Jane’s recovery was helped a little by her wish to get rid of Elizabeth.

She often tried to make Darcy dislike her guest. She talked about their supposed marriage, and planned his happiness in such a match.

The next day they were walking together in the shrubbery. “I hope,” she said, “that you will give your mother-in-law a few hints when this desirable event takes place. Tell her how useful it is to hold her tongue. And if you can manage it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may mention such a delicate subject, try to check that little something in your lady. It is very close to conceit and impertinence.”

“Have you anything else to suggest for my happiness at home?”

“Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be hung in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not try to have it painted. For what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”

“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression. But their colour and shape could be copied. And so could the eyelashes, which are so remarkably fine.”

At that moment Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself came towards them from another path.

“I did not know that you meant to walk,” said Miss Bingley, a little confused. She was afraid that they had been overheard.

“You treated us terribly badly,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”

Then she took Mr. Darcy’s free arm and left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path was just wide enough for three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness and said at once,

“This path is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”

But Elizabeth did not want to stay with them at all. She answered with a laugh,

“No, no. Stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and you look unusually well. The picturesque would be spoilt by adding a fourth. Goodbye.”

She then ran happily off. As she wandered about, she was glad in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much better that she planned to leave her room for a couple of hours that evening.

### Glossary

- **piquet**: a card game for two players.
- **mend a pen**: cut the end of an old feather pen again so that it writes well.
- **in raptures**: full of great delight and excitement.
- **humility**: the quality of not thinking you are better than others.
- **awful**: here: causing fear and great respect.
- **reel**: a fast, lively Scottish dance.
- **gallantry**: polite and kind behaviour of a man towards a woman.
- **bewitched**: charmed so much that you cannot stop thinking of someone.
- **shrubbery**: a part of a garden with bushes and paths for walking.
- **the picturesque**: the beauty of a scene that looks like a painting; artists said a group of three looked best.

## Chapter 11

After dinner the ladies left the dining-room. Elizabeth ran up to her sister. She made sure that Jane was well protected from the cold. Then she went with her into the drawing-room. There her two friends welcomed Jane and told her many times how pleased they were. In the hour before the gentlemen came in, Elizabeth had never seen them so pleasant. They were very good at conversation. They could describe a party exactly, tell a funny story well, and laugh at the people they knew with spirit.

But when the gentlemen came in, Jane was no longer the most important person. Miss Bingley’s eyes turned at once to Darcy. She had something to say to him before he had taken many steps into the room. He went straight to Miss Bennet and politely said he was glad she was better. Mr. Hurst also gave her a small bow and said he was “very glad”. But the long and warm greeting came from Bingley. He was full of joy and care for her. He spent the first half hour putting more and more wood on the fire. He did not want her to suffer from the change of room. At his wish, she moved to the other side of the fireplace, so that she was farther from the door. Then he sat down next to her and hardly talked to anyone else. Elizabeth sat with her needlework in the opposite corner. She saw it all with great delight.

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law about the card-table. But it was no use. She had secretly found out that Mr. Darcy did not want to play cards. Soon Mr. Hurst asked openly, and even then she said no. She told him that nobody wanted to play. Nobody else said anything about it, so she seemed to be right. So Mr. Hurst had nothing to do. He lay down on one of the sofas and went to sleep. Darcy picked up a book, and Miss Bingley did the same. Mrs. Hurst was mostly busy playing with her bracelets and rings. Now and then she joined in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet.

Miss Bingley was not really reading. She was just as busy watching how far Mr. Darcy had got in *his* book. She was always asking him a question or looking at his page. But she could not get him to talk. He only answered her question and went on reading. She had chosen her own book only because it was the second volume of his. At last she grew very tired of trying to enjoy it. She gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening like this! I really think there is no pleasure like reading! You get tired of everything else so much sooner than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be very unhappy without an excellent library.”

Nobody answered. She yawned again and threw her book to one side. Then she looked round the room for something to amuse her. Just then she heard her brother speak to Miss Bennet about a ball. She turned to him suddenly and said,

“By the way, Charles, are you really thinking of giving a dance at Netherfield? Before you decide, I advise you to ask the people here what they want. I am sure that for some of us a ball would be a punishment, not a pleasure.”

“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he can go to bed before it begins, if he likes. But the ball is quite decided. As soon as Nicholls has made enough white soup, I shall send out the invitations.”

“I should like balls much better,” she replied, “if they were done in a different way. There is something terribly boring about the usual kind of ball. Surely it would be much more sensible if people talked instead of dancing.”

“Much more sensible, my dear Caroline, I dare say. But it would not be nearly so much like a ball.”

Miss Bingley did not answer. Soon after, she got up and walked about the room. She had an elegant figure, and she walked well. But Darcy, the person she was doing it all for, still read his book and did not look up. In her desperate feelings she decided to try once more. She turned to Elizabeth and said,

“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to do as I do and walk round the room. I promise you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one position.”

Elizabeth was surprised, but she agreed at once. And Miss Bingley got what she really wanted from her politeness: Mr. Darcy looked up. He was just as surprised as Elizabeth that Miss Bingley was being so kind to her. Without thinking, he closed his book. Miss Bingley invited him at once to join them, but he said no. He could only think of two reasons why they would walk up and down the room together, he said. And if he joined them, he would spoil either of those reasons. “What could he mean?” Miss Bingley was dying to know what he meant. She asked Elizabeth if she understood him at all.

“Not at all,” was her answer. “But you can be sure he wants to be hard on us. The best way to disappoint him is to ask nothing about it.”

But Miss Bingley could never disappoint Mr. Darcy in anything. So she kept on asking him to explain his two reasons.

“I do not mind explaining them at all,” he said, as soon as she let him speak. “Either you trust each other and have secret matters to discuss. Or you know that your figures look their best when you are walking. If it is the first, I would be completely in your way. And if it is the second, I can admire you much better from my seat by the fire.”

“Oh! How shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I have never heard anything so terrible. How shall we punish him for saying that?”

“Nothing is easier, if you really want to,” said Elizabeth. “We can all annoy and punish one another. Tease him. Laugh at him. You are such close friends, so you must know how to do it.”

“But really, I do *not*. I promise you, our friendship has not taught me *that* yet. Tease a man who is always so calm and never loses control! No, no. I feel he can beat us there. And as for laughing, please let us not make fools of ourselves by laughing at nothing. Mr. Darcy may be very pleased with himself.”

“Mr. Darcy cannot be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is a rare advantage. I hope it stays rare, because it would be a great loss to *me* to know many people like that. I dearly love a laugh.”

“Miss Bingley,” he said, “thinks better of me than I deserve. A person whose first aim in life is a joke can make anyone look silly. They can do it to the wisest and best of men, or even to the wisest and best of their actions.”

“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth. “There are such people, but I hope I am not one of *them*. I hope I never laugh at what is wise or good. Foolish things and nonsense, strange ideas and changing moods, *do* amuse me, I admit. I laugh at them whenever I can. But I suppose these are exactly the things you do not have.”

“Perhaps nobody can be completely free of them. But all my life I have tried to avoid those weaknesses. They often make a clever person look ridiculous.”

“Such as vanity and pride.”

“Yes, vanity is certainly a weakness. But pride is different. When a person’s mind is truly superior, his pride will always be kept under good control.”

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

“I suppose you have finished examining Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley. “And tell me, what is the result?”

“I am completely sure that Mr. Darcy has no faults. He says so himself, quite openly.”

“No,” said Darcy. “I have never said that. I have plenty of faults, but I hope my mind is not one of them. I cannot promise anything for my temper. I believe it does not give way enough. It certainly does not give way as easily as other people would like. I cannot forget other people’s foolishness and bad actions as soon as I should. I cannot forget their offences against me either. My feelings do not change every time someone tries to move them. Perhaps people would call my temper unforgiving. My good opinion, once lost, is lost for ever.”

“*That* is a fault indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “Anger that never ends *is* a dark spot in a person’s character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot *laugh* at it. You are safe from me.”

“I believe every person has a natural tendency to some particular bad quality. It is a natural fault, and not even the best education can overcome it.”

“And *your* fault is a tendency to hate everybody.”

“And yours,” he answered with a smile, “is to misunderstand them on purpose.”

“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley. She was tired of a conversation in which she had no part. “Louisa, you will not mind if I wake Mr. Hurst.”

Her sister did not mind at all, and the piano was opened. After thinking for a few moments, Darcy was not sorry about it. He was beginning to feel that it was dangerous to pay Elizabeth too much attention.

### Glossary

- **drawing-room**: a large room in a house where people sit and talk after dinner.
- **needlework**: sewing or making pretty things with a needle and thread.
- **sister-in-law**: the sister of your husband or wife, or your brother’s wife.
- **volume**: one book that is part of a set of books.
- **white soup**: a rich soup made with cream, served at parties and balls.
- **figure**: the shape of a person’s body.
- **tease**: to laugh at someone in a playful way to annoy them.
- **vanity**: wanting other people to admire you.
- **tendency**: a habit of behaving in a certain way.

## Chapter 12

The two sisters had agreed on a plan. So the next morning Elizabeth wrote to her mother. She asked her to send the carriage for them some time that day. But Mrs. Bennet had counted on her daughters staying at Netherfield until the following Tuesday. That would make exactly one week for Jane. She could not make herself happy to have them home before then. So her answer was not a helpful one, at least not for Elizabeth, who was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday. And at the end of her letter she added something more. If Mr. Bingley and his sister asked them to stay longer, she could manage very well without them. But Elizabeth was quite decided against staying longer. And she did not really expect them to ask her. In fact, she was afraid that people would think they were staying too long without need. So she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley’s carriage at once. At last they agreed on what to do. They would say that they had planned to leave Netherfield that morning, and they would ask for the carriage.

When they said this, their hosts said many times how sorry they were. They said enough about wanting them to stay at least until the next day to persuade Jane. So the sisters put off going until the next day. Then Miss Bingley was sorry that she had suggested the delay. Her jealousy and dislike of one sister was much stronger than her love for the other.

The master of the house was truly sad to hear that they were going so soon. Again and again he tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it was not safe for her. She was not well enough yet, he said. But Jane was firm when she felt that she was right.

To Mr. Darcy it was welcome news. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked. Also, Miss Bingley was rude to *her*, and she teased him more than usual. He wisely decided to be especially careful. No sign of admiration must escape him *now*. He must show nothing that could give Elizabeth hope of influencing his happiness. He knew that if she had such an idea, his behaviour on this last day would matter a lot. It could make the idea stronger or destroy it. He kept firmly to his plan. He hardly spoke ten words to her during the whole of Saturday. Once they were left alone together for half an hour. But he kept his eyes very carefully on his book and would not even look at her.

On Sunday, after the morning church service, they said goodbye. Almost everyone was glad about it. At the end, Miss Bingley quickly became much more polite to Elizabeth, and much more loving to Jane. When they parted, she told Jane it would always be a pleasure to see her, at Longbourn or at Netherfield. She hugged her very tenderly. She even shook hands with Elizabeth. Elizabeth said goodbye to the whole party in the best of spirits.

Their mother did not welcome them home very warmly. Mrs. Bennet was surprised that they had come. She thought they were very wrong to cause so much trouble. And she was sure that Jane had caught cold again. But their father was really glad to see them, though he said very little to show it. He had felt how important they were in the family circle. When they were all together in the evening, the conversation had lost much of its life. It had also lost almost all its sense, because Jane and Elizabeth were not there.

They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of harmony in music and of human nature. She had some new passages from books for them to admire. She also had some new comments for them to listen to about very old and tired moral ideas. Catherine and Lydia had news of a different kind for them. Much had been done and much had been said in the regiment since the Wednesday before. Several of the officers had had dinner with their uncle lately. A private soldier had been whipped as a punishment. And people had actually hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.

### Glossary

- **carriage**: a vehicle with four wheels, pulled by horses.
- **put off**: to move something to a later time.
- **persuade**: to make someone agree to do something by giving reasons.
- **admiration**: the feeling that someone is very good or beautiful.
- **church service**: a meeting in church to pray and sing.
- **harmony**: the way musical notes are put together so they sound good.
- **regiment**: a large group of soldiers with its own officers.
- **private soldier**: a soldier of the lowest rank.
- **whipped**: hit many times with a long, thin piece of leather as a punishment.

## Chapter 13

“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife at breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner today. I have reason to expect an extra person at our family dinner.”

“Who do you mean, my dear? I am sure I know of nobody who is coming. Unless Charlotte Lucas happens to call, and I hope *my* dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often gets such dinners at home.”

“The person I am speaking of is a gentleman and a stranger.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes shone. “A gentleman and a stranger! I am sure it is Mr. Bingley. Why, Jane, you never said a word about this, you sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be very glad to see Mr. Bingley. But, good lord! How unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be had today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill this moment.”

“It is *not* Mr. Bingley,” said her husband. “It is a person I have never seen in my whole life.”

Everyone was very surprised. And he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters all at once.

He enjoyed their curiosity for some time. Then he explained. “About a month ago I received this letter. About two weeks ago I answered it. I thought it was a rather delicate matter, and I had to deal with it early. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins. When I am dead, he may throw you all out of this house as soon as he likes.”

“Oh! my dear,” cried his wife, “I cannot bear to hear about that. Please do not talk of that horrible man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world. Your estate is entailed away from your own children! I am sure that if I had been you, I would have tried long ago to do something about it.”

Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her what an entail was. They had often tried before. But on this subject Mrs. Bennet would not listen to reason. She went on complaining bitterly about how cruel it was. The estate was taken away from a family of five daughters. And it was given to a man nobody cared anything about.

“It certainly is a very unfair business,” said Mr. Bennet. “And nothing can make Mr. Collins innocent of the crime of inheriting Longbourn. But if you listen to his letter, perhaps the way he expresses himself will soften you a little.”

“No, I am sure it will not. And I think it was very rude of him to write to you at all, and very false. I hate such false friends. Why could he not go on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?”

“Well, indeed, he does seem to have had some worries about that, as a good son. You will hear.”

*Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October.*

Dear Sir,

The quarrel between yourself and my late, honoured father always made me very uneasy. Since I have had the sadness of losing him, I have often wished to make peace between us. But for some time my own doubts held me back. My father had always chosen to quarrel with you. I was afraid it might seem disrespectful to his memory if I were friendly with you.

“There, Mrs. Bennet.”

But I have now made up my mind on the subject. I became a clergyman at Easter. Since then I have been so fortunate as to receive the support of a great lady. She is the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Through her generosity and kindness she has given me the valuable position of rector of this parish. Here it will be my serious aim to behave with grateful respect towards her Ladyship. I shall also always be ready to perform the services and ceremonies which the Church of England has established. Moreover, as a clergyman, I feel it is my duty to bring peace to all families that I can influence. For these reasons I believe that my offer of good will deserves high praise. I hope that you will kindly overlook the fact that I am next in the entail of the Longbourn estate. I hope it will not lead you to refuse the olive branch of peace that I offer. I cannot help being sorry that I am the cause of harm to your amiable daughters. I ask permission to apologise for it. I also wish to assure you that I am ready to make it up to them in every possible way. But I will say more of this later.

If you have no objection to receiving me in your house, I would like the pleasure of visiting you. I would come to you and your family on Monday, November 18th, by four o’clock. I would probably stay with you until the Saturday of the following week. I can do this without any difficulty. Lady Catherine does not at all object to my being away now and then on a Sunday, as long as another clergyman is found to do the work of the day.

I remain, dear sir, with respectful greetings to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,

William Collins.

“At four o’clock, then, we may expect this peace-making gentleman,” said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. “He seems to be a very careful and polite young man, I must say. I am sure he will be a valuable friend. That is especially true if Lady Catherine is so kind as to let him come to us again.”

“There is some sense in what he says about the girls, though,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And if he wants to make it up to them, I shall not be the one to stop him.”

“It is difficult to guess,” said Jane, “how he means to make up to us for what he thinks we have lost. But it does him credit that he wants to.”

Elizabeth was mostly struck by his great respect for Lady Catherine. She was also struck by his kind plan to baptise, marry and bury the people of his parish when they needed it.

“He must be a strange man, I think,” she said. “I cannot understand him. There is something very pompous in the way he writes. And what can he mean by apologising for being next in the entail? We cannot suppose he would change it, even if he could. Can he be a sensible man, sir?”

“No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes that he will be quite the opposite. His letter is a mixture of crawling humility and self-importance. That is very promising. I am impatient to see him.”

“As a piece of writing,” said Mary, “his letter does not seem to have faults. The idea of the olive branch is perhaps not completely new. But I think he expresses it well.”

Catherine and Lydia were not at all interested in the letter or in the man who wrote it. It was almost impossible that their cousin would come in a red army coat. And for some weeks now they had not enjoyed the company of any man in a coat of another colour. As for their mother, Mr. Collins’s letter had taken away much of her bad feeling. She was getting ready to meet him so calmly that her husband and daughters were amazed.

Mr. Collins arrived exactly on time. The whole family received him very politely. Mr. Bennet, it is true, said little. But the ladies were happy enough to talk. And Mr. Collins did not seem to need any encouragement. Nor did he seem to want to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of twenty-five. He looked serious and very dignified, and his manners were very formal. He had not been sitting long before he started to pay compliments. He praised Mrs. Bennet for having such a fine family of daughters. He said he had heard a lot about their beauty. But in this case, he said, the stories were less than the truth. And he added that he was sure she would see them all well married when the time came. Some of his listeners did not much like these compliments. But Mrs. Bennet never quarrelled with a compliment, and she answered at once,

“You are very kind, sir, I am sure. And I wish with all my heart it may be true. If not, they will be poor enough. Things are arranged so strangely.”

“Perhaps you mean the entail of this estate.”

“Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a very sad business for my poor girls, you must admit. Not that I mean to blame *you*. I know such things are all chance in this world. Nobody can know what will happen to estates once they are entailed.”

“I am very aware, madam, of how hard it is for my lovely cousins. I could say a lot on the subject. But I am careful not to seem too bold and hasty. I can promise the young ladies, though, that I have come ready to admire them. I will not say more just now. But perhaps when we know each other better——”

He was interrupted by a call to dinner, and the girls smiled at each other. They were not the only things that Mr. Collins admired. He looked at the hall, the dining-room and all its furniture, and he praised them all. His praise of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet’s heart. But she had the painful idea that he saw it all as his own future property. In its turn, the dinner too was greatly admired. He asked which of his lovely cousins had cooked such an excellent meal. But here Mrs. Bennet corrected him rather sharply. She told him they could very well afford a good cook. Her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged her pardon for having upset her. In a softer voice she said she was not at all offended. But he went on apologising for about a quarter of an hour.

### Glossary

- **entailed / entail**: a legal rule that lets only a male relative inherit the house and land.
- **inheriting**: getting money or property from someone after they die.
- **clergyman / rector**: a priest of the Church of England who looks after a parish.
- **parish**: an area with its own church and priest.
- **olive branch**: a sign that you want to make peace.
- **pompous**: speaking in a very serious, self-important way.
- **crawling humility**: being too humble, in a way that tries too hard to please important people.
- **baptise**: to welcome a person, usually a baby, into the church with water.

## Chapter 14

During dinner Mr. Bennet hardly spoke at all. But when the servants had left the room, he thought it was time to talk with his guest. So he started on a subject where he expected Mr. Collins to shine. He said that Mr. Collins seemed very lucky in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh seemed to pay remarkable attention to his wishes and his comfort. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins praised her with great feeling. The subject made him even more serious than usual. He put on a very important look. He had never in his life seen such behaviour in a person of high rank, he declared. He had never seen such friendliness and condescension as Lady Catherine had shown to him. She had kindly approved of both the sermons he had already had the honour of preaching in front of her. She had also invited him twice to dinner at Rosings. Only last Saturday she had sent for him to make up her group for a game of quadrille in the evening. Many people he knew thought Lady Catherine was proud. But *he* had never seen anything but friendliness in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman. She did not object at all when he spent time with the people of the neighbourhood. Nor did she object when he left his parish now and then for a week or two to visit his relations. She had even been kind enough to advise him to marry as soon as he could. But he must choose carefully. And once she had visited him in his humble parsonage. There she had fully approved all the changes he had been making. She had even been so good as to suggest some herself: some shelves in the cupboards upstairs.

“That is all very proper and polite, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, “and I dare say she is a very pleasant woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?”

“Only a lane separates the garden of my humble home from Rosings Park, where her ladyship lives.”

“I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”

“She has only one daughter. She will inherit Rosings and a very large property.”

“Ah!” cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head. “Then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?”

“She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far above the most beautiful women, because there is something in her face that shows she comes from a great family. Unfortunately her health is weak. Because of that she has not learnt as many accomplishments as she certainly would have learnt otherwise. I know this from the lady who taught her and who still lives with them. But she is perfectly amiable. She is often kind enough to drive past my humble home in her little phaeton with ponies.”

“Has she been presented at court? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court.”

“Sadly, her poor health prevents her from being in London. And so, as I once said to Lady Catherine myself, the British court has lost its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea. You can imagine how happy I am to offer those little delicate compliments that ladies always like. More than once I have said to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess. I said that the highest rank would not make her important. Instead, she would make the highest rank more beautiful. These are the kind of little things that please her ladyship. I believe it is a kind of attention that I have a special duty to pay.”

“You judge very well,” said Mr. Bennet, “and it is lucky for you that you have the talent of flattering so delicately. May I ask a question? Do these pleasing compliments come to you in the moment, or do you study them first?”

“They come mostly from what is happening at the time. Sometimes I amuse myself by thinking up little elegant compliments that I can use on ordinary occasions. But I always try to make them sound as natural as possible.”

Mr. Bennet’s hopes were completely fulfilled. His cousin was as ridiculous as he had hoped. He listened to him with the greatest enjoyment. At the same time he kept his face perfectly calm and serious. He did not need anyone to share his pleasure, except that now and then he glanced at Elizabeth.

But by tea-time he had had enough of it. Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest back into the drawing-room. And when tea was over, he was glad to ask him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins agreed at once, and someone brought a book. But when he saw it, he stepped back. Everything about it showed that it came from a lending library. He begged their pardon and declared that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia cried out in surprise. Other books were brought. After some thought he chose Fordyce’s Sermons. Lydia yawned as he opened the book. He read in a very slow, serious, flat voice. Before he had read three pages, she interrupted him.

“Do you know, mama, that my uncle Philips talks of sending Richard away? And if he does, Colonel Forster will employ him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it. And I shall ask when Mr. Denny is coming back from London.”

Lydia’s two eldest sisters told her to be quiet. But Mr. Collins was very offended. He put down his book and said,

“I have often noticed how little young ladies are interested in serious books. And yet such books are written only for their good. It amazes me, I must say. Surely nothing can be as useful to them as instruction. But I will not trouble my young cousin any longer.”

Then he turned to Mr. Bennet and offered to play against him at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge. He remarked that Mr. Collins was acting very wisely to leave the girls to their own silly amusements. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologised very politely for Lydia’s interruption. They promised that it would not happen again if he would go on with his book. But Mr. Collins assured them that he felt no ill will towards his young cousin. He would never take her behaviour as an insult. Then he sat down at another table with Mr. Bennet and got ready for backgammon.

### Glossary

- **patroness**: a rich woman who gives someone a job or support.
- **condescension**: kindness from a person of high rank to a lower one (Mr. Collins uses it as praise).
- **sermon**: a talk about religion and morals given by a priest in church.
- **quadrille**: a card game for four players.
- **parsonage**: the house where a clergyman lives.
- **phaeton**: a light, open carriage pulled by horses.
- **presented at court**: formally introduced to the King or Queen.
- **flattering**: praising someone too much, often to please them.
- **backgammon**: a board game for two players, played with dice.

## Chapter 15

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man. Nature had not given him much sense, and education and society had not helped him much. He had spent most of his life under the control of a father who was uneducated and mean with money. He had been to one of the universities. But he had only stayed there for the necessary time and had not made any useful friends. His father had kept him under strict control. At first this had made him very humble in his manners. But now this humility was mostly replaced by other feelings. He was a man of little intelligence with a high opinion of himself. He had lived a quiet life, away from the world. And he had become successful early and without expecting it, which made him feel important. By a lucky chance he had been recommended to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was free. He respected her high rank and honoured her deeply as his patroness. At the same time he had a very good opinion of himself. He was proud of his authority as a clergyman and of his rights as a rector. So he was a mixture of pride and crawling humility, of self-importance and modesty.

Now he had a good house and a large enough income, so he intended to marry. In seeking peace with the Longbourn family, he was thinking of a wife. He meant to choose one of the daughters, if they were as beautiful and pleasant as people said. This was his plan to make up for inheriting their father’s estate. He thought it was an excellent plan, very suitable and proper. He also thought it was extremely generous and unselfish of him.

His plan did not change when he saw them. Miss Bennet’s lovely face confirmed his ideas. He also had strict ideas about the rights of the eldest daughter, and her face suited those too. So for the first evening *she* was his firm choice. The next morning, however, brought a change. Before breakfast he had a quarter of an hour alone with Mrs. Bennet. They began by talking about his parsonage. This led naturally to his hope that he might find a wife for it at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet smiled very kindly and encouraged him in general. But she warned him about the very same Jane he had chosen. “As for her *younger* daughters, she could not say. She could not give a firm answer. But she did not *know* of any other attachment. Her *eldest* daughter, she must just mention, was likely to be engaged very soon. She felt it was her duty to give him a hint.”

Mr. Collins only had to change from Jane to Elizabeth. And it was soon done. It was done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth came next to Jane in age and in beauty, so of course she took her place.

Mrs. Bennet treasured the hint. She hoped she might soon have two daughters married. The day before, she could not bear to speak of the man. Now she liked him very much.

Lydia had not forgotten her plan of walking to Meryton. Every sister except Mary agreed to go with her. Mr. Collins was to go with them, because Mr. Bennet asked him to. Mr. Bennet very much wanted to get rid of him and have his library to himself. Mr. Collins had followed him there after breakfast. And there he would stay. He pretended to be busy with one of the largest books in the library. But really he was talking to Mr. Bennet, almost without a break, about his house and garden at Hunsford. This upset Mr. Bennet greatly. In his library he had always been sure of free time and peace. He had told Elizabeth that he was ready to meet foolishness and vanity in every other room in the house. But he was used to being free from them there. So he was very quick and polite in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters on their walk. And Mr. Collins was really much better suited to walking than to reading. He was very pleased to close his large book and go.

Mr. Collins said many pompous things that meant nothing, and his cousins politely agreed. In this way they passed the time until they reached Meryton. After that he could no longer hold the younger girls’ attention. Their eyes at once began to wander up and down the street, looking for the officers. Only two things could bring their eyes back: a very smart hat indeed, or some really new muslin in a shop window.

But soon every lady noticed a young man whom they had never seen before. He looked very much like a gentleman. He was walking with an officer on the other side of the street. The officer was Mr. Denny himself, the man Lydia had come to ask about. He had returned from London. He bowed as they passed. They were all struck by the stranger’s appearance, and all of them wondered who he could be. Kitty and Lydia were determined to find out if they could. So they led the way across the street. They pretended that they wanted something in a shop on the other side. Luckily, they had just reached the pavement when the two gentlemen turned back and came to the same spot. Mr. Denny spoke to them at once. He asked if he could introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham had come back from London with him the day before. And Mr. Denny was happy to say that his friend had joined their regiment as an officer. This was exactly right, because the young man only needed a uniform to make him completely charming. His appearance was very much in his favour. He had all the best parts of good looks: a fine face, a good figure and very pleasing manners. After the introduction he talked easily and happily. At the same time he was perfectly correct and modest. The whole group were still standing and talking together very pleasantly when they heard horses. Darcy and Bingley were riding down the street. When the two gentlemen saw the ladies in the group, they came straight over to them. They began the usual polite greetings. Bingley did most of the talking, and he talked mostly to Miss Bennet. He said he was on his way to Longbourn on purpose to ask how she was. Mr. Darcy agreed with a bow. He was just deciding not to look at Elizabeth when his eyes were suddenly caught by the stranger. Elizabeth happened to see both their faces as they looked at each other. She was very surprised at the effect of the meeting. Both men changed colour. One went white, the other went red. After a few moments, Mr. Wickham touched his hat. Mr. Darcy only just made the effort to return the greeting. What could it mean? It was impossible to imagine. And it was impossible not to want to know.

A minute later, Mr. Bingley said goodbye and rode on with his friend. He did not seem to have noticed what had happened.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips’s house. There they bowed and said goodbye. Miss Lydia begged them hard to come in, but they did not. Mrs. Philips even threw up the window of her sitting-room and loudly joined in the invitation. But still they did not come in.

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces. The two eldest were especially welcome, because they had been away. She was eagerly telling them how surprised she was that they had come home so suddenly. Their own carriage had not fetched them, so she would have known nothing about it. But she had happened to see Mr. Jones’s shop boy in the street. He told her that they were not to send any more medicine to Netherfield, because the Miss Bennets had left. Just then Jane introduced Mr. Collins, and Mrs. Philips had to turn her attention to him. She received him as politely as she could. He was even more polite in return. He apologised for coming into her house when she did not know him. But he flattered himself that his relationship to the young ladies made it acceptable. After all, they were the ones who had introduced him to her. Mrs. Philips was quite amazed by such very good manners. But soon her nieces stopped her from looking at this stranger. They had exclamations and questions about the other one. However, she could only tell them what they already knew. Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and he was going to be a lieutenant in the ——shire. She said she had been watching him for the last hour as he walked up and down the street. If Mr. Wickham had come by again, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have gone on watching. But unluckily, now only a few of the officers passed the windows. Compared with the stranger, they had become “stupid, disagreeable fellows.” Some of them were going to have dinner with the Philipses the next day. Their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham and invite him too. But this was only if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. They agreed to this. Mrs. Philips declared that they would have a nice, comfortable, noisy game of lottery tickets. And afterwards there would be a little bit of hot supper. The thought of such pleasures was very cheering, and they parted in good spirits on both sides. As he left the room, Mr. Collins apologised again. With tireless politeness they assured him that there was no need at all.

As they walked home, Elizabeth told Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Jane would have defended either of them, or both, if they had seemed to be wrong. But she could not explain such behaviour any better than her sister.

When Mr. Collins returned, he greatly pleased Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Philips’s manners and politeness. He declared that he had never seen a more elegant woman, except Lady Catherine and her daughter. She had not only received him with the greatest politeness. She had even made a point of including him in her invitation for the next evening. And she had never known him before! He supposed this might be partly because he was related to them. But still, he had never received so much attention in his whole life.

### Glossary

- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **crawling humility**: being too humble, in a way that tries too hard to please important people.
- **attachment**: a feeling of love for someone.
- **treasured**: kept something carefully because it was precious to you.
- **pompous**: speaking in a very serious, self-important way.
- **muslin**: a fine, light cotton cloth used for dresses.
- **regiment**: a large group of soldiers with its own officers.
- **lieutenant**: an army officer of low rank.
- **lottery tickets**: a noisy card game in which players can win small prizes.

## Chapter 16

Nobody objected to the young people’s plan to visit their aunt. Mr. Collins worried about leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet alone for one evening during his visit. But they firmly told him that he must go. So at a suitable hour the coach took him and his five cousins to Meryton. As the girls entered the drawing-room, they had the pleasure of hearing that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle’s invitation. He was already in the house.

When they had heard this news, they all sat down. Now Mr. Collins had time to look around him and admire everything. He was so impressed by the size and furniture of the room that he made a remark. He could almost imagine himself in the small summer breakfast room at Rosings, he said. At first Mrs. Philips was not very pleased with this comparison. But then he explained to her what Rosings was, and who owned it. He described just one of Lady Catherine’s drawing-rooms. And she learnt that the stone around the fireplace alone had cost eight hundred pounds. Then she felt the full force of the compliment. Now she would hardly have minded if he had compared her room to the housekeeper’s room.

He was happily busy until the gentlemen joined them. He described to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her great house. Now and then he wandered off the subject. Then he praised his own humble home and the improvements he was making to it. In Mrs. Philips he found a very attentive listener. Her opinion of his importance grew with everything she heard. And she decided to repeat it all to her neighbours as soon as she could. The girls could not listen to their cousin. They had nothing to do except wish for a piano. They also looked at their own poor copies of china ornaments above the fireplace. For them, the time of waiting seemed very long. But at last it was over. The gentlemen did come. When Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth knew that her admiration had been right. She had not admired him too much when she saw him before, or when she thought of him afterwards. The officers of the ——shire were in general a very respectable, gentlemanly group. The best of them were at this party. But Mr. Wickham was far above them all in his looks, his face, his manner and his walk. He was as far above them as *they* were above uncle Philips. Uncle Philips came into the room after them. He had a broad face and a heavy, dull look, and his breath smelt of port wine.

Almost every woman’s eyes turned to Mr. Wickham. He was the lucky man. And Elizabeth was the lucky woman next to whom he finally sat down. At once he began to talk in a very pleasant way. He only talked about the wet night and the chance of a rainy season. But it made her feel that a skilful speaker can make anything interesting. Even the most ordinary, dull, worn-out subject can become interesting.

Mr. Wickham and the officers were strong rivals for the ladies’ attention. Next to them, Mr. Collins seemed likely to become quite unimportant. To the young ladies he was certainly nothing. But now and then he still had a kind listener in Mrs. Philips. She watched over him carefully and gave him plenty of coffee and muffins.

When the card tables were put out, he had a chance to please her in return. He sat down to play whist.

“I know little of the game at present,” he said, “but I shall be glad to improve. For in my position in life——” Mrs. Philips was very thankful that he agreed to play. But she could not wait to hear his reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play whist. He was received with great delight at the other table, between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first it seemed that Lydia might keep him all to herself, because she was a very determined talker. But she also loved the game of lottery tickets. Soon she grew too interested in the game, too eager in making bets and crying out about prizes. Then she had no attention for anyone in particular. So, apart from the usual needs of the game, Mr. Wickham was free to talk to Elizabeth. She was very willing to listen to him. But she could not hope to hear the thing she most wanted: the story of how he knew Mr. Darcy. She did not even dare to mention that gentleman. But then, to her surprise, her curiosity was satisfied. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He asked how far Netherfield was from Meryton. When she had told him, he asked in an unsure way how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

“About a month,” said Elizabeth. She did not want the subject to drop, so she added, “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”

“Yes,” replied Wickham. “His estate there is a very fine one. A clear ten thousand a year. You could not find anyone better than me to give you true information about that. I have been connected with his family in a special way since I was a baby.”

Elizabeth could not help looking surprised.

“You may well be surprised to hear me say that, Miss Bennet. You probably saw how coldly we met yesterday. Do you know Mr. Darcy well?”

“As well as I ever want to,” cried Elizabeth warmly. “I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think he is very unpleasant.”

“I have no right to give *my* opinion,” said Wickham, “about whether he is pleasant or not. I cannot form a fair opinion. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for *me* to be neutral. But I believe most people would be astonished by your opinion of him. And perhaps you would not say it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are among your own family.”

“Really, I say no more *here* than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not liked at all in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted by his pride. You will not find anyone who speaks better of him.”

“I cannot pretend to be sorry,” said Wickham, after a short pause, “when any man is not valued more highly than he deserves. But with *him* I believe that does not often happen. The world is blinded by his money and his importance. Or it is frightened by his grand and impressive manners. People see him only as he chooses to be seen.”

“Even from *my* short acquaintance with him, I would say he is a bad-tempered man.”

Wickham only shook his head.

“I wonder,” he said, at the next chance to speak, “whether he is likely to stay in this area much longer.”

“I do not know at all. But I *heard* nothing about his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope his being near will not change your plans to join the ——shire.”

“Oh! no. *I* will not be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If *he* wants to avoid seeing *me*, he must go. We are not friends, and it always gives me pain to meet him. But I have no reason to avoid *him* that I could not tell the whole world. I feel he has treated me very badly. And I feel very painful regret that he is the kind of man he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men who ever lived. He was the truest friend I ever had. And I can never be with this Mr. Darcy without feeling deep sadness in my soul. A thousand tender memories come back to me. His behaviour to me has been shameful. But I truly believe I could forgive him anything and everything. What I cannot forgive is that he has disappointed his father’s hopes and shamed his father’s memory.”

Elizabeth found the subject more and more interesting, and she listened with all her heart. But it was a delicate matter, so she did not ask any more questions.

Mr. Wickham began to speak of more general things: Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society. He seemed very pleased with everything he had seen so far. He spoke of the society especially, in a gentle but very clear way that flattered the ladies.

“It was the hope of always having company, and good company,” he added, “that was my main reason for joining the ——shire. I knew it was a very respectable, pleasant regiment. And my friend Denny tempted me more by telling me about their present home here. He told me about the great kindness and the excellent friends they had found in Meryton. Company, I admit, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits cannot bear to be alone. I *must* have work and company. I was not meant for a life in the army. But because of the way things have gone, it has now become a good choice. The church *ought* to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church. By now I would have a very valuable living, if the gentleman we were just speaking of had wished it.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes. In his will, the late Mr. Darcy left me the next right to the best living he had to give. He was my godfather, and he loved me very much. I cannot describe his kindness well enough. He meant to provide for me well, and he thought he had done it. But when the living became free, it was given to someone else.”

“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth. “But how could *that* happen? How could his will be ignored? Why did you not go to the law?”

“The words of the will were not quite formal enough. So I had no hope from the law. A man of honour could not have doubted what his father meant. But Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it. Or he chose to treat it as only a recommendation with conditions. He said that I had lost all right to it by spending too much, by being careless. In short, by anything or nothing. One thing is certain. The living became free two years ago, exactly when I was old enough to take it. And it was given to another man. It is just as certain that I cannot blame myself for doing anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, open temper. I may perhaps sometimes have spoken my opinion *of* him, and *to* him, too freely. I can remember nothing worse. But the fact is, we are very different kinds of men, and he hates me.”

“This is quite shocking! He deserves to be shamed in front of everyone.”

“Some day he *will* be, but it will not be by *me*. As long as I remember his father, I can never challenge him or show the world what he is.”

Elizabeth respected him for such feelings. And she thought he looked more handsome than ever as he spoke.

“But what,” she said after a pause, “can his reason have been? What can have made him behave so cruelly?”

“A complete, determined dislike of me. I cannot help thinking that this dislike comes partly from jealousy. If the late Mr. Darcy had liked me less, his son might have put up with me better. But his father was so unusually fond of me. I believe this annoyed him from very early in his life. His temper could not bear the kind of competition between us. He could not bear that I was often preferred.”

“I had not thought Mr. Darcy was as bad as this. I have never liked him, but I had not thought so very badly of him. I supposed that he looked down on other people in general. But I did not suspect him of sinking so low. I did not think him capable of such cruel revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!”

But after a few minutes of thought she went on. “I *do* remember him boasting one day at Netherfield about his anger. He said it could never be calmed, and that he had an unforgiving temper. His character must be dreadful.”

“I will not trust myself to speak on the subject,” replied Wickham. “*I* can hardly be fair to him.”

Elizabeth was again deep in thought. After a time she cried, “To treat his father’s godson, friend and favourite in such a way!” She could have added, “And a young man like *you*, too, whose face alone shows that you are a good person.” But she was satisfied with saying, “And someone who was probably his companion from childhood, too! You were very closely connected, as I think you said!”

“We were born in the same parish, within the same park. We spent most of our youth together. We lived in the same house and shared the same games. We were both cared for like sons. *My* father began his working life in the same profession as your uncle, Mr. Philips. Mr. Philips seems to do it so much honour. But my father gave up everything to be useful to the late Mr. Darcy. He gave all his time to taking care of the Pemberley property. Mr. Darcy thought very highly of him. He was a very close friend whom Mr. Darcy trusted completely. Mr. Darcy often said that he owed a great deal to my father’s careful management. Just before my father died, Mr. Darcy freely promised him that he would provide for me. I am sure he felt he owed this to *him* out of gratitude, as much as out of love for me.”

“How strange!” cried Elizabeth. “How horrible! I am surprised that this Mr. Darcy’s own pride has not made him fair to you! Even if he had no better reason, he should have been too proud to be dishonest. For I must call it dishonest.”

“It *is* surprising,” replied Wickham. “Almost all his actions come from pride. And pride has often been his best friend. It has brought him closer to goodness than any other feeling. But none of us always act in the same way. And in his behaviour to me, there were even stronger feelings than pride.”

“Can such horrible pride as his ever have done him any good?”

“Yes. It has often made him generous. It has made him give his money freely, welcome guests, help his tenants and help the poor. Family pride has done this, and pride as a son, because he is very proud of what his father was. He does not want to seem to shame his family. He does not want to lose the qualities people love, or the influence of Pemberley House. That is a powerful reason. He also has pride as a brother. Together with *some* love for her, it makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. You will hear people generally praise him as the most attentive and best of brothers.”

“What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?”

He shook his head. “I wish I could call her a pleasant girl. It gives me pain to speak badly of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother. She is very, very proud. As a child she was loving and sweet, and extremely fond of me. I spent hours and hours playing with her. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and I understand she is very accomplished. Since her father’s death she has lived in London. A lady lives with her there and looks after her education.”

They paused many times and tried many other subjects. But Elizabeth could not help coming back once more to the first one.

“I am astonished that he is such a close friend of Mr. Bingley! Mr. Bingley seems to be good humour itself. I really believe he is truly kind. How can he be friends with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?”

“Not at all.”

“He is a sweet-tempered, kind, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is really like.”

“Probably not. But Mr. Darcy can please people when he chooses. He is not without talents. He can be good company if he thinks it is worth his trouble. With people who are nearly as important as he is, he is a very different man. He is not the same with people who are less rich. His pride never leaves him. But with the rich he is open-minded, fair, sincere, sensible and honourable. Perhaps he is even pleasant, if you count his money and his good looks.”

Soon after that the whist game ended. The players gathered round the other table. Mr. Collins took his place between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. Mrs. Philips asked the usual questions about how he had done. He had not done very well. He had lost every point. Mrs. Philips began to say how sorry she was about it. But he assured her very seriously that it did not matter at all. He thought of the money as nothing, and he begged her not to worry.

“I know very well, madam,” he said, “that when people sit down at a card table, they must take their chance of these things. And luckily I am not so poor that five shillings is important to me. There are certainly many who could not say the same. But thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am far beyond needing to care about such small matters.”

This caught Mr. Wickham’s attention. He watched Mr. Collins for a few moments. Then he asked Elizabeth in a low voice if her relation knew the de Bourgh family very well.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she replied, “has given him a living very recently. I hardly know how Mr. Collins first came to her notice. But he certainly has not known her long.”

“Of course you know that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters. So she is the aunt of the present Mr. Darcy.”

“No, indeed, I did not know. I knew nothing at all about Lady Catherine’s family. I never heard that she existed until the day before yesterday.”

“Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune. People believe that she and her cousin will marry and join the two estates together.”

This news made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. All her attentions must be useless, then. Her love for his sister and her praise of him were useless too, if he was already meant for another.

“Mr. Collins,” she said, “speaks very highly of Lady Catherine and her daughter. But he has told me some details about her ladyship. From these I suspect that his gratitude misleads him. She may be his patroness, but I think she is a proud, conceited woman.”

“I believe she is both, very much so,” replied Wickham. “I have not seen her for many years. But I remember very well that I never liked her. Her manners were bossy and rude. People say she is remarkably sensible and clever. But I believe some of her cleverness comes from her rank and her money. Some comes from her commanding manner. And the rest comes from the pride of her nephew. He wants everyone connected with him to have a first-class mind.”

Elizabeth agreed that this was a very sensible explanation. They went on talking together, both very pleased, until supper put an end to the cards. Then the other ladies had their share of Mr. Wickham’s attention. Nobody could have a conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips’s supper party. But his manners made everybody like him. Whatever he said, he said well. And whatever he did, he did gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. All the way home she could think of nothing but Mr. Wickham and what he had told her. But she had no chance even to say his name on the way. Neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins was quiet for a single moment. Lydia talked without stopping about lottery tickets, about the fish she had lost and the fish she had won. Mr. Collins described how polite Mr. and Mrs. Philips had been. He declared that he did not care at all about his losses at whist. He listed all the dishes at supper. And again and again he worried that he was crowding his cousins. He had more to say than he could manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

### Glossary

- **grandeur**: the quality of being very big, rich and impressive.
- **port wine**: a strong, sweet red wine.
- **whist**: a card game for four players.
- **godfather**: a man who promises at a child’s baptism to help bring the child up well.
- **will**: a legal paper that says who gets your money and property after you die.
- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **tenants**: people who pay rent to live on or farm someone’s land.
- **guardian**: a person legally responsible for a child.
- **shillings**: old British coins; twenty shillings made one pound.
- **fish**: small counters used in card games instead of money.

## Chapter 17

The next day, Elizabeth told Jane what had happened between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with surprise and worry. She did not know how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley’s friendship. And yet it was not in her nature to doubt the truth of a young man who looked as pleasant as Wickham. The idea that he had really suffered such unkindness was enough to touch all her tender feelings. So there was nothing else to do but to think well of them both. She defended the behaviour of each man. Anything that could not be explained in another way, she put down to accident or mistake.

“They have both been deceived, I dare say,” she said, “in some way that we cannot even imagine. Perhaps interested people have told each of them false things about the other. In short, we cannot possibly guess what has turned them against each other. It may have happened without real blame on either side.”

“Very true, indeed. And now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say for the interested people who have probably been involved in the business? Do clear *them* too, or we shall have to think badly of somebody.”

“Laugh as much as you like, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, just think how badly it would show Mr. Darcy. He would be treating his father’s favourite in such a way! His father had promised to provide for that young man. It is impossible. No man with ordinary human kindness could do it. No man who cared about his good name could do it. Can his closest friends be so completely deceived about him? Oh! no.”

“I can much more easily believe that Mr. Bingley has been deceived. I cannot believe that Mr. Wickham invented the story about himself that he told me last night. He gave names, facts, everything, quite openly. If it is not true, let Mr. Darcy say so. Besides, there was truth in his looks.”

“It is difficult indeed. It is upsetting. One does not know what to think.”

“I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think.”

But Jane could feel sure about only one point. If Mr. Bingley *had been* deceived, he would suffer a great deal when the matter became public.

The two young ladies had this conversation in the shrubbery. They were called away from it by the arrival of some of the very people they had been talking about. Mr. Bingley and his sisters had come to invite them in person to the long-expected ball at Netherfield. It was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend Jane again. They said it seemed an age since they had met. Again and again they asked what she had been doing since they had parted. They paid little attention to the rest of the family. They avoided Mrs. Bennet as much as possible. They said little to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again. They got up from their seats so quickly that their brother was surprised. They hurried off as if they were eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet’s politeness.

The thought of the Netherfield ball was extremely pleasant to every female in the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to believe that it was given in honour of her eldest daughter. She was especially flattered because Mr. Bingley had invited them himself, instead of sending a formal card. Jane imagined a happy evening in the company of her two friends, with their brother paying attention to her. Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham. She also looked forward to seeing proof of everything in Mr. Darcy’s looks and behaviour. The happiness that Catherine and Lydia expected depended less on any single event or any particular person. Like Elizabeth, they each meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham. But he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them. And a ball was, in any case, a ball. Even Mary could assure her family that she did not mind going.

“As long as I can have my mornings to myself,” she said, “it is enough. I do not think it a sacrifice to join in evening parties occasionally. Society has claims on us all. And I declare myself one of those who think short periods of rest and amusement are desirable for everybody.”

Elizabeth was in very high spirits about the ball. She did not often speak to Mr. Collins when there was no need. But now she could not help asking him a question. Did he mean to accept Mr. Bingley’s invitation? And if he did, did he think it proper to join in the evening’s dancing? She was rather surprised to find that he had no doubts at all on that point. He was very far from fearing a scolding from the Archbishop or from Lady Catherine de Bourgh if he dared to dance.

“I assure you, I do not think at all,” he said, “that a ball of this kind can lead to anything evil. It is given by a young man of good character, to respectable people. And I am so far from objecting to dancing myself that I hope to dance with all my fair cousins. I hope to have that honour in the course of the evening. And I take this chance to ask for your hand, Miss Elizabeth, especially for the first two dances. I trust my cousin Jane will understand the right reason for this preference. I hope she will not see any disrespect to her in it.”

Elizabeth felt completely trapped. She had fully planned to dance those very dances with Wickham. And now she would have Mr. Collins instead! Her liveliness had never come at a worse moment. But nothing could be done about it. Mr. Wickham’s happiness and her own had to wait a little longer. She accepted Mr. Collins’s offer as politely as she could. His gallant manner did not please her any better, because it suggested something more to her. For the first time, it struck her that *she* had been chosen from among her sisters. He thought her worthy to be the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. She could also help to make up a table for quadrille at Rosings, when no better visitors were there. The idea soon became a certainty. She noticed that he was more and more polite to her. She heard him often try to pay her a compliment on her wit and liveliness. She was more surprised than pleased by this effect of her charms. And soon her mother let her understand that a marriage between them would be very pleasing to *her*. But Elizabeth chose not to take the hint. She knew very well that any reply would lead to a serious quarrel. Mr. Collins might never make the offer. Until he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.

If there had been no Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk about, the younger girls would have been miserable. From the day of the invitation to the day of the ball, it rained and rained. Because of this, they could not walk to Meryton even once. They could not visit their aunt, or see the officers, or look for news. Even the shoe-roses for Netherfield had to be bought for them by someone else. Even Elizabeth’s patience might have been tested by such weather. It stopped her completely from getting to know Mr. Wickham better. Nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday bearable for Kitty and Lydia.

### Glossary

- **interested people**: people who want to gain something for themselves.
- **shrubbery**: a part of a garden with many bushes and paths to walk on.
- **sacrifice**: something you give up, although you would like to keep it.
- **Archbishop**: the most important leader of the Church of England.
- **gallant manner**: very polite, attentive behaviour of a man towards a woman.
- **mistress**: here, the woman who runs a house as the wife of its owner.
- **parsonage**: the house where a clergyman lives.
- **quadrille**: a card game for four players.
- **shoe-roses**: decorations shaped like roses that ladies wore on their shoes.

## Chapter 18

Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield. She looked for Mr. Wickham among the crowd of red coats there, but she looked in vain. Until that moment, she had never once doubted that he would come. She had felt sure of meeting him. Some memories might reasonably have worried her, but none of them had checked this certainty. She had dressed with more care than usual. In the highest spirits, she had prepared to win the rest of his heart, the part that was not yet hers. She trusted that it could all be won in the course of the evening. But in a moment a terrible suspicion came to her. Perhaps the Bingleys had left him out on purpose, to please Mr. Darcy, when they invited the officers. This was not exactly true. But the plain fact of his absence was confirmed by his friend Mr. Denny. Lydia eagerly asked Denny about him. He told them that Wickham had had to go to town on business the day before. He had not come back yet. Then Denny added, with a meaningful smile,

“I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

Lydia did not hear this part of his news, but Elizabeth caught it. It told her that Darcy was just as responsible for Wickham’s absence as if her first guess had been right. Her sudden disappointment made every feeling of anger against Darcy sharper. Soon afterwards he came up to her and politely asked how she was. She could hardly answer him with any politeness at all. To show attention, patience or tolerance to Darcy was to wrong Wickham. She was determined not to have any sort of conversation with him. She turned away in a bad temper. She could not completely get over it, even when she spoke to Mr. Bingley. His blind loyalty to his friend annoyed her.

But Elizabeth was not made for bad temper. All her own hopes for the evening were destroyed, but her low mood could not last long. She told all her troubles to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week. Soon she was able to change the subject by herself, to the oddities of her cousin. She pointed him out to Charlotte, so that she could watch him. The first two dances, however, brought back her distress. They were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins was awkward and solemn. He apologised instead of paying attention. He often moved the wrong way without knowing it. He gave her all the shame and misery that a disagreeable partner can give in two dances. The moment she was free of him was pure joy.

She danced next with an officer. It refreshed her to talk about Wickham, and to hear that everybody liked him. When those dances were over, she went back to Charlotte Lucas. She was talking with her when Mr. Darcy suddenly spoke to her. He asked her to dance. He surprised her so much that she accepted him without knowing what she was doing. He walked away again at once. She was left to feel cross with herself for losing her presence of mind. Charlotte tried to comfort her.

“I dare say you will find him very agreeable.”

“Heaven forbid! *That* would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable when one is determined to hate him! Do not wish me such an evil.”

The dancing started again, and Darcy came up to claim her hand. Charlotte could not help warning her in a whisper. She told her not to be a fool. Elizabeth should not let her liking for Wickham make her seem unpleasant. Darcy was a man ten times as important as Wickham. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in the set. She was amazed at the honour of being allowed to stand opposite Mr. Darcy. In the faces of the people near them she could read the same amazement. They stood for some time without speaking a word. She began to think that their silence would last through both dances. At first she was determined not to break it. Then suddenly she thought it would be a greater punishment for her partner if she made him talk. So she made a small remark about the dance. He replied, and was silent again. After a pause of some minutes she spoke to him a second time.

“It is *your* turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. *I* talked about the dance. *You* ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that he would say whatever she wished him to say.

“Very well. That reply will do for now. Perhaps in a little while I may remark that private balls are much more pleasant than public ones. But *now* we may be silent.”

“Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be completely silent for half an hour together. And yet, for the sake of *some* people, conversation should be arranged in a special way. They should have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

“Are you thinking of your own feelings in this case, or do you imagine that you are pleasing mine?”

“Both,” replied Elizabeth slyly, “for I have always seen a great likeness in the way our minds work. We are both unsocial and silent by nature. We do not like to speak unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room. We want our words to be passed down to future generations, as famous as a proverb.”

“This is not a very close likeness of your own character, I am sure,” he said. “How close it may be to *mine*, I cannot pretend to say. *You* think it a true picture, no doubt.”

“I must not judge my own work.”

He made no answer. They were silent again until they had gone down the dance. Then he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She said that they did. She could not resist the temptation, and added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been making a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. A deeper shadow of pride came over his face, but he said not a word. Elizabeth blamed herself for her own weakness, but she could not go on. At last Darcy spoke, in a stiff manner.

“Mr. Wickham has such pleasant manners that he can be sure of *making* friends. Whether he is just as able to *keep* them is less certain.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose *your* friendship,” replied Elizabeth with strong feeling, “and in a way that he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

Darcy made no answer, and seemed to want to change the subject. At that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them. He meant to pass through the set to the other side of the room. But when he saw Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of very great politeness. He wanted to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

“I have been very highly pleased indeed, my dear Sir. Such excellent dancing is not often seen. It is clear that you belong to the best society. But let me say that your fair partner does not shame you. I must hope to have this pleasure often again. Especially when a certain desirable event takes place, my dear Miss Eliza.” (Here he glanced at her sister and Bingley.) “What congratulations will pour in then! I ask Mr. Darcy to agree... but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for keeping you from the charming conversation of that young lady. Her bright eyes are scolding me too.”

Darcy hardly heard the last part of this speech. But Sir William’s hint about his friend seemed to strike him strongly. He looked very seriously towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Soon, however, he recovered himself. He turned to his partner and said,

“Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking about.”

“I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say to each other. We have already tried two or three subjects without success. What we are to talk about next, I cannot imagine.”

“What do you think of books?” he said, smiling.

“Books! Oh! no. I am sure we never read the same ones, or not with the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so. But if that is the case, at least we cannot run out of things to say. We may compare our different opinions.”

“No, I cannot talk about books in a ball-room. My head is always full of something else.”

“The *present* always fills your mind in such places, does it?” he said, with a doubtful look.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said. Her thoughts had wandered far from the subject. This soon became clear, because she suddenly cried, “I remember hearing you say once, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave. You said that once your anger was created, nothing could calm it. You are very careful, I suppose, about letting it *be created*.”

“I am,” he said, in a firm voice.

“And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

“People who never change their opinion have a special duty. They must be sure of judging rightly at first.”

“May I ask where these questions are leading?”

“Only to a picture of *your* character,” she said, trying to shake off her seriousness. “I am trying to work it out.”

“And how successful are you?”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you that I am very puzzled.”

“I can easily believe,” he answered seriously, “that people may say very different things about me. And I wish, Miss Bennet, that you would not sketch my character at this moment. I fear that the picture would bring no credit to either of us.”

“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another chance.”

“I would not stop any pleasure of yours for anything,” he replied coldly. She said no more. They went down the other dance and parted in silence. Each of them was dissatisfied, though not to the same degree. In Darcy’s heart there was a fairly powerful feeling towards her. This feeling soon made him forgive her. It turned all his anger against another person.

They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her. With a look of polite scorn, she spoke to her.

“So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions. And I find that the young man forgot to tell you one thing among all his other news. He was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. Let me advise you, however, as a friend, not to trust everything he says. It is completely false that Mr. Darcy treated him badly. On the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him. But George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most shameful way. I do not know the details. But I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame. He cannot bear to hear George Wickham’s name. My brother thought he could not easily leave Wickham out when he invited the officers. But he was extremely glad to find that Wickham had taken himself out of the way. His coming into this part of the country at all is a very insolent thing indeed. I wonder how he dared to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite’s guilt. But really, considering his low birth, one could not expect much better.”

“From what you say, his guilt and his birth seem to be the same thing,” said Elizabeth angrily. “I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward. And I can assure you that he told me *that* himself.”

“I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Excuse my interfering. It was kindly meant.”

“Insolent girl!” said Elizabeth to herself. “You are very wrong if you expect to change my mind by such a cheap attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and Mr. Darcy’s spite.” Then she looked for her eldest sister. Jane had promised to ask Bingley about the same subject. Jane met her with a smile of sweet contentment. Her face glowed with happiness. This showed clearly how pleased she was with the events of the evening. Elizabeth read her feelings at once. At that moment she forgot her worry for Wickham and her anger against his enemies. Everything gave way to the hope that Jane was well on the road to happiness.

“I want to know,” she said, with a face as smiling as her sister’s, “what you have found out about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly busy to think of any third person. In that case, you can be sure that I forgive you.”

“No,” replied Jane, “I have not forgotten him. But I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know his whole history. He knows nothing of the main things that have offended Mr. Darcy. But he will answer for the good behaviour, the honesty and the honour of his friend. He is quite sure that Mr. Darcy has given Mr. Wickham much more attention than he deserved. And I am sorry to say this. From his account and his sister’s, Mr. Wickham is not at all a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very unwise, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s good opinion.”

“Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?”

“No. He never saw him until the other morning at Meryton.”

“So this account is what he has heard from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say about the living?”

“He does not remember the details exactly, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once. But he believes that it was left to Mr. Wickham *conditionally* only.”

“I do not doubt Mr. Bingley’s honesty at all,” said Elizabeth warmly. “But you must excuse me if his promises alone do not convince me. I dare say Mr. Bingley defended his friend very well. But he does not know several parts of the story. And he learnt the rest from that friend himself. So I shall still think of both gentlemen as I did before.”

Then she changed the subject to one that pleased them both more, and on which they could not disagree. Elizabeth listened with delight to Jane’s happy, though modest, hopes of Bingley’s love. She said everything she could to make Jane more confident of it. When Mr. Bingley himself joined them, Elizabeth went off to Miss Lucas. Charlotte asked her whether her last partner had been pleasant. Elizabeth had hardly answered when Mr. Collins came up to them. In great triumph, he told her that he had just been lucky enough to make a most important discovery.

“I have found out by a strange accident,” he said, “that a near relation of my patroness is in this room. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself speaking to the young lady who is hostess here. He mentioned the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these things happen! Who would have thought that I would meet, perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh at this ball! I am most thankful that I have found out in time to pay my respects to him. I am going to do it now. I trust he will excuse me for not doing it before. My complete ignorance of the connection must be my excuse.”

“You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?”

“Indeed I am. I shall beg his pardon for not doing it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s *nephew*. I shall be able to assure him that her ladyship was quite well a week ago yesterday.”

Elizabeth tried hard to talk him out of this plan. Mr. Darcy, she told him, would not see it as a compliment to his aunt. He would see it as a rude liberty, because they had not been introduced. There was no need at all for either of them to take notice of the other. And if there was, then Mr. Darcy should begin the acquaintance, because he was the more important man. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined look of a man who will do as he likes. When she stopped speaking, he replied like this:

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgement. I mean, in all matters that you are able to understand. But allow me to say this. There must be a great difference between the rules of ceremony for ordinary people and for the clergy. For I consider the office of a clergyman as equal in dignity to the highest rank in the kingdom. That is, as long as he also behaves with proper humility. So you must allow me to follow my conscience on this occasion. It leads me to do what I see as a duty. Forgive me for not taking your advice. On every other subject it shall always be my guide. But in this case I am better fitted than a young lady like yourself to decide what is right. My education and my habit of study make me so.” And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy.

She watched eagerly to see how Mr. Darcy would receive him. His astonishment at being spoken to in this way was very clear. Her cousin began his speech with a solemn bow. She could not hear a word of it, but she felt as if she heard it all. She saw his lips form the words “apology”, “Hunsford” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh”. It annoyed her to see him make a fool of himself in front of such a man. Mr. Darcy was looking at him with open wonder. When at last Mr. Collins gave him time to speak, he replied with cool, distant politeness. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again. Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed to grow greatly with the length of this second speech. At the end of it, he only gave him a slight bow and moved away. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

“I have no reason, I assure you,” he said, “to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed very pleased with the attention. He answered me with the greatest politeness. He even paid me a compliment. He said he was quite sure of Lady Catherine’s good judgement. So he was certain she could never give a favour to anyone unworthy. It was really a very fine thought. On the whole, I am very pleased with him.”

Elizabeth now had no interest of her own to follow. So she turned her attention almost completely to her sister and Mr. Bingley. Watching them gave her many pleasant thoughts. These made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. In her mind she saw Jane living in that very house. She saw her with all the happiness that a marriage of true love could give. In such a case, she felt she could even try to like Bingley’s two sisters. She clearly saw that her mother’s thoughts were going the same way. She decided not to go near her, in case she heard too much. So when they sat down to supper, she thought it a most unlucky accident. They were seated with only one person between them. And she was deeply annoyed to find her mother talking to that one person (Lady Lucas). Mrs. Bennet was talking freely and openly. She talked of nothing else but her hope that Jane would soon marry Mr. Bingley. It was an exciting subject. Mrs. Bennet seemed never to get tired as she listed the advantages of the match. The first points she congratulated herself on were these. He was such a charming young man, and so rich. And he lived only three miles from them. Then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane. She was sure they must want the connection as much as she did. Also, it was a very hopeful thing for her younger daughters. Jane’s great marriage must bring them into the company of other rich men. And lastly, at her time of life, it was very pleasant to hand her single daughters to their sister’s care. Then she would not have to go into society more than she liked. It was necessary to call this a pleasure, because good manners demanded it on such occasions. But nobody was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to enjoy staying at home, at any time of her life. She ended with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be just as lucky. But she clearly and triumphantly believed that there was no chance of it.

Elizabeth tried in vain to slow down her mother’s rush of words. She tried to persuade her to describe her happiness in a quieter whisper. To her great annoyance, she could see that Mr. Darcy heard most of it. He was sitting opposite them. Her mother only scolded her for talking nonsense.

“What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no special politeness. We are not obliged to say nothing that *he* may not like to hear.”

“For heaven’s sake, madam, speak more quietly. What good can it do you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never make his friend like you by doing that.”

Nothing she could say, however, had any effect. Her mother went on talking about her plans in the same clear, loud voice. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and annoyance. She could not stop herself from often glancing at Mr. Darcy. But every glance showed her what she feared. He was not always looking at her mother. But she was sure that his attention was always fixed on her. The expression on his face slowly changed from angry contempt to a calm and steady seriousness.

At last, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say. Lady Lucas had been yawning for a long time at these repeated delights, which she saw no chance of sharing. Now she was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth began to feel better. But the quiet did not last long. When supper was over, people began to talk of singing. Elizabeth had the mortification of seeing Mary get ready to perform, after very little asking. Elizabeth tried with many meaningful looks and silent requests to stop this show of eagerness to please. But it was no use. Mary would not understand them. She loved such a chance to show off, and she began her song. Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on her with most painful feelings. She watched her go through the verses with great impatience. At the end, her impatience was badly rewarded. Among the thanks of the table, Mary heard a hint that they hoped she might sing again. After a pause of half a minute, she began another song. Mary’s talents were not at all suited to such a performance. Her voice was weak, and her manner was unnatural. Elizabeth was in agony. She looked at Jane to see how she was bearing it. But Jane was talking very calmly to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters. She saw them making mocking signs to each other, and to Darcy. Darcy, however, stayed serious, and nobody could read his face. She looked at her father and silently begged him to step in, or Mary might sing all night. He took the hint. When Mary had finished her second song, he said aloud,

“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to perform.”

Mary pretended not to hear, but she was rather upset. Elizabeth was sorry for her, and sorry for her father’s speech. She was afraid that her worry had done no good. Now other people in the party were asked to sing.

“If I,” said Mr. Collins, “were lucky enough to be able to sing, I am sure I would gladly sing for the company. For I consider music a very innocent amusement. It is perfectly suitable for a clergyman. But I do not mean that we are right to spend too much of our time on music. There are certainly other things to take care of. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make an agreement about tithes. It must be good for himself, and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons. The time that is left will not be too much for his parish duties. He must also care for his house and improve it. He cannot be excused from making it as comfortable as possible. And I think it is quite important that he should have attentive and friendly manners towards everybody. This is especially true towards those who gave him his position. I cannot excuse him from that duty. Nor could I think well of a man who missed a chance to show his respect to anybody connected with that family.” And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he ended his speech.

He had spoken so loudly that half the room heard him. Many people stared. Many smiled. But nobody looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself. His wife, meanwhile, seriously praised Mr. Collins for speaking so sensibly. In a half-whisper she told Lady Lucas that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

Elizabeth thought about her family’s behaviour that evening. Suppose they had agreed to make fools of themselves as much as they could. Even then, they could not have played their parts with more spirit or greater success. She thought it lucky for Bingley and her sister that he had missed some of the show. And his feelings were not of the kind to be greatly upset by the foolishness he must have seen. But his two sisters and Mr. Darcy had had such a chance to laugh at her relations. That was bad enough. She could not decide which was harder to bear. Was it the silent contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies?

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. Mr. Collins annoyed her by staying at her side the whole time. He could not persuade her to dance with him again. But he made it impossible for her to dance with others. She begged him in vain to dance with somebody else. She offered to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that he did not care about dancing at all. His main aim, he said, was to win her favour by delicate attentions. So he would make a point of staying close to her the whole evening. There was no arguing with such a plan. Her greatest relief came from her friend Miss Lucas. Charlotte often joined them, and kindly kept Mr. Collins talking to her instead.

At least Elizabeth was free from the offence of any more notice from Mr. Darcy. He often stood quite near her, with nobody to talk to, but he never came close enough to speak. She felt that this was probably the result of her hints about Mr. Wickham, and she was glad of it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the guests to leave. This was the result of a clever plan of Mrs. Bennet’s. They had to wait for their carriages a quarter of an hour after everybody else had gone. This gave them time to see how much some of the family wished them gone. Mrs. Hurst and her sister hardly opened their mouths, except to complain that they were tired. They were clearly impatient to have the house to themselves. They pushed back every attempt Mrs. Bennet made at conversation. In this way they made the whole party dull and weary. The long speeches of Mr. Collins did very little to help. He was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their party. He praised the hospitality and politeness that they had shown their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet was just as silent, and was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little apart from the rest. They talked only to each other. Elizabeth kept as steady a silence as Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley. Even Lydia was too tired to say more than an occasional “Lord, how tired I am!” together with a huge yawn.

At last they got up to leave. Mrs. Bennet was very pressing and polite. She hoped to see the whole family soon at Longbourn. She spoke especially to Mr. Bingley. She told him he would make them very happy if he came to eat a family dinner with them. He could come at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was full of grateful pleasure. He readily promised to visit her at the first chance after his return from London. He had to go there the next day for a short time.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied. She left the house happily convinced that she would see her daughter settled at Netherfield within three or four months. Of course, there had to be time to prepare the settlements, new carriages and wedding clothes. But after that, she had no doubt at all. She felt just as certain that another daughter would marry Mr. Collins. She thought of this with much pleasure, though not with equal pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children. The man and the marriage were quite good enough for *her*. But the value of both was put in the shade by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

### Glossary

- **mortification**: a feeling of deep shame and embarrassment.
- **set**: a group of couples who dance together in lines.
- **proverb**: a short, well-known saying that gives advice or tells a truth.
- **steward**: a man who manages a rich person’s land and money.
- **the living**: a church job with a house and an income, given by a rich patron.
- **conditionally**: only if certain things happen or certain rules are kept.
- **patroness**: a rich woman who gives a job or support to someone.
- **tithes**: a part of the farmers’ crops or income, paid to the clergyman of the parish.
- **sermons**: talks about religion that a clergyman gives in church.
- **contempt**: the feeling that someone is worth nothing and does not deserve respect.

## Chapter 19

The next day a new scene opened at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his formal proposal. He had decided to do it without losing any time. His leave of absence lasted only until the following Saturday. He felt no shyness that could make it hard for him, even at the moment itself. So he began it in a very orderly way. He followed all the forms that he believed were a regular part of the business. Soon after breakfast he found Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth and one of the younger girls together. He spoke to the mother in these words:

“May I hope, Madam, for your help with your fair daughter Elizabeth? I wish to ask for the honour of a private meeting with her this morning.”

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered at once,

“Oh dear! Yes, certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs.” She gathered her sewing together and was hurrying away, when Elizabeth called out,

“Dear Ma’am, do not go. I beg you not to go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody should not hear. I am going away myself.”

“No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I want you to stay where you are.” Elizabeth looked annoyed and embarrassed, and she really seemed about to escape. So her mother added, “Lizzy, I *insist* that you stay and hear Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth would not go against such an order. After a moment’s thought, she also saw that it would be wisest to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible. So she sat down again. She tried to hide her feelings by keeping busy all the time. Her feelings were divided between distress and amusement. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off. As soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.

“Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, your modesty does you no harm. In fact, it adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes if there had *not* been this little unwillingness. But let me assure you that your respected mother has given me permission to speak to you. You can hardly doubt the purpose of my speech, though your natural delicacy may make you pretend to. My attentions have been too clear to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I chose you as the companion of my future life. But before my feelings carry me away on this subject, perhaps I should state my reasons for marrying. I should also explain why I came into Hertfordshire with the plan of choosing a wife, as I certainly did.”

The idea of Mr. Collins being carried away by his feelings, with all his solemn calm, nearly made Elizabeth laugh. So she could not use the short pause he allowed to try to stop him. And he continued:

“My reasons for marrying are these. First, I think every clergyman in comfortable circumstances (like myself) should set the example of marriage in his parish. Secondly, I am sure it will add very greatly to my happiness. And thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier—it is the special advice of a very noble lady. I have the honour of calling her my patroness. Twice she has kindly given me her opinion on this subject (without being asked, too!). And it was only on the Saturday night before I left Hunsford. We were between our games of quadrille, and Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh’s foot-stool. Then she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly. Choose a gentlewoman for *my* sake. And for your *own* sake, let her be an active, useful sort of person. She should not be brought up too high. She should be able to make a small income go a long way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’ By the way, my fair cousin, allow me to say something. The notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh are not the least of the advantages that I can offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe. I think your wit and liveliness must be acceptable to her. This is especially true if they are softened by the silence and respect that her rank will surely cause. So much for my general reasons in favour of marriage. It remains to tell you why I looked to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood. There, I assure you, there are many amiable young women. But the fact is this. I am to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer). So I could not be satisfied unless I chose a wife from among his daughters. In this way their loss might be as small as possible when the sad event takes place. But, as I have already said, that may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin. I flatter myself that it will not lower me in your opinion. And now nothing remains for me but to tell you of the strength of my love, in the most passionate language. To money I am perfectly indifferent. I shall make no demand of that kind on your father. I know very well that he could not agree to it. One thousand pounds in the 4 per cents is all that you may ever have. And it will not be yours until after your mother’s death. On that subject, therefore, I shall always be silent. And you may be sure that no ungenerous word of blame shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

“You are too hasty, Sir,” she cried. “You forget that I have made no answer. Let me give it without losing any more time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very aware of the honour of your proposal. But it is impossible for me to do anything but refuse it.”

“I am well aware,” replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, “of a custom of young ladies. They often refuse the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first asks. And sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. So I am not at all discouraged by what you have just said. I hope to lead you to the altar before long.”

“Upon my word, Sir,” cried Elizabeth, “your hope is rather an extraordinary one after what I have said. I assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if there are such young ladies). They are so daring that they risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make *me* happy. And I am sure that I am the last woman in the world who could make *you* happy. Indeed, if your friend Lady Catherine knew me, I am sure she would find me unsuitable for the position in every way.”

“If it were certain that Lady Catherine would think so,” said Mr. Collins very seriously, “but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would disapprove of you at all. And you may be sure of this. When I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak of you in the highest terms. I shall praise your modesty, your care with money and your other amiable qualities.”

“Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must allow me to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich. By refusing your hand, I do all in my power to stop you from being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied your delicate feelings towards my family. You may take possession of the Longbourn estate whenever it comes to you, without blaming yourself. So this matter may be considered as finally settled.” As she spoke, she got up. She would have left the room, if Mr. Collins had not spoken to her like this:

“When I next have the honour of speaking to you on this subject, I shall hope for a better answer. But I am far from calling you cruel at present. I know it is the established custom of your sex to refuse a man the first time he asks. And perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage me as the true delicacy of a woman allows.”

“Really, Mr. Collins,” cried Elizabeth with some warmth, “you puzzle me very much. If what I have said so far can seem to you like encouragement, I do not know how to express my refusal in a way that will convince you.”

“You must allow me to flatter myself, my dear cousin. Your refusal is merely a matter of form. My reasons for believing this are briefly these. It does not seem to me that my hand is unworthy of you. Nor does it seem that the home I can offer would be anything but highly desirable. My position in life is strongly in my favour. So is my connection with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own family. And you should also consider this. In spite of your many attractions, it is by no means certain that you will ever receive another offer of marriage. Your fortune is unhappily so small that it will probably undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualities. So I must conclude that you are not serious in rejecting me. I shall choose to explain it as your wish to increase my love by keeping me in suspense. That is the usual practice of elegant females.”

“I assure you, Sir, I do not pretend to that kind of elegance. It consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposal. But to accept it is absolutely impossible. My feelings forbid it in every way. Can I speak more plainly? Do not think of me now as an elegant female who means to torment you. Think of me as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.”

“You are uniformly charming!” he cried, with an air of awkward gallantry. “And I am sure of one thing. When both your excellent parents have clearly approved my proposal, it will not fail to be accepted.”

Elizabeth would make no reply to such stubborn self-deception. She left the room at once, in silence. If he continued to see her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, she would go to her father. Her father could say no in a way that must be final. And his behaviour, at least, could not be mistaken for the pretence and flirting of an elegant female.

### Glossary

- **proposal**: the act of asking someone to marry you.
- **leave of absence**: permission to be away from your work for a time.
- **patroness**: a rich woman who gives a job or support to someone.
- **quadrille**: a card game for four players.
- **gentlewoman**: a woman from a good family of the upper class.
- **the 4 per cents**: a safe government investment that paid four per cent interest every year.
- **the altar**: the table at the front of a church; “to lead to the altar” means to marry.
- **suspense**: the feeling of not knowing what will happen.
- **uniformly**: always and in every way.
- **rational creature**: a person who thinks clearly and uses good sense.

## Chapter 20

Mr. Collins was not left alone for long to think in silence about his successful love. Mrs. Bennet had been waiting about in the hall to see the end of the meeting. She saw Elizabeth open the door and pass her quickly towards the stairs. As soon as she saw this, she went into the breakfast-room. She warmly congratulated both him and herself on the happy prospect of their closer connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these congratulations with equal pleasure. Then he went on to tell her the details of their meeting. He trusted that he had every reason to be satisfied with the result. His cousin had firmly refused him. But this refusal, he thought, must naturally come from her shy modesty and the true delicacy of her character.

This news, however, startled Mrs. Bennet. She would have been glad to feel just as satisfied as he did. She wished she could believe that her daughter had meant to encourage him by protesting against his proposal. But she did not dare to believe it, and she could not help saying so.

“But you may depend on it, Mr. Collins,” she added, “Lizzy shall be brought to her senses. I will speak to her about it myself at once. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know what is good for her. But I will *make* her know it.”

“Forgive me for interrupting you, Madam,” cried Mr. Collins. “But if she is really headstrong and foolish, I do not know if she would be a very desirable wife at all for a man in my position. Such a man naturally looks for happiness in marriage. So if she really continues to refuse me, perhaps it would be better not to force her to accept me. If she has such faults of temper, she could not add much to my happiness.”

“Sir, you quite misunderstand me,” said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. “Lizzy is only headstrong in matters like these. In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go straight to Mr. Bennet. I am sure we shall settle it with her very soon.”

She would not give him time to reply. She hurried at once to her husband, and called out as she entered the library,

“Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are needed immediately. We are all in an uproar. You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins. She swears she will not have him. And if you do not hurry, he will change his mind and not have *her*.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she came in. He looked at her face with calm unconcern, and her news did not change his calm in the least.

“I have not the pleasure of understanding you,” he said, when she had finished her speech. “What are you talking about?”

“About Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins is beginning to say that he will not have Lizzy.”

“And what am I to do about it? It seems a hopeless business.”

“Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist on her marrying him.”

“Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion.”

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

“Come here, child,” cried her father when she appeared. “I have sent for you on an important matter. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?” Elizabeth replied that it was. “Very well. And you have refused this offer of marriage?”

“I have, Sir.”

“Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists on your accepting it. Is not that so, Mrs. Bennet?”

“Yes, or I will never see her again.”

“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do *not* marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you *do*.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling at such an ending to such a beginning. But Mrs. Bennet had persuaded herself that her husband saw the matter as she wished. So she was extremely disappointed.

“What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me to *insist* on her marrying him.”

“My dear,” replied her husband, “I have two small favours to ask. First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on this occasion. And secondly, the free use of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as possible.”

But Mrs. Bennet did not give up yet, although her husband had disappointed her. She talked to Elizabeth again and again. She coaxed her and threatened her by turns. She tried to get Jane on her side. But Jane, as gently as possible, refused to interfere. Elizabeth answered her mother’s attacks sometimes with real seriousness, and sometimes with playful cheerfulness. Her manner changed, but her decision never did.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was alone, thinking about what had happened. He thought too well of himself to understand why his cousin could refuse him. His pride was hurt, but he suffered in no other way. His love for her was quite imaginary. And perhaps she really deserved her mother’s blame. This idea stopped him from feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. Lydia met her in the hall. She flew to her and cried in a half whisper, “I am glad you have come, for there is such fun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him.”

Charlotte hardly had time to answer before Kitty joined them. She came to tell the same news. They went into the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone. At once she too began on the subject. She asked Miss Lucas for her pity. She begged her to persuade her friend Lizzy to do what all her family wished. “Please do, my dear Miss Lucas,” she added in a sad voice, “for nobody is on my side. Nobody takes my part. I am cruelly treated. Nobody feels for my poor nerves.”

Charlotte was saved from replying by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.

“Yes, there she comes,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “looking as unconcerned as can be. She cares no more for us than if we were in York, as long as she can have her own way. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy. If you take it into your head to refuse every offer like this, you will never get a husband at all. And I am sure I do not know who is going to support you when your father is dead. *I* shall not be able to keep you, and so I warn you. I have finished with you from this very day. I told you in the library, you know, that I would never speak to you again. And you will find that I keep my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer from nervous complaints as I do cannot have much wish to talk. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.”

Her daughters listened in silence to this outburst. They knew that any attempt to reason with her or calm her would only make her more irritated. So she talked on, and none of them interrupted her. Then Mr. Collins joined them. He came in looking even more dignified than usual. When she saw him, she said to the girls,

“Now, I do insist that all of you hold your tongues. Let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together.”

Elizabeth went quietly out of the room, and Jane and Kitty followed. But Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could. Charlotte stayed too. At first Mr. Collins’s politeness kept her there, because he asked about her and all her family in great detail. Then a little curiosity kept her. She contented herself with walking to the window and pretending not to hear. In a miserable voice, Mrs. Bennet began the planned conversation. “Oh! Mr. Collins!”

“My dear Madam,” he replied, “let us be silent on this point for ever. Far be it from me,” he soon continued, in a voice that showed his displeasure, “to resent your daughter’s behaviour. Resignation to evils that cannot be avoided is the duty of us all. It is the special duty of a young man like me. I have been so lucky as to get an early position in the Church. And I trust that I am resigned. Perhaps I am all the more resigned because I feel some doubt. I am not sure I would really have been happy if my fair cousin had honoured me with her hand. I have often noticed something. Resignation is never so perfect as when the lost blessing begins to lose some of its value for us. I hope you will not think I am showing any disrespect to your family, my dear Madam. I am withdrawing my claims to your daughter’s favour. And I have not paid you and Mr. Bennet the compliment of asking you to use your authority for me. I fear my behaviour may be open to objection. I have accepted my dismissal from your daughter’s lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to make mistakes. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My aim has been to find an amiable companion for myself, with proper thought for the advantage of all your family. And if my *manner* has been at all to blame, I here beg to apologise.”

### Glossary

- **headstrong**: always wanting to do what you want, and not listening to others.
- **uproar**: a state of noise, excitement and confusion.
- **alternative**: a choice between two things.
- **coaxed**: tried to persuade someone gently, with kind words.
- **undutiful**: not obeying your parents as a child should.
- **nervous complaints**: illnesses of the nerves, such as worry and headaches.
- **hold your tongues**: be quiet; stop talking.
- **resignation / resigned**: calmly accepting something bad that you cannot change.
- **dismissal**: the act of sending someone away or refusing them.

## Chapter 21

The discussion of Mr. Collins’s offer was now nearly over. Elizabeth only had to suffer the uncomfortable feelings that naturally came with it. Occasionally she also suffered from some bad-tempered hint from her mother. As for the gentleman himself, *his* feelings were shown mainly by stiff manners and resentful silence. He did not show embarrassment or low spirits, and he did not try to avoid her. He hardly ever spoke to her. He himself had been so aware of his eager attentions to her. For the rest of the day, these attentions went to Miss Lucas instead. Charlotte was polite enough to listen to him. This was a welcome relief to them all, and especially to her friend.

The next day brought no improvement in Mrs. Bennet’s bad temper or bad health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might make his visit shorter. But his plan did not seem to be affected by it at all. He had always meant to leave on Saturday, and he still meant to stay until Saturday.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to find out if Mr. Wickham had returned. They also wanted to say how sorry they were that he had missed the Netherfield ball. He joined them as they entered the town and went with them to their aunt’s house. There his regret and annoyance, and everybody’s concern, were well talked over. But to Elizabeth he freely admitted that his absence *had* been his own choice.

“I found,” he said, “as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy. To be in the same room, at the same party, with him for so many hours might be more than I could bear. And scenes might happen that would be unpleasant for more people than myself.”

She highly approved of his self-control. They had time to discuss it fully, and to pay each other many polite compliments. Wickham and another officer walked back with them to Longbourn, and during the walk he paid special attention to her. His coming with them was a double advantage. She felt all the compliment it paid to herself. And it was a very welcome chance to introduce him to her father and mother.

Soon after they returned, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet. It came from Netherfield, and she opened it at once. The envelope held a sheet of elegant, small, hot-pressed paper. It was well covered with a lady’s beautiful, flowing handwriting. Elizabeth saw her sister’s face change as she read it. She saw her reading some passages again and again with great attention. Jane soon recovered herself. She put the letter away and tried to join in the general conversation with her usual cheerfulness. But Elizabeth felt so anxious about it that she stopped paying attention even to Wickham. As soon as he and his companion had left, a glance from Jane invited her to follow her upstairs. When they had reached their own room, Jane took out the letter and said,

“This is from Caroline Bingley. What it says has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by now and are on their way to town. And they do not mean to come back again. You shall hear what she says.”

Then she read the first sentence aloud. It said that they had just decided to follow their brother to town at once. They meant to dine that day in Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. The next sentence was in these words: “I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your company, my dearest friend. But we will hope to enjoy our delightful friendship again many times in the future. In the meantime, we may lessen the pain of separation by writing very often and very openly. I depend on you for that.” Elizabeth listened to these grand words without any feeling, because she did not trust them. The suddenness of their leaving surprised her. But she saw nothing in it to be really sorry about. It could not be supposed that their absence from Netherfield would keep Mr. Bingley away. And as for the loss of their company, she was sure that Jane would soon stop caring about it. She would be enjoying his company instead.

“It is unlucky,” she said, after a short pause, “that you could not see your friends before they left this part of the country. But may we not hope for something? Miss Bingley looks forward to a time of future happiness. Perhaps it will come sooner than she knows. Perhaps the delightful friendship you have known as friends will start again, with even greater pleasure, as sisters. Mr. Bingley will not be kept in London by them.”

“Caroline says quite clearly that none of the party will come back into Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you.”

“When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that his business in London might be finished in three or four days. But we are certain it cannot be so. And we are also sure that when Charles gets to town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again. So we have decided to follow him there. Then he will not have to spend his free hours in an uncomfortable hotel. Many of my friends are already there for the winter. I wish I could hear that you, my dearest friend, meant to join the crowd. But I have no hope of that. I sincerely hope that your Christmas in Hertfordshire will be full of the fun that the season usually brings. And I hope your beaux will be so many that you will not feel the loss of the three whom we are taking from you.”

“It is clear from this,” added Jane, “that he will not come back this winter.”

“It is only clear that Miss Bingley does not mean that he *should*.”

“Why do you think so? It must be his own decision. He is his own master. But you do not know *all*. I *will* read you the passage that hurts me most. I will keep nothing back from *you*.”

“Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister. And to tell the truth, *we* are hardly less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has an equal for beauty, elegance and accomplishments. Louisa and I already love her. But our love becomes something even more interesting because of a hope we dare to have. We hope she will one day be our sister. I do not know if I have ever told you my feelings on this subject before. But I will not leave the country without sharing them with you. I trust you will not think them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already. Now he will often have the chance of seeing her as a close friend. Her relations all wish for the match as much as his own family do. And I do not think a sister’s love misleads me when I say this: Charles is very well able to win any woman’s heart. With all these things in favour of an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane? Is it wrong to hope for an event that will make so many people happy?”

“What do you think of *this* sentence, my dear Lizzy?” said Jane as she finished it. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not say plainly that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister? Does it not say that she is perfectly sure that her brother does not care for me? And that if she suspects my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to warn me? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”

“Yes, there can, for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?”

“Most willingly.”

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

Jane shook her head.

“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. Nobody who has ever seen you together can doubt his love. I am sure Miss Bingley cannot. She is not such a fool. If she had seen half as much love for herself in Mr. Darcy, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this. We are not rich enough or grand enough for them. And she is all the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother for another reason. She thinks that after *one* marriage between the two families, a second one may be easier to bring about. There is certainly some cleverness in this. And I dare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane, Miss Bingley tells you that her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy. You cannot seriously imagine that he values *you* even the smallest bit less because of that. He values you as much as when he said goodbye to you on Tuesday. And you cannot imagine that she has the power to change his heart. She cannot persuade him that he is very much in love with her friend instead of you.”

“If we thought alike about Miss Bingley,” replied Jane, “your description of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the idea is unjust. Caroline is unable to deceive anyone on purpose. All that I can hope in this case is that she is deceived herself.”

“That is right. You could not have had a happier idea, since you will not take comfort from mine. Believe that she is deceived, by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and you must not worry any longer.”

“But, my dear sister, even supposing the best, can I be happy if I accept him? His sisters and friends all want him to marry someone else.”

“You must decide for yourself,” said Elizabeth. “Think about it carefully. If you find that the misery of displeasing his two sisters is greater than the happiness of being his wife, then I advise you by all means to refuse him.”

“How can you talk like that?” said Jane, smiling faintly. “You must know that I would be very sad if they disapproved. But I could not hesitate.”

“I did not think you would. And since that is the case, I cannot feel very sorry for you.”

“But if he does not come back this winter, I will never need to choose. A thousand things may happen in six months!”

Elizabeth treated the idea of his not returning with the greatest contempt. To her it seemed to come merely from Caroline’s selfish wishes. She could not believe for a moment that those wishes could influence a young man so completely independent of everyone. It did not matter how openly or how cleverly Caroline expressed them.

She explained her feelings on the subject to her sister as strongly as she could. Soon she had the pleasure of seeing that it had a happy effect. Jane was not someone who easily lost hope. Slowly she was led to hope that Bingley would return to Netherfield and give her everything her heart wished. Sometimes, though, the doubts that come with love were stronger than her hope.

They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear that the family had left. She should not be alarmed about the gentleman’s behaviour. But even this part of the news worried her a great deal. She said it was extremely unlucky. The ladies had gone away just when they were all becoming such close friends. She complained about it for some time. Then, however, she comforted herself with a thought. Mr. Bingley would soon be back again, and soon dining at Longbourn. And she ended with a comfortable declaration. He had only been invited to a family dinner, but she would take care to have two full courses.

### Glossary

- **resentful**: feeling angry because you think you have been treated badly.
- **hot-pressed paper**: expensive, very smooth writing paper.
- **town**: here, London.
- **beaux**: young men who admire a woman and spend time with her.
- **accomplishments**: skills such as music, singing, drawing and languages.
- **attachment**: a feeling of love for someone.
- **his own master**: free to do what he wants, without anyone telling him what to do.
- **contempt**: the feeling that something is worth nothing.
- **courses**: the separate parts of a meal, each with several dishes.

## Chapter 22

The Bennets were invited to dinner with the Lucases. And again, for most of the day, Miss Lucas was so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth found a moment to thank her.

“It keeps him in a good mood,” she said, “and I am more grateful to you than I can say.”

Charlotte told her friend that she was glad to be useful. That paid her well for the little sacrifice of her time, she said. This was very kind. But Charlotte’s kindness went much further than Elizabeth could imagine. Its aim was nothing less than to protect Elizabeth from any more attentions from Mr. Collins, by turning them towards herself. That was Miss Lucas’s plan. Things looked very good when they parted that night. If he were not leaving Hertfordshire so very soon, she would have felt almost sure of success. But here she was unfair to the fire and independence of his character. Because of them, he escaped from Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slyness. He hurried to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet.

He wanted to avoid being seen by his cousins. He was sure that if they saw him leave, they would guess his plan. And he did not want anyone to know about the attempt until they could also know about its success. He felt almost sure of success, and with reason, because Charlotte had been fairly encouraging. But since the adventure of Wednesday, he was rather less confident than before. However, his welcome was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas saw him from an upper window as he walked towards the house. At once she went out to meet him in the lane, as if by accident. But she had hardly dared to hope that so much love and fine speaking were waiting for her there.

Everything was soon settled between them, in as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long speeches allowed. Both of them were satisfied. As they entered the house, he begged her very seriously to name the day that would make him the happiest of men. Such a request had to be put aside for the present. But the lady had no wish to play with his happiness. Nature had favoured him with stupidity, and this kept his courtship free of any charm. No woman could wish such a courtship to last a long time. And Miss Lucas had accepted him only from the pure and unselfish wish for an establishment. So she did not care how soon she got that establishment.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were quickly asked for their consent. They gave it with the greatest joy and speed. They could give their daughter very little money. So Mr. Collins’s present situation made him a most suitable husband for her. And his hopes of future wealth were extremely good. Lady Lucas at once began to calculate how many more years Mr. Bennet was likely to live. The question had never interested her so much before. Sir William gave his firm opinion on another point. Whenever Mr. Collins owned the Longbourn estate, it would be very proper for him and his wife to appear at St. James’s.

In short, the whole family were properly delighted. The younger girls hoped to *come out* a year or two sooner than they would otherwise have done. And the boys were no longer afraid that Charlotte would die an old maid. Charlotte herself was fairly calm. She had got what she wanted, and she had time to think about it. Her thoughts were, on the whole, satisfactory. Of course, Mr. Collins was neither sensible nor pleasant. His company was tiresome, and his love for her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband.

She did not think highly of men or of marriage. But marriage had always been her aim. It was the only respectable way to provide for well-educated young women with little money. It was uncertain whether it would bring happiness. But it must be their most pleasant protection from being poor. She had now gained this protection. She was twenty-seven, and she had never been pretty, so she felt all the good luck of it.

The least pleasant part of the whole business was the surprise it must cause Elizabeth Bennet. Charlotte valued her friendship more than anyone else’s. Elizabeth would wonder, and she would probably blame her. Charlotte’s decision could not be shaken. But her feelings must be hurt by such disapproval. She decided to give Elizabeth the news herself. So when Mr. Collins went back to Longbourn for dinner, she told him to give no hint of what had happened to any of the family. Of course, he promised very dutifully to keep the secret. But it was not easy to keep. His long absence had made everyone curious. When he came back, they asked him very direct questions, and he needed some cleverness to avoid them. At the same time he was showing great self-control, because he was longing to tell the world about his successful love.

He had to start his journey too early the next morning to see any of the family. So they said goodbye when the ladies went up for the night. Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and warmth, said how happy they would be to see him at Longbourn again. He could come whenever his other duties allowed him to visit them.

“My dear Madam,” he replied, “this invitation is especially pleasing, because I have been hoping to receive it. And you may be very sure that I shall make use of it as soon as possible.”

They were all astonished. Mr. Bennet did not at all wish for such a quick return, and he said at once,

“But is there not a danger that Lady Catherine will disapprove, my good sir? You had better neglect your relations than risk offending your patroness.”

“My dear sir,” replied Mr. Collins, “I am very grateful to you for this friendly warning. You may be sure that I will not take such an important step without her ladyship’s agreement.”

“You cannot be too careful. Risk anything rather than her displeasure. If you find that coming to us again is likely to make her angry (and I think that is extremely probable), stay quietly at home, and be sure that *we* shall not be offended.”

“Believe me, my dear sir, such loving care makes me warmly grateful. You may depend on it: you will soon receive a letter of thanks from me. It will be for this, and for every other sign of your kindness during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, my absence may not be long enough to make it necessary. But I will now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my cousin Elizabeth.”

With proper politeness the ladies then left the room. They were all equally surprised to find that he was planning a quick return. Mrs. Bennet chose to believe that he was thinking of courting one of her younger girls. And Mary might have been persuaded to accept him. She thought much more highly of his abilities than any of the others did. There was a solid seriousness in his thoughts which often impressed her. He was by no means as clever as she was. But she thought that he might become a very pleasant companion, if he were encouraged to read and improve himself by an example like hers.

But the next morning, every hope of this kind was destroyed. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast. In a private talk with Elizabeth, she told her what had happened the day before.

Once, within the last day or two, the thought had come to Elizabeth that Mr. Collins might imagine he was in love with her friend. But that Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as impossible as that Elizabeth could encourage him herself. So her astonishment was very great. At first it made her forget good manners, and she could not help crying out,

“Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—impossible!”

Miss Lucas had kept a steady face while she told her story. Now, at such a direct reproach, she was confused for a moment. But it was no more than she had expected, and she soon became calm again. She replied quietly,

“Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it unbelievable that Mr. Collins could win any woman’s good opinion, because he was not so lucky as to succeed with you?”

But Elizabeth had now collected herself. With a strong effort, she was able to speak fairly firmly. She told Charlotte that the idea of their becoming related was very pleasing to her. And she wished her all the happiness that anyone could imagine.

“I see what you are feeling,” replied Charlotte. “You must be surprised, very much surprised, because Mr. Collins wanted to marry you so recently. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home. And when I consider Mr. Collins’s character, connections and position in life, I am sure of one thing. My chance of happiness with him is as good as most people can boast of when they marry.”

Elizabeth quietly answered, “Undoubtedly.” After an awkward pause, they went back to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer. Then Elizabeth was left to think about what she had heard. It was a long time before she could accept the idea of such an unsuitable match at all. It was strange that Mr. Collins had made two offers of marriage within three days. But that was nothing compared with the fact that he was now accepted.

She had always felt that Charlotte’s opinion of marriage was not exactly like her own. But she could never have believed that, when the moment came, Charlotte would sacrifice every better feeling for worldly advantage. Charlotte, the wife of Mr. Collins—it was a most humiliating picture! Elizabeth felt the pain of seeing a friend disgrace herself and fall in her opinion. And to this pain was added another sad certainty. It was impossible for that friend to be even fairly happy in the life she had chosen.

### Glossary

- **slyness**: a clever, secret way of doing something so that others do not notice.
- **courtship**: the time when a man tries to win a woman’s love before marriage.
- **establishment**: a home and a settled position in life, especially through marriage.
- **consent**: permission or agreement to let something happen.
- **St. James’s**: the King’s court in London, where important people were presented.
- **come out**: to be officially introduced into adult society, so that a girl may go to balls and marry.
- **old maid**: an old-fashioned, unkind name for a woman who never marries.
- **patroness**: a rich, important woman who gives someone a job or support.
- **reproach**: words that show you think someone has done wrong.
- **humiliating**: making someone feel ashamed and less respected.

## Chapter 23

Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters. She was thinking about what she had heard, and she was not sure if she was allowed to mention it. Then Sir William Lucas himself appeared. His daughter had sent him to announce her engagement to the family. He paid them many compliments. He also congratulated himself a great deal on the coming connection between the two houses. Then he told them the news. His listeners did not only wonder; they did not believe him. Mrs. Bennet, with more stubbornness than politeness, insisted that he must be completely mistaken. And Lydia, who was always careless and often rude, cried out loudly,

“Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Don’t you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?”

Nothing less than the politeness of a courtier could have borne such treatment without anger. But Sir William’s good manners carried him through it all. He begged to be allowed to insist that his news was true. But he listened to all their rudeness with the most patient politeness.

Elizabeth felt that it was her duty to help him out of such an unpleasant situation. So she now stepped forward to confirm his news. She said that she had already heard it from Charlotte herself. She tried to stop the cries of her mother and sisters by congratulating Sir William very warmly. Jane was quick to join her in this. Elizabeth also made all sorts of remarks: on the happiness that might be expected from the match, on Mr. Collins’s excellent character, and on the convenient distance from Hunsford to London.

In fact, Mrs. Bennet was too overcome to say very much while Sir William stayed. But as soon as he had left them, her feelings rushed out. First, she still refused to believe any of it. Second, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been tricked. Third, she trusted that they would never be happy together. And fourth, she hoped that the match might be broken off. However, she clearly drew two conclusions from the whole business. One was that Elizabeth was the real cause of all the trouble. The other was that she herself had been cruelly treated by them all. She talked mostly about these two points for the rest of the day. Nothing could comfort her, and nothing could calm her. And her anger did not end with that day. A week passed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her. A month passed before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude. And many months went by before she could forgive their daughter at all.

Mr. Bennet’s feelings about the event were much calmer. And he said that the feelings he did have were of a most pleasant kind. He had always thought Charlotte Lucas fairly sensible. Now, he said, it pleased him to discover that she was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!

Jane admitted that she was a little surprised at the match. But she spoke less of her surprise than of her sincere wish for their happiness. And Elizabeth could not persuade her to think that it was unlikely. Kitty and Lydia did not envy Miss Lucas at all, because Mr. Collins was only a clergyman. To them it was nothing more than a piece of news to spread in Meryton.

Lady Lucas could not help feeling triumph. Now she could pay Mrs. Bennet back, and enjoy the comfort of having a daughter well married. She called at Longbourn rather more often than usual to say how happy she was. But Mrs. Bennet’s sour looks and unkind remarks might have been enough to drive any happiness away.

There was an awkwardness between Elizabeth and Charlotte which kept them both silent on the subject. Elizabeth felt sure that there could never be real trust between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with more love to her sister. She was sure that her opinion of Jane’s goodness and fine feeling could never be shaken. And she grew more anxious every day about Jane’s happiness. Bingley had now been gone for a week, and nothing was heard about his return.

Jane had answered Caroline’s letter early. Now she was counting the days until she could reasonably hope to hear from her again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday. It was addressed to their father. It was written with all the solemn gratitude that a whole year’s stay with the family might have caused. After he had done his duty on that point, he went on to tell them his news. With many joyful words, he told them of his happiness in winning the love of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas. Then he explained why he had accepted their kind wish to see him again at Longbourn so readily. It was only so that he could enjoy her company. He hoped to be able to return there on Monday fortnight. Lady Catherine, he added, approved of his marriage so warmly that she wished it to take place as soon as possible. He trusted that his amiable Charlotte could not argue against this. Then surely she would name an early day for making him the happiest of men.

Mr. Collins’s return to Hertfordshire was no longer a pleasure for Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as ready to complain about it as her husband was. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge. It was also very inconvenient and extremely troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so poor. And lovers were the most unpleasant people of all. These were the gentle complaints of Mrs. Bennet. They only gave way to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley’s continued absence.

Neither Jane nor Elizabeth felt easy about this subject. Day after day passed, and they had no news of him. There was only a report which soon spread in Meryton: he would not come back to Netherfield for the whole winter. This report made Mrs. Bennet very angry. She never failed to call it a most shocking lie.

Even Elizabeth began to fear—not that Bingley did not care, but that his sisters would succeed in keeping him away. She did not want to accept such an idea. It would destroy Jane’s happiness, and it was so dishonourable to the faithfulness of her lover. But she could not stop it from coming back to her often. His two unfeeling sisters and his powerful friend were working together. They were helped by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London. All this, she feared, might be too much for the strength of his love.

As for Jane, *her* anxiety in this uncertainty was, of course, more painful than Elizabeth’s. But she wished to hide whatever she felt. So between herself and Elizabeth, the subject was never mentioned. But no such delicate feeling held back her mother. An hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley. She said how impatient she was for him to come. She even demanded that Jane should admit something: if he did not come back, she would think herself very badly treated. Jane needed all her steady gentleness to bear these attacks with fair calmness.

Mr. Collins returned exactly on time, on the Monday fortnight. But his welcome at Longbourn was not quite as warm as it had been on his first visit. However, he was too happy to need much attention. And luckily for the others, the business of courtship saved them from much of his company. He spent most of every day at Lucas Lodge. Sometimes he returned to Longbourn only in time to apologise for his absence before the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The smallest mention of anything about the match threw her into a terrible bad temper. And wherever she went, she was sure to hear people talking about it. She hated the sight of Miss Lucas. Charlotte would take her place in that house one day, so Mrs. Bennet looked at her with jealous hatred. Whenever Charlotte came to see them, Mrs. Bennet decided that she was looking forward to the hour when the house would be hers. Whenever Charlotte spoke quietly to Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet was sure that they were talking about the Longbourn estate. She was sure they were planning to turn her and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet was dead. She complained bitterly about all this to her husband.

“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” she said, “it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas will be mistress of this house one day! I shall be forced to make room for *her*, and live to see her take my place in it!”

“My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us hope that *I* may be the survivor.”

This did not comfort Mrs. Bennet very much. So, instead of answering, she went on as before,

“I cannot bear to think that they will have all this estate. If it was not for the entail, I would not mind it.”

“What would you not mind?”

“I would not mind anything at all.”

“Let us be thankful that you are saved from a state of such lack of feeling.”

“I can never be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail. How anyone could have the conscience to take an estate away from one’s own daughters, I cannot understand. And all for the sake of Mr. Collins too! Why should *he* have it more than anybody else?”

“I leave it to you to decide,” said Mr. Bennet.

### Glossary

- **courtier**: a person who spends time at the King’s court and is very skilled at being polite.
- **congratulate**: to tell someone you are happy about their good news.
- **scold**: to speak angrily to someone because they did something wrong.
- **triumph**: a feeling of great pleasure because you have won.
- **solemn**: very serious and formal.
- **Monday fortnight**: two weeks after the next Monday.
- **survivor**: the person who lives longer than the other.
- **entail**: a legal rule that lets only a male relative inherit the house and land.
- **conscience**: the inner sense that tells you what is right and wrong.

## Chapter 24

Miss Bingley’s letter arrived, and it put an end to all doubt. The very first sentence told them that the whole party were settled in London for the winter. It ended with her brother’s regret that he had not had time to say goodbye to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.

Hope was over, completely over. When Jane was able to read the rest of the letter, she found little in it to comfort her, except the writer’s claims of affection. Most of it was praise of Miss Darcy. Caroline wrote again at length about Miss Darcy’s many attractions. She boasted happily that they were becoming closer friends. And she dared to predict that the wishes in her last letter would come true. She also wrote with great pleasure that her brother was staying in Mr. Darcy’s house. And she mentioned, with delight, some of Mr. Darcy’s plans for new furniture.

Jane very soon told Elizabeth the main points of all this. Elizabeth listened in silent anger. Her heart was divided between worry for her sister and resentment against all the others. She did not believe Caroline’s claim that her brother liked Miss Darcy. She did not doubt, any more than she ever had, that he really loved Jane. She had always been ready to like him. But now she could not think without anger, and almost without contempt, of his easy temper. He did not have enough firmness of mind. This made him the slave of his scheming friends. It led him to sacrifice his own happiness to their changing wishes.

If his own happiness had been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to play with it in any way he liked. But her sister’s happiness was involved in it too. And she thought that he must know this himself. In short, it was a subject that she could think about for a long time, without any use. She could think of nothing else. Perhaps Bingley’s love had really died away. Or perhaps his friends had interfered and pushed it down. Perhaps he had known of Jane’s love. Or perhaps he had not noticed it. The answer would make a great difference to her opinion of him. But whichever was true, her sister’s situation was the same, and her peace was just as badly hurt.

A day or two passed before Jane had the courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth. But at last Mrs. Bennet left them alone together, after complaining about Netherfield and its master for longer than usual. Then Jane could not help saying,

“Oh, if only my dear mother had more control over herself! She can have no idea how much pain she gives me when she talks about him all the time. But I will not complain. It cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.”

Elizabeth looked at her sister with loving worry and disbelief, but said nothing.

“You doubt me,” cried Jane, blushing a little. “Really, you have no reason to. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man I have ever known, but that is all. I have nothing to hope or fear, and nothing to blame him for. Thank God! I do not have *that* pain. So, a little time—I shall certainly try to get over it.”

Soon she added in a stronger voice, “I have one comfort already. It was nothing more than a mistake of my imagination. And it has done no harm to anyone but myself.”

“My dear Jane!” cried Elizabeth. “You are too good. Your sweetness and unselfishness are really like an angel’s. I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never been fair to you, or loved you as you deserve.”

Miss Bennet eagerly said that she had no special goodness at all. She said the praise came only from her sister’s warm love.

“No,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair. *You* wish to think that everyone in the world is good, and you are hurt if I speak badly of anybody. *I* only want to think that *you* are perfect, and you fight against it. Do not be afraid that I will go too far. I will not take away your special right to think well of everyone. You need not worry. There are few people whom I really love, and even fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the less I like it. Every day I become more sure that all human characters are inconsistent. You can depend very little on people looking good or sensible. I have seen two examples lately. One I will not mention. The other is Charlotte’s marriage. It cannot be explained! In every way, it cannot be explained!”

“My dear Lizzy, do not give way to feelings like these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not think enough about how people’s situations and characters are different. Think of Mr. Collins’s respectable position, and Charlotte’s careful, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family. As for money, it is a very good match. And be ready to believe, for everybody’s sake, that she may feel something like liking and respect for our cousin.”

“To please you, I would try to believe almost anything. But no one else would gain anything from believing this. If I were sure that Charlotte cared for him, I would only think worse of her mind than I now think of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man. You know he is, as well as I do. And you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who marries him cannot think in a proper way. You shall not defend her, even though she is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not change the meaning of principle and honesty for the sake of one person. And you shall not try to persuade yourself or me that selfishness is good sense. Nor that being blind to danger makes happiness safe.”

“I think you speak too strongly about both of them,” replied Jane. “And I hope you will see that, when you see them happy together. But enough of this. You hinted at something else. You mentioned *two* examples. I cannot misunderstand you. But I beg you, dear Lizzy, not to hurt me by thinking *that person* is to blame, and by saying your opinion of him has fallen. We must not be so quick to imagine that someone has hurt us on purpose. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so careful and cautious. Very often it is only our own vanity that deceives us. Women imagine that admiration means more than it does.”

“And men make sure that they do.”

“If it is done on purpose, they cannot be excused. But I do not believe there is as much scheming in the world as some people think.”

“I do not say that any part of Mr. Bingley’s behaviour was a scheme,” said Elizabeth. “But a person need not plan to do wrong, or to make others unhappy. There may still be mistakes, and there may still be misery. Thoughtlessness, not caring about other people’s feelings, and a weak will can do all the harm.”

“And do you think it comes from either of those?”

“Yes; from the last one. But if I go on, I shall upset you by saying what I think of people you respect. Stop me while you can.”

“So you still believe that his sisters influence him.”

“Yes, together with his friend.”

“I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish him to be happy. And if he loves me, no other woman can make him happy.”

“Your first idea is wrong. They may wish for many things besides his happiness. They may wish him to become richer and more important. They may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections and pride.”

“Without a doubt, they *do* wish him to choose Miss Darcy,” replied Jane. “But this may come from better feelings than you think. They have known her much longer than they have known me. It is no wonder if they love her more. But whatever their own wishes may be, it is very unlikely that they have gone against their brother’s wishes. What sister would think she had the right to do that, unless there was something very wrong? If they believed he loved me, they would not try to separate us. If he did love me, they could not succeed. When you imagine such love, you make everybody act in an unnatural and wrong way, and you make me most unhappy. Do not hurt me with this idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken. Or at least, the shame is small. It is nothing compared with what I would feel if I thought badly of him or his sisters. Let me see it in the best light, in the light in which it can be understood.”

Elizabeth could not argue against such a wish. And from this time, Mr. Bingley’s name was hardly ever mentioned between them.

Mrs. Bennet still went on wondering and complaining that he did not come back. Elizabeth explained it clearly to her almost every day. But there seemed little chance that her mother would ever think about it with less confusion. Elizabeth tried to make her believe something that she did not believe herself. She said that his attentions to Jane had only been a common, passing liking, which ended when he no longer saw her. Her mother agreed at the time that this was probably true. But she told the same story again every day. Mrs. Bennet’s best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must come back in the summer.

Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. “So, Lizzy,” he said one day, “I find that your sister is crossed in love. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It gives her something to think about, and it makes her a little special among her friends. When is your turn coming? You will hardly be able to bear being beaten by Jane for long. Now is your chance. There are enough officers at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be *your* man. He is a pleasant fellow, and he would jilt you in a very respectable way.”

“Thank you, sir, but a less pleasant man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good luck.”

“True,” said Mr. Bennet. “But it is a comfort to think that whatever of that kind happens to you, you have a loving mother who will always make the most of it.”

Mr. Wickham’s company was a great help in driving away the gloom. The recent unlucky events had thrown this gloom over many of the Longbourn family. They saw him often. And now he had one more good quality: he was open with everyone. Elizabeth had already heard the whole story. Now his claims against Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, were spoken of openly and discussed in public. And everybody was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy, even before they had known anything about the matter.

Miss Bennet was the only person who thought there might be some facts which excused Mr. Darcy, facts unknown to the people of Hertfordshire. Her gentle, steady fairness always asked others to make allowances, and it reminded them that there might be mistakes. But everybody else judged Mr. Darcy to be the worst of men.

### Glossary

- **resentment**: a feeling of anger because you think someone has been unfair.
- **contempt**: the feeling that someone deserves no respect.
- **scheming**: making secret plans to get what you want.
- **pompous**: speaking and acting as if you are very important.
- **conceited**: thinking much too highly of yourself.
- **principle**: a strong rule of right and wrong that guides how you act.
- **crossed in love**: disappointed in love; not able to marry the person you love.
- **jilt**: to end a relationship with someone suddenly and unkindly.
- **make allowances**: to excuse someone because of their situation.

## Chapter 25

Mr. Collins spent a week declaring his love and making plans for happiness. Then Saturday came and called him away from his amiable Charlotte. However, on his side, the pain of parting might be made easier by getting his house ready for his bride. He had reason to hope that the wedding day would be fixed soon after his next return to Hertfordshire. That was the day that would make him the happiest of men. He said goodbye to his relations at Longbourn as solemnly as before. He wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and he promised their father another letter of thanks.

On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of welcoming her brother and his wife. As usual, they came to spend Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible man with the manners of a gentleman. He was far better than his sister, both by nature and by education. The Netherfield ladies would have found it hard to believe that such a man could be so well bred and pleasant. After all, he lived by trade, and within sight of his own warehouses. Mrs. Gardiner was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips. She was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and all her Longbourn nieces loved her very much. Between her and the two eldest there was an especially close friendship. They had often stayed with her in town.

When Mrs. Gardiner arrived, her first job was to give out her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was done, she had a less active part to play. It was her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many troubles to tell her and much to complain about. They had all been very badly treated since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had been just about to marry, and after all it had come to nothing.

“I do not blame Jane,” she went on, “because Jane would have got Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzy! Oh, sister! It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins’s wife by now, if it had not been for her own stubbornness. He proposed to her in this very room, and she refused him. And so Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I do. And Longbourn estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very cunning people indeed, sister. They only care about what they can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but it is true. It makes me very nervous and unwell to be blocked like this in my own family. And to have neighbours who think of themselves before anybody else! However, your coming just at this time is the greatest comfort. And I am very glad to hear what you tell us about long sleeves.”

Mrs. Gardiner had already heard most of this news in her letters with Jane and Elizabeth. She gave her sister a short answer. Then, out of pity for her nieces, she changed the subject.

Later, when she was alone with Elizabeth, she spoke more about it. “It seems likely that it would have been a good match for Jane,” she said. “I am sorry it ended. But these things happen so often! A young man like Mr. Bingley, as you describe him, falls in love so easily with a pretty girl for a few weeks. And when chance separates them, he forgets her so easily. Changes of heart of this kind are very common.”

“That is an excellent comfort in its way,” said Elizabeth, “but it will not do for *us*. We do not suffer by *chance*. It does not often happen that friends interfere and persuade a young man of independent fortune to forget a girl. And only a few days before, he was violently in love with her.”

“But that expression, ‘violently in love’, is used so often. It is so doubtful, so unclear, that it tells me very little. People use it for feelings which come from half an hour’s acquaintance, as often as for a real, strong love. Tell me, how *violent was* Mr. Bingley’s love?”

“I never saw a more promising love. He was beginning not to notice other people at all. He thought only of her. Every time they met, it was clearer and more noticeable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies, because he did not ask them to dance. And I spoke to him twice myself, and he did not answer. Could there be better signs? Is not general rudeness the very heart of love?”

“Oh, yes! Of that kind of love which I suppose he felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because with her character she may not get over it quickly. It would have been better if it had happened to *you*, Lizzy. You would have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think we could persuade her to come back with us? A change of scene might do her good. And perhaps a little rest from home may be as useful as anything.”

Elizabeth was extremely pleased with this idea. She felt sure that her sister would agree at once.

“I hope,” added Mrs. Gardiner, “that she will not let any thought of this young man influence her. We live in such a different part of town. All our friends are so different. And, as you know very well, we go out so little. So it is very unlikely that they will meet at all, unless he really comes to see her.”

“And *that* is quite impossible, because his friend is now guarding him. Mr. Darcy would never let him visit Jane in such a part of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have *heard* of a place like Gracechurch Street. But if he ever entered it, he would hardly think a month’s ablution enough to wash him clean of it. And you can be sure that Mr. Bingley never goes anywhere without him.”

“So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane write to the sister? *She* will not be able to avoid calling.”

“She will end the friendship completely.”

Elizabeth pretended to be very sure of this point. She also pretended to be sure of the even more interesting point, that Bingley was being kept from seeing Jane. But in spite of this, she felt a certain worry about it. When she looked closely at this worry, she saw that she did not think the matter completely hopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it was likely, that his love might come back to life. Then the more natural power of Jane’s attractions might defeat the influence of his friends.

Miss Bennet accepted her aunt’s invitation with pleasure. At that time she only thought about the Bingleys in one way. She hoped that, as Caroline did not live in the same house as her brother, she might sometimes spend a morning with her. Then there would be no danger of seeing him.

The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn. With the Philipses, the Lucases and the officers, there was not one day without a party. Mrs. Bennet had planned the entertainment of her brother and sister so carefully that they never once sat down to a family dinner. When the party was at home, some of the officers were always among the guests, and Mr. Wickham was sure to be one of them. Elizabeth had praised him so warmly that Mrs. Gardiner became suspicious. So on these occasions she watched them both closely. From what she saw, she did not think they were very seriously in love. But it was clear enough that they liked each other, and this made her a little uneasy. She decided to speak to Elizabeth about it before she left Hertfordshire. She would tell her that it was unwise to encourage such a love.

Wickham had one way of giving Mrs. Gardiner pleasure which had nothing to do with his general charm. About ten or twelve years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a long time in the very part of Derbyshire where he came from. So they had many friends in common. Wickham had seldom been there since the death of Darcy’s father, five years before. But he could still give her more recent news of her old friends than she had been able to get.

Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and she had known the late Mr. Darcy’s character very well by his reputation. So here was a subject they could never finish talking about. She compared her memories of Pemberley with Wickham’s detailed description of it. She paid her tribute of praise to the character of its late owner. In this way she delighted both him and herself. Then she was told how the present Mr. Darcy had treated him. She tried to remember something about that gentleman’s character as a boy, which might fit this. At last she felt sure that she remembered something. She had heard people speak of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy long ago as a very proud, bad-tempered boy.

### Glossary

- **warehouse**: a large building where goods are kept before they are sold.
- **well bred**: having good manners because of a good upbringing.
- **long sleeves**: a new fashion in women’s dresses at that time.
- **cunning**: clever at getting what you want, often in a dishonest way.
- **violently in love**: very strongly in love.
- **ablution**: washing yourself, often as a ceremony.
- **Gracechurch Street**: a street in the City of London, where merchants lived and worked.
- **tribute**: something said or done to show respect or admiration.
- **reputation**: the opinion that people generally have of someone.

## Chapter 26

Mrs. Gardiner gave Elizabeth her warning at the first good chance of speaking to her alone. She gave it promptly, and she gave it kindly. First she honestly told her what she thought. Then she went on:

“You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love just because you are warned against it. So I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would like you to be careful. Do not get involved, and do not try to get him involved, in a love which would be so unwise because there is no money. I have nothing to say against *him*. He is a most interesting young man. And if he had the fortune he ought to have, I think you could not do better. But as things are, you must not let your imagination run away with you. You have good sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on *your* firmness and good behaviour, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.”

“My dear aunt, this is serious indeed.”

“Yes, and I hope you will be serious too.”

“Well, then, you need not be alarmed. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can stop it.”

“Elizabeth, you are not serious now.”

“I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham. No, I certainly am not. But he is, by far, the most pleasant man I ever saw. And if he really comes to love me—I believe it will be better if he does not. I see that it would be unwise. Oh! *That* horrible Mr. Darcy! My father’s opinion of me is the greatest honour to me. And I would be miserable to lose it. My father, however, likes Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I would be very sorry to make any of you unhappy. But we see every day that young people who love each other are seldom stopped by a lack of money from getting engaged. So how can I promise to be wiser than so many other people, if I am tempted? Or how can I even know that it would be wise to resist? So all that I can promise you is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe that I am the first in his heart. When I am in his company, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best.”

“Perhaps it would be good if you discouraged him from coming here so very often. At least, you should not *remind* your mother to invite him.”

“As I did the other day,” said Elizabeth, with a guilty smile. “Very true. It will be wise of me not to do *that*. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. He has been invited so often this week because of you. You know my mother’s ideas about the need to keep her guests always in company. But really, and on my honour, I will try to do what I think is wisest. And now I hope you are satisfied.”

Her aunt told her that she was. Elizabeth thanked her for her kind advice, and they parted. It was a wonderful example of advice being given on such a subject without being resented.

Mr. Collins came back to Hertfordshire soon after the Gardiners and Jane had left. But he stayed with the Lucases, so his arrival was not very inconvenient for Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now coming very close. She had finally accepted that it could not be avoided. She even said several times, in an unkind voice, that she “*wished* they might be happy.” Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit. When she stood up to leave, Elizabeth went out of the room with her. Elizabeth was ashamed of her mother’s ungracious, unwilling good wishes, and she was sincerely moved herself. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said,

“I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.”

“*That* you certainly shall.”

“And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?”

“We shall often meet in Hertfordshire, I hope.”

“I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. So promise me that you will come to Hunsford.”

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she expected little pleasure from the visit.

“My father and Maria are coming to me in March,” added Charlotte, “and I hope you will agree to come with them. Really, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.”

The wedding took place. The bride and bridegroom left for Kent from the church door. And everybody had as much to say or to hear about it as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend. They wrote to each other as regularly and as often as they ever had. But it was impossible for their letters to be as open as before. Elizabeth could never write to her without feeling that all the comfort of their close friendship was over. She was determined not to write less often. But she did it for the sake of what had been, rather than what was.

Charlotte’s first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness. Elizabeth could not help being curious. How would Charlotte speak of her new home? How would she like Lady Catherine? And how happy would she dare to say she was? But when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte wrote on every point exactly as she might have expected. She wrote cheerfully. She seemed to be surrounded with comforts, and she mentioned nothing that she could not praise. The house, the furniture, the neighbourhood and the roads were all to her taste. And Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly and helpful. It was Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings, made softer and more sensible. Elizabeth saw that she must wait for her own visit there to learn the rest.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to say that they had arrived safely in London. When she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped that she would be able to say something about the Bingleys.

Her impatience for this second letter was rewarded as well as impatience usually is. Jane had been in town for a week, and she had neither seen nor heard from Caroline. However, she explained it to herself. She supposed that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had been lost by some accident.

“My aunt,” she went on, “is going into that part of town tomorrow. I shall use the chance to call in Grosvenor Street.”

She wrote again after the visit, when she had seen Miss Bingley. “I did not think Caroline was in good spirits,” were her words, “but she was very glad to see me. She blamed me for not telling her that I was coming to London. So I was right: my last letter had never reached her. Of course, I asked about their brother. He was well, but so busy with Mr. Darcy that they hardly ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected for dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, because Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall soon see them here.”

Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It made her sure that Mr. Bingley could only learn that her sister was in town by accident.

Four weeks passed, and Jane saw nothing of him. She tried to persuade herself that she was not sorry. But she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley’s lack of attention. For two weeks she waited at home every morning, and every evening she invented a new excuse for her. At last the visitor did appear. But she stayed only a short time, and, even worse, her manner had changed. Jane could not deceive herself any longer. The letter which she wrote to her sister at this time will show what she felt.

“My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be unable to feel triumph in her better judgment at my expense, when I confess something. I was completely deceived about Miss Bingley’s affection for me. But, my dear sister, the events have proved you right. Still, do not think me stubborn if I say this. Considering how she behaved, my trust was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all understand why she wished to be my close friend. But if the same things happened again, I am sure I would be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday. And in the meantime I did not receive a note, not a line. When she did come, it was very clear that she took no pleasure in it. She made a short, formal apology for not calling before. She said not a word about wishing to see me again. She was so changed in every way that when she left, I was quite decided to end our acquaintance. I pity her, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong to choose me as her friend as she did. I can honestly say that every step towards a close friendship came from her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrongly. And I am very sure that worry about her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself further. *We* know that this worry is quite unnecessary. But if she feels it, it easily explains her behaviour to me. And he is so rightly dear to his sister that any worry she feels for him is natural and kind. However, I cannot help wondering why she has such fears now. If he had cared about me at all, we would have met long, long ago. He knows that I am in town, I am certain, from something she said herself. And yet, from the way she talked, it seemed as if she wanted to persuade herself that he really loves Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I would almost be tempted to say one thing. It would be that there is a strong look of dishonesty in all this. But I will try to push away every painful thought. I will think only of what will make me happy: your love, and the constant kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something about his never coming back to Netherfield, and about giving up the house. But she did not say it with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant news from our friends at Hunsford. Please go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.

“Yours, etc.”

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain. But her spirits came back when she thought that Jane would no longer be fooled, at least by the sister. All hope from the brother was now completely over. She would not even wish him to begin his attentions again. Every time she thought about his character, it sank lower. As a punishment for him, and as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped that he might really marry Mr. Darcy’s sister soon. From what Wickham said, she would make him very sorry for what he had thrown away.

About this time Mrs. Gardiner reminded Elizabeth of her promise about that gentleman, and asked for news. Elizabeth had news to send which might please her aunt more than herself. His clear liking for her had faded. His attentions were over. He was now the admirer of someone else. Elizabeth watched carefully enough to see it all. But she could see it, and write about it, without much pain. Her heart had only been slightly touched. And her vanity was satisfied by believing that *she* would have been his only choice, if money had allowed it. The young lady he was now trying to please had suddenly got ten thousand pounds, and this was her most remarkable charm. But Elizabeth was perhaps less clear-sighted in his case than in Charlotte’s. She did not quarrel with him for wishing to be independent. On the contrary, nothing could be more natural. She was able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to give her up. So she was ready to agree that it was a wise and good step for both of them. And she could very sincerely wish him happy.

Elizabeth told all this to Mrs. Gardiner. After describing what had happened, she went on: “I am now sure, my dear aunt, that I have never been very much in love. If I had really felt that pure and noble passion, I would now hate his very name, and wish him every kind of evil. But my feelings are not only friendly towards *him*. They are even fair towards Miss King. I cannot find that I hate her at all, or that I am at all unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has worked. All my friends would certainly find me more interesting if I were madly in love with him. But I cannot say that I am sorry to be less important. Importance may sometimes cost too much. Kitty and Lydia are much more upset than I am that he has left us. They are young in the ways of the world. They have not yet learned the painful truth that handsome young men must have something to live on, just as plain ones do.”

### Glossary

- **sensible**: showing good judgment.
- **tempted**: wanting to do something, even though you know it may be wrong or unwise.
- **resent**: to feel angry about something that someone has done to you.
- **farewell**: goodbye, especially before a long time apart.
- **acquaintance**: a relationship with someone you know, but not very closely.
- **triumph**: a feeling of great pleasure because you were right or have won.
- **dishonesty**: not being honest; pretending to be what you are not.
- **vanity**: wanting others to admire you.
- **passion**: a very strong feeling, especially of love.

## Chapter 27

There were no greater events than these in the Longbourn family. Little else made the days different, except the walks to Meryton, which were sometimes muddy and sometimes cold. In this way January and February passed. March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. At first she had not thought very seriously of going there. But she soon found that Charlotte was depending on the plan. So little by little she began to think of it with more pleasure, and as more certain. Being apart had increased her wish to see Charlotte again, and it had weakened her disgust for Mr. Collins. The plan was something new. With such a mother and such poor company in her sisters, home could not be perfect. So a little change was welcome for its own sake. The journey would also give her a quick look at Jane. In short, as the time came nearer, she would have been very sorry if there had been any delay. However, everything went smoothly. In the end it was all settled as Charlotte had first planned it. Elizabeth was to travel with Sir William and his second daughter. Later, the improvement of spending a night in London was added. Then the plan became as perfect as a plan could be.

The only pain was leaving her father. He would certainly miss her. When the moment came, he liked her going so little that he told her to write to him. He almost promised to answer her letter.

The goodbye between her and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly, and on his side even more than friendly. He was now courting someone else. But this could not make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first to attract his attention and to deserve it. She had been the first to listen to him and to pity him, and the first to be admired. He said goodbye to her and wished her every enjoyment. He reminded her what she should expect from Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He trusted that their opinion of her—their opinion of everybody—would always be the same. In all this there was a care and an interest which she felt must always keep her most sincerely fond of him. She left him sure that, married or single, he must always be her model of a pleasant and charming man.

Her travelling companions the next day were not the kind of people to make her think him less pleasant. Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria had nothing to say that was worth hearing. Maria was a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as her father. Elizabeth listened to them with about as much delight as to the rattle of the chaise. She loved absurd things, but she had known Sir William’s absurdities too long. He could tell her nothing new about the wonders of his presentation at court and his knighthood. His polite phrases were worn out, like his news.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles. They started so early that they were in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing-room window, watching for them. When they came into the hall, she was there to welcome them. Elizabeth looked closely at her face and was pleased to see that it was as healthy and lovely as ever. On the stairs there was a crowd of little boys and girls. They were too eager to see their cousin to wait in the drawing-room. But they had not seen her for a year, and they were too shy to come any lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly. They spent the morning busily, shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.

There Elizabeth managed to sit next to her aunt. Their first subject was her sister. Elizabeth asked many detailed questions. She was more sad than surprised at the answer. Jane always tried hard to keep up her spirits, but there were times when she was very low. However, it was reasonable to hope that these times would not go on for long. Mrs. Gardiner also told her the details of Miss Bingley’s visit in Gracechurch Street. And she repeated conversations which she and Jane had had at different times. They proved that Jane had given up the friendship with all her heart.

Then Mrs. Gardiner teased her niece about Wickham leaving her, and praised her for bearing it so well.

“But, my dear Elizabeth,” she added, “what sort of girl is Miss King? I would be sorry to think that our friend is mercenary.”

“Please tell me, my dear aunt, what is the difference in marriage between a mercenary reason and a sensible one? Where does good sense end, and greed begin? Last Christmas you were afraid that he would marry me, because it would be unwise. And now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary.”

“If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.”

“She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know nothing bad about her.”

“But he did not pay her the smallest attention until her grandfather’s death made her the owner of this fortune.”

“No—why should he? He was not allowed to win *my* love, because I had no money. So what reason could he have for courting a girl whom he did not care about, and who was just as poor?”

“But it seems indelicate to turn his attentions to her so soon after this event.”

“A man in money troubles does not have time for all the fine manners which other people may keep. If *she* does not object to it, why should *we*?”

“*Her* not objecting does not excuse *him*. It only shows that she lacks something herself—sense or feeling.”

“Well,” cried Elizabeth, “have it as you like. *He* shall be mercenary, and *she* shall be foolish.”

“No, Lizzy, that is what I do *not* like. I would be sorry, you know, to think badly of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”

“Oh! If that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire. And their close friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! Tomorrow I am going to a place where I shall find a man who has not one pleasant quality. He has neither manners nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.”

“Take care, Lizzy. That speech sounds very much like disappointment.”

Before the end of the play separated them, she had an unexpected happiness. Her uncle and aunt invited her to join them on a pleasure tour which they planned to take in the summer.

“We have not quite decided how far it shall take us,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “but perhaps to the Lakes.”

No plan could have pleased Elizabeth more, and she accepted the invitation most readily and gratefully. “My dear, dear aunt,” she cried with delight, “what joy! What happiness! You give me new life and strength. Goodbye to disappointment and bad temper. What are men compared to rocks and mountains? Oh! What hours of delight we shall spend! And when we *do* return, it shall not be like other travellers. They cannot give one exact idea of anything. We *will* know where we have gone. We *will* remember what we have seen. Lakes, mountains and rivers shall not be mixed up together in our minds. And when we try to describe any particular view, we will not begin arguing about where it was. Let *our* first excited descriptions be less unbearable than those of most travellers.”

### Glossary

- **chaise**: a light carriage pulled by horses, used for travelling.
- **absurd**: silly in a way that makes people laugh.
- **knighthood**: the title “Sir”, given by the King as an honour.
- **presentation at court**: the formal moment when a person is introduced to the King.
- **mercenary**: interested only in money.
- **greed**: a strong wish to have more money or things than you need.
- **indelicate**: not polite or sensitive; a little rude or improper.
- **the Lakes**: the Lake District, an area of lakes and mountains in the north-west of England.
- **unbearable**: too unpleasant to accept or listen to.

## Chapter 28

Everything on the next day’s journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth. She was in the mood to enjoy herself. She had seen that her sister looked so well that all her fears for Jane’s health were gone. And the thought of her tour to the north was a constant source of delight.

When they left the main road and took the lane to Hunsford, every eye looked for the Parsonage. At every turn they expected to see it. On one side the fence of Rosings Park ran along beside them. Elizabeth smiled when she remembered all that she had heard about the people who lived there.

At last they could see the Parsonage. The garden went down in a slope to the road, and the house stood in it. There were the green pales and the laurel hedge. Everything told them that they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door. The carriage stopped at the small gate, and a short gravel path led from there to the house. The whole party nodded and smiled. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, and they were very happy to see each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the greatest pleasure. Elizabeth was more and more pleased that she had come, because she was received so warmly. She saw at once that marriage had not changed her cousin’s manners. His formal politeness was just as it had been before. He kept her at the gate for some minutes. He wanted to ask about all her family and hear her answers. Then they were taken into the house. The only delay was that he showed them how neat the entrance was. As soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time to his humble home. He did it with very showy formality. Then he carefully repeated all his wife’s offers of food and drink.

Elizabeth was ready to see him at his proudest. She could not help imagining that he spoke especially to her. He showed them the good size of the room, its position and its furniture. It seemed to her that he wanted her to feel what she had lost by refusing him. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she could not please him with any sigh of regret. Instead, she looked with surprise at her friend. How could Charlotte look so cheerful with such a companion? Sometimes Mr. Collins said things that his wife could fairly be ashamed of, and this certainly happened quite often. Then Elizabeth could not stop herself from looking at Charlotte. Once or twice she noticed a slight blush. But usually Charlotte wisely did not hear.

They sat long enough to admire every piece of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender. They described their journey and all that had happened in London. Then Mr. Collins invited them to take a walk in the garden. It was large and well planned, and he did the work in it himself. Working in his garden was one of his most respectable pleasures. Elizabeth admired how Charlotte kept a straight face. She talked about how healthy the exercise was, and she said that she encouraged it as much as possible. Mr. Collins led them along every path and every cross path. He hardly gave them time to say the praises that he wanted to hear. He pointed out every view in such detail that the beauty was completely lost. He could count the fields in every direction. He could tell them how many trees there were in the most distant group. His garden had many views, and so did the county and the whole kingdom. But none of them could be compared with the view of Rosings. There was an opening in the trees at the edge of the park, almost opposite the front of his house. Rosings could be seen through it. It was a handsome modern building, standing well on high ground.

From his garden Mr. Collins wanted to lead them round his two meadows. But the ladies did not have the right shoes for the last of the white frost, so they turned back. Sir William went with him, and Charlotte took her sister and her friend round the house. She was very pleased, probably, to have the chance to show it without her husband’s help. It was rather small, but well built and practical. Everything was arranged neatly and sensibly, and Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit for this. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great feeling of comfort in the whole house. Charlotte clearly enjoyed it, so Elizabeth supposed that he must often be forgotten.

She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. They spoke of it again at dinner, and Mr. Collins joined in.

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh at church next Sunday. I need not say that you will be delighted with her. She is all friendliness and condescension. I do not doubt that she will honour you with some of her attention when the service is over. I can say almost without doubt that she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us while you are here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and we are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship’s carriage is always ordered for us. I *should* say, one of her ladyship’s carriages, for she has several.”

“Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,” added Charlotte, “and a most attentive neighbour.”

“Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one can never respect too much.”

They spent most of the evening talking about news from Hertfordshire. They told each other again what they had already written in letters. When the evening ended, Elizabeth was alone in her room. There she thought about how contented Charlotte was. She thought about Charlotte’s skill in guiding her husband and her calm patience with him. She had to admit that it was all done very well. She also imagined how her visit would pass. There would be their usual quiet activities and the annoying interruptions of Mr. Collins. And there would be the pleasures of their visits to Rosings. Her lively imagination soon had it all planned.

Around the middle of the next day, she was in her room getting ready for a walk. Suddenly there was a noise downstairs, and it seemed that the whole house was in confusion. She listened for a moment. Then she heard somebody running up the stairs in a great hurry and calling loudly for her. She opened the door and met Maria on the landing. Maria was out of breath with excitement, and she cried out,

“Oh, my dear Eliza! Please hurry and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to see! I will not tell you what it is. Hurry, and come down this moment.”

Elizabeth asked questions, but it was no use. Maria would tell her nothing more. They ran down into the dining-room, which faced the lane, to find this wonder. It was two ladies who had stopped in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

“And is this all?” cried Elizabeth. “I expected at least that the pigs had got into the garden. And here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter!”

“Oh! my dear,” said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, “it is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Miss De Bourgh. Just look at her. She is such a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small!”

“She is terribly rude to keep Charlotte outside in all this wind. Why does she not come in?”

“Oh! Charlotte says that she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when Miss De Bourgh comes in.”

“I like her appearance,” said Elizabeth, who had other ideas in her head. “She looks sickly and bad-tempered.—Yes, she will suit him very well. She will make him a very proper wife.”

Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate and talking with the ladies. Sir William stood in the doorway, and this amused Elizabeth very much. He was seriously admiring the greatness in front of him. And he bowed again and again whenever Miss De Bourgh looked his way.

At last there was nothing more to say. The ladies drove on, and the others went back into the house. As soon as Mr. Collins saw the two girls, he began to congratulate them on their good luck. Charlotte explained what he meant. The whole party was invited to dine at Rosings the next day.

### Glossary

- **Parsonage**: the house where a clergyman lives.
- **pales**: a fence made of pieces of wood standing up side by side.
- **laurel hedge**: a line of thick green bushes planted along the edge of a garden.
- **chaise**: a light carriage pulled by horses.
- **parlour**: a sitting room where people receive visitors.
- **fender**: a low metal frame in front of a fireplace.
- **condescension**: kindness from a high-ranked person to a lower one (Mr. Collins uses it as praise).
- **phaeton**: a light open carriage pulled by small horses.
- **landing**: the flat area at the top of a set of stairs.

## Chapter 29

Because of this invitation, Mr. Collins’s triumph was complete. He had wished for exactly this. He wanted to show the grandeur of his patroness to his amazed visitors. He wanted them to see how polite she was to him and his wife. And the chance had come so soon! To him this was such an example of Lady Catherine’s condescension that he could not admire it enough.

“I admit,” he said, “that I would not have been at all surprised if her Ladyship had asked us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I know how friendly she is, so I rather expected it. But who could have expected such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we would receive an invitation to dine there so soon after your arrival? And an invitation for the whole party, too!”

“I am less surprised at what has happened,” replied Sir William. “My position in life has allowed me to learn how great people really behave. At the Court, such examples of fine manners are not unusual.”

For the whole day and the next morning, they talked of almost nothing but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins carefully taught them what they should expect. He did not want the sight of such rooms, so many servants and such a splendid dinner to overwhelm them completely.

When the ladies were going to their rooms to dress, he said to Elizabeth,

“Do not worry about your clothes, my dear cousin. Lady Catherine does not at all require us to dress as elegantly as she and her daughter do. That is right for them. I would advise you just to put on the best of your clothes. There is no need for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes the difference in rank to be kept.”

While they were dressing, he came two or three times to each of their doors. He told them to be quick, because Lady Catherine very much disliked being kept waiting for her dinner. Such frightening descriptions of her Ladyship and her way of life quite frightened Maria Lucas. She was not used to society. She looked forward to meeting Lady Catherine at Rosings with great fear. She felt as much fear as her father had felt before he was presented at St. James’s.

The weather was fine, and they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its views, and Elizabeth saw much to please her. But she could not feel the great delight that Mr. Collins expected the scene to give her. She was only a little moved when he counted the windows at the front of the house. And she was moved just as little when he told them how much all the glass had cost. Sir Lewis De Bourgh had paid for it at first.

As they went up the steps to the hall, Maria’s fear grew stronger every moment. Even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth did not lose her courage. She had heard nothing about Lady Catherine that made her someone to fear because of special talents or wonderful goodness. Elizabeth thought that she could face the mere grandness of money and rank without fear.

Mr. Collins pointed out the entrance hall with delight. He showed them its fine size and its finished decorations. From there they followed the servants through a small waiting room. Then they came into the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her Ladyship stood up to receive them, with great condescension. Mrs. Collins had agreed with her husband that she would make the introductions. So it was done properly, without all the apologies and thanks that he would have thought necessary.

Sir William had been at St. James’s. In spite of this, the grandeur around him filled him with great respect and fear. He had only just enough courage to make a very low bow. He sat down without saying a word. His daughter was frightened almost out of her mind. She sat on the edge of her chair and did not know where to look. Elizabeth found that she could deal with the scene quite well. She could calmly observe the three ladies in front of her.

Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman with strong features, which might once have been handsome. Her manner was not friendly. The way she received them did not make her visitors forget their lower rank. She was not frightening because she was silent. But whatever she said, she said in such a commanding voice that it showed how important she thought herself. This made Elizabeth think of Mr. Wickham at once. After watching her for the whole day, Elizabeth believed that Lady Catherine was exactly what he had described.

First she studied the mother. Soon she found that Lady Catherine’s face and manner were a little like Mr. Darcy’s. Then she looked at the daughter. She could almost have shared Maria’s surprise that Miss De Bourgh was so thin and so small. There was no likeness between the two ladies, in figure or in face. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly. Her features were not plain, but they were unremarkable. She said very little, except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson. There was nothing special in Mrs. Jenkinson’s appearance. She was completely busy listening to what Miss De Bourgh said. She was also busy placing a screen in the right position in front of Miss De Bourgh’s eyes.

After they had sat for a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view. Mr. Collins went with them to point out its beauties. Lady Catherine kindly told them that it was much more worth looking at in the summer.

The dinner was extremely fine. There were all the servants and all the silver dishes that Mr. Collins had promised. He had also said that he would sit at the bottom of the table, at her Ladyship’s wish, and he did. He looked as if life could give him nothing greater. He carved, and ate, and praised everything with great eagerness and delight. Every dish was praised, first by him and then by Sir William. Sir William had now recovered enough to repeat whatever his son-in-law said. He did it in a way that made Elizabeth wonder how Lady Catherine could bear it. But Lady Catherine seemed pleased by their far too great admiration. She gave very gracious smiles, especially when a dish on the table was new to them.

The party did not offer much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was a chance. But she sat between Charlotte and Miss De Bourgh. Charlotte was busy listening to Lady Catherine, and Miss De Bourgh said not a word to her during the whole dinner. Mrs. Jenkinson was mostly busy watching how little Miss De Bourgh ate. She kept asking her to try some other dish, and she was afraid that Miss De Bourgh was unwell. Maria thought that speaking was impossible. The gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.

When the ladies went back to the drawing-room, there was little to do except listen to Lady Catherine talk. She talked without a pause until the coffee came in. She gave her opinion on every subject in a very firm way. It was clear that she was not used to people disagreeing with her. She asked Charlotte about her household affairs in great detail, as if they were close friends. She gave her a great deal of advice on how to manage them all. She told her how everything ought to be organised in such a small family as hers. And she taught her how to look after her cows and her chickens. Elizabeth saw that nothing was too small for this great Lady’s attention. Anything was worth her notice if it gave her a chance to give orders to others.

In the pauses in her talk with Mrs. Collins, she asked Maria and Elizabeth many questions. She asked Elizabeth most of all, because she knew the least about her family. She remarked to Mrs. Collins that Elizabeth was a very well-mannered, pretty sort of girl. At different times she asked Elizabeth how many sisters she had. Were they older or younger than she was? Were any of them likely to be married? Were they handsome? Where had they been educated? What carriage did her father keep? And what had been her mother’s family name before she married? Elizabeth felt how rude these questions were, but she answered them very calmly. Then Lady Catherine said,

“Your father’s estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your sake,” she turned to Charlotte, “I am glad of it. But otherwise I see no reason to keep estates away from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family.—Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?”

“A little.”

“Oh! then—some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is an excellent one, probably better than——You shall try it some day.—Do your sisters play and sing?”

“One of them does.”

“Why did you not all learn?—You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father does not have as good an income as yours.—Do you draw?”

“No, not at all.”

“What, none of you?”

“Not one.”

“That is very strange. But I suppose you had no chance. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring, so that you could have good teachers.”

“My mother would not have minded, but my father hates London.”

“Has your governess left you?”

“We never had a governess.”

“No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess!—I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have worked like a slave for your education.”

Elizabeth could hardly stop herself from smiling as she told her that this had not been the case.

“Then who taught you? Who looked after you? Without a governess you must have been neglected.”

“Compared with some families, I believe we were. But those of us who wanted to learn always had the means to do it. We were always encouraged to read, and we had all the teachers that were necessary. Those who chose to be lazy certainly could be.”

“Yes, no doubt. But that is what a governess will prevent. If I had known your mother, I would have advised her very strongly to employ one. I always say that nothing can be done in education without steady and regular teaching. And nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful how many families I have helped to find one. I am always glad to find a young person a good position. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson have very delightful positions because of me. And just the other day I recommended another young person. She was only mentioned to me by chance, and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you that Lady Metcalfe called yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’ she said, ‘you have given me a treasure.’ Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes, Ma’am, all of them.”

“All!—What, all five out at once? Very odd!—And you are only the second.—The younger ones out before the older ones are married!—Your younger sisters must be very young?”

“Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps *she* is rather young to be much in society. But really, Ma’am, I think it would be very hard on younger sisters to miss their share of society and fun because the older ones may not have the money or the wish to marry early.—The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. And to be kept back for *such* a reason!—I think it would not be very likely to encourage love between sisters, or fine feelings.”

“Upon my word,” said her Ladyship, “you give your opinion very firmly for such a young person.—Tell me, what is your age?”

“I have three younger sisters who are grown up,” replied Elizabeth, smiling. “So your Ladyship can hardly expect me to admit it.”

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished that she did not get a direct answer. Elizabeth suspected that she was the first person who had ever dared to joke with such grand rudeness.

“You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure. So you need not hide your age.”

“I am not twenty-one.”

When the gentlemen had joined them and tea was over, the card tables were set out. Lady Catherine, Sir William and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to play quadrille. Miss De Bourgh chose to play cassino, so the two girls had the honour of helping Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her group. Their table was extremely dull. Hardly a word was spoken that was not about the game. Sometimes Mrs. Jenkinson said that she was afraid for Miss De Bourgh. Was she too hot or too cold? Did she have too much or too little light? Those were the only other words.

A great deal more happened at the other table. Lady Catherine was talking most of the time. She pointed out the mistakes of the other three, or she told some story about herself. Mr. Collins was busy agreeing with everything her Ladyship said. He thanked her for every counter he won, and he apologised if he thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was filling his memory with stories and noble names.

Lady Catherine and her daughter played as long as they wished. Then the tables were cleared away. The carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, and she gratefully accepted it, and it was ordered at once. Then the party gathered round the fire to hear Lady Catherine decide what weather they would have the next day. The arrival of the coach called them away from these instructions. Mr. Collins made many speeches of thanks, and Sir William made as many bows, and they left.

As soon as they had driven away from the door, her cousin turned to Elizabeth. He asked her to give her opinion of everything she had seen at Rosings. For Charlotte’s sake, she made it more favourable than it really was. Her praise cost her some effort, but it could not satisfy Mr. Collins at all. Very soon he had to take over the praising of her Ladyship himself.

### Glossary

- **patroness**: a rich woman who gives someone a job or support.
- **condescension**: kindness from a high-ranked person to a lower one (Mr. Collins uses it as praise).
- **the Court / St. James’s**: the King’s palace and the people around him.
- **screen**: a small flat object that protects someone’s eyes from the light or the heat of the fire.
- **carve**: to cut cooked meat into pieces at the table.
- **entailed**: passed by law only to a male relative.
- **governess**: a woman who lives with a family and teaches the children at home.
- **out**: officially introduced into adult society and free to go to parties and marry.
- **quadrille / cassino**: card games.
- **counter**: a small piece used to keep the score in a card game.

## Chapter 30

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford. But his visit was long enough to convince him that his daughter was very comfortably settled. He was also sure that she had a husband and a neighbour of a kind that people did not often find. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins spent his mornings driving him out in his gig. He showed him the countryside. When Sir William went away, the whole family went back to their usual activities.

Elizabeth was thankful that they did not see more of her cousin after this change. He now spent most of the time between breakfast and dinner working in the garden. Or he was in his own book room, which faced the road. There he read and wrote and looked out of the window. The room where the ladies sat was at the back of the house. At first Elizabeth had rather wondered why Charlotte did not prefer the dining-parlour for daily use. It was a bigger room, and it had a nicer view. But she soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for her choice. The ladies could have sat in an equally pleasant room. But then Mr. Collins would certainly have spent much less time in his own. Elizabeth gave Charlotte credit for this arrangement.

From the drawing-room they could see nothing in the lane. So they depended on Mr. Collins to tell them which carriages went past. He told them especially how often Miss De Bourgh drove by in her phaeton. He never failed to come and tell them about it, though it happened almost every day. She quite often stopped at the Parsonage and talked with Charlotte for a few minutes. But they could hardly ever persuade her to get out.

Very few days passed when Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings. And there were not many days when his wife did not think it necessary to go too. Elizabeth could not understand why they gave up so many hours to it. Then she remembered that there might be other church livings that the family could give away.

Now and then her Ladyship honoured them with a visit. During these visits she noticed everything that was happening in the room. She asked about what they were doing, looked at their sewing, and advised them to do it differently. She found fault with the way the furniture was arranged, or she caught the housemaid being careless. Sometimes she accepted some food or drink. But she seemed to do it only to find out something. She wanted to see that Mrs. Collins’s joints of meat were too large for her family.

Elizabeth soon saw something else. This great lady was not an official magistrate for the county. But she was a very active magistrate in her own parish. Mr. Collins brought her even the smallest matters from it. Sometimes the villagers in the cottages were quarrelsome, unhappy or too poor. Then she marched out into the village. There she settled their arguments and silenced their complaints. She scolded them until they lived in peace and had enough.

They went to dinner at Rosings about twice a week. Sir William was gone now, and there was only one card table in the evening. Apart from that, every one of these evenings was exactly like the first. They had few other invitations, because most people in the neighbourhood lived in a style that the Collinses could not afford. But this was no hardship for Elizabeth. On the whole she spent her time quite comfortably. There were half-hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte. And the weather was so fine for the time of year that she often enjoyed being outside very much.

She had a favourite walk, and she often went there while the others were visiting Lady Catherine. It went along the open grove of trees at the edge of that side of the park. There was a nice, sheltered path there. Nobody else seemed to value it but her. There she felt that Lady Catherine’s curiosity could not reach her.

In this quiet way the first two weeks of her visit soon passed. Easter was coming. In the week before it, a new person was to join the family at Rosings. In such a small circle, this had to be important. Soon after she arrived, Elizabeth had heard that Mr. Darcy was expected there within a few weeks. There were not many of her acquaintances whom she did not prefer to him. But his coming would at least give them a fairly new face to look at during their evenings at Rosings. And she might have some fun watching how he behaved to his cousin. That would show how hopeless Miss Bingley’s plans for him were. Lady Catherine clearly meant him to marry her daughter. She talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction. She spoke of him with the highest admiration. And she seemed almost angry to find that Miss Lucas and Elizabeth herself had already seen him often.

They soon knew at the Parsonage that he had arrived. Mr. Collins had walked up and down the whole morning near the lodges at the gates into Hunsford Lane. From there he could see who came in. He wanted to be the first to be sure of it. He bowed as the carriage turned into the Park, and then he hurried home with the great news. On the next morning he hurried to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to receive them. Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord ——. When Mr. Collins came back, the gentlemen came with him, to the great surprise of everyone. Charlotte had seen them from her husband’s room as they crossed the road. She ran at once into the other room and told the girls what an honour they could expect. Then she added,

“I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of politeness. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to visit me.”

Elizabeth hardly had time to say that she had no right to the compliment. Then the door-bell told them that the gentlemen were there. Soon afterwards the three gentlemen came into the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam came in first. He was about thirty. He was not handsome, but in his looks and manners he was truly a gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he used to look in Hertfordshire. He greeted Mrs. Collins politely, with his usual reserve. Whatever his feelings towards her friend might be, he met her with every appearance of calm. Elizabeth only curtseyed to him, without saying a word.

Colonel Fitzwilliam began a conversation at once, with the easy readiness of a well-bred man. He talked very pleasantly. But his cousin only made a small remark to Mrs. Collins about the house and garden. Then for some time he sat without speaking to anybody. At last, however, his politeness woke up enough for him to ask Elizabeth about the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way. After a moment’s pause she added,

“My eldest sister has been in town for the last three months. Have you never happened to see her there?”

She knew perfectly well that he never had. But she wanted to see whether he would show that he knew what had happened between the Bingleys and Jane. She thought that he looked a little confused as he answered. He said that he had never been so lucky as to meet Miss Bennet. They said no more about it, and soon afterwards the gentlemen went away.

### Glossary

- **gig**: a light, two-wheeled carriage pulled by one horse.
- **phaeton**: a light open carriage pulled by small horses.
- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **joint of meat**: a large piece of meat for roasting.
- **magistrate**: a person who acts as a judge in small local cases.
- **parish**: the area of one church and the people who live in it.
- **grove**: a small group of trees.
- **lodge**: a small house at the gate of a big park.
- **curtsey**: to bend the knees as a polite greeting (done by women).

## Chapter 31

Everyone at the Parsonage admired Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners very much. The ladies all felt that he would make their evenings at Rosings much more pleasant. But it was some days before they received any invitation there. While there were visitors in the house, they were not needed. They were not honoured with such an attention until Easter Day, almost a week after the gentlemen arrived. Even then they were only asked, as they were leaving church, to come there in the evening. During the last week they had seen very little of Lady Catherine or her daughter. Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonage more than once during that time. But they had only seen Mr. Darcy at church.

Of course they accepted the invitation. At a proper hour they joined the party in Lady Catherine’s drawing-room. Her ladyship received them politely. But it was clear that she did not want their company nearly as much as when she could get nobody else. In fact, she was almost completely busy with her nephews. She spoke to them much more than to anyone else in the room, and especially to Darcy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them. Anything was a welcome change for him at Rosings. Also, Mrs. Collins’s pretty friend had attracted him very much. Now he sat down beside her. He talked so pleasantly about Kent and Hertfordshire, about travelling and staying at home, and about new books and music. Elizabeth had never enjoyed herself half so much in that room before. They talked with so much life and ease that they caught the attention of Lady Catherine herself. They caught Mr. Darcy’s attention too. *His* eyes had soon turned towards them, again and again, with a curious look. After a while her ladyship felt the same curiosity, and she showed it more openly. She did not hesitate to call out,

“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What are you talking about? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”

“We are talking about music, Madam,” he said, when he could no longer avoid an answer.

“About music! Then please speak loudly. Of all subjects it is my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are talking about music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who enjoy music more truly than I do. And few have better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I would have been an excellent player. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to study. I am sure that she would have played delightfully. How is Georgiana getting on, Darcy?”

Mr. Darcy spoke with loving praise of his sister’s skill.

“I am very glad to hear such a good report of her,” said Lady Catherine. “And please tell her from me that she cannot expect to be excellent if she does not practise a great deal.”

“I assure you, Madam,” he replied, “that she does not need such advice. She practises all the time.”

“So much the better. It cannot be done too much. When I next write to her, I shall order her not to neglect it for any reason. I often tell young ladies that nobody can become excellent in music without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times that she will never play really well unless she practises more. Mrs. Collins has no instrument. But, as I have often told her, Miss Bennet is very welcome to come to Rosings every day. She can play on the piano in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”

Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt’s bad manners, and he made no answer.

When they had finished their coffee, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth that she had promised to play for him. She sat down at the instrument at once, and he pulled a chair close to her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song. Then she talked to her other nephew, as before. At last he walked away from her. He moved slowly and calmly, as usual, towards the piano. He stood in a place where he had a full view of the pretty player’s face. Elizabeth saw what he was doing. At the first good pause she turned to him with a playful smile and said,

“Do you want to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming over in such a grand way to hear me? But I will not be frightened, even though your sister *does* play so well. I am stubborn, and I can never bear to be frightened just because others want it. My courage always grows stronger whenever someone tries to frighten me.”

“I shall not say that you are wrong,” he replied, “because you could not really believe that I wanted to frighten you. And I have had the pleasure of knowing you long enough to know something else. You enjoy very much saying, now and then, that you hold opinions which are not really your own.”

Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself. She said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Your cousin will give you a very fine idea of me. He will teach you not to believe a word I say. I am especially unlucky to meet a person who can show my real character so well. And here, in a part of the world where I had hoped people would think quite well of me! Really, Mr. Darcy, it is very unkind of you to mention all the bad things you learnt about me in Hertfordshire. And let me say that it is very unwise, too. It makes me want to pay you back. And then things may come out that will shock your relations.”

“I am not afraid of you,” he said, smiling.

“Please let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I would like to know how he behaves among strangers.”

“Then you shall hear. But prepare yourself for something very terrible. The first time I ever saw him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball. And at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances! I am sorry to hurt you, but it is true. He danced only four dances, though there were few gentlemen. And I know for certain that more than one young lady was sitting down without a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny it.”

“At that time I did not have the honour of knowing any lady at the ball, except those in my own party.”

“True. And nobody can ever be introduced in a ballroom. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what shall I play next? My fingers are waiting for your orders.”

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, “I would have acted better if I had asked to be introduced. But I am not good at making strangers like me.”

“Shall we ask your cousin the reason for this?” said Elizabeth, still speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “He is a man of sense and education, and he has lived in the world. Shall we ask him why he is not good at making strangers like him?”

“I can answer your question,” said Fitzwilliam, “without asking him. It is because he will not take the trouble.”

“I certainly do not have the talent which some people have,” said Darcy, “of talking easily with people I have never seen before. I cannot catch their way of talking, or seem interested in their affairs, as I often see others do.”

“My fingers,” said Elizabeth, “do not move over this instrument as skilfully as many women’s fingers do. They do not have the same strength or speed, and they do not produce the same feeling. But I have always believed that this is my own fault, because I would not take the trouble to practise. It is not that I think *my* fingers are less able than any other woman’s to play excellently.”

Darcy smiled and said, “You are perfectly right. You have used your time much better. No one who has the privilege of hearing you can think that anything is missing. Neither of us performs for strangers.”

Here Lady Catherine interrupted them. She called out to know what they were talking about. Elizabeth immediately began to play again. Lady Catherine came closer. After she had listened for a few minutes, she said to Darcy,

“Miss Bennet would not play badly at all, if she practised more, and if she could have lessons from a London teacher. She has a very good idea of fingering, though her taste is not as good as Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful player, if her health had allowed her to learn.”

Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how warmly he agreed with this praise of his cousin. But neither at that moment nor at any other time could she see any sign of love. From all his behaviour to Miss De Bourgh, she found some comfort for Miss Bingley. It seemed that he would have been just as likely to marry *her*, if she had been his relation.

Lady Catherine went on making remarks about Elizabeth’s playing. She mixed them with many instructions about technique and taste. Elizabeth listened to them with all the patience of politeness. The gentlemen asked her to stay at the instrument, and she did. She stayed there until her Ladyship’s carriage was ready to take them all home.

### Glossary

- **Easter Day**: the Sunday of the Christian holiday of Easter, in spring.
- **instrument**: here, the piano.
- **practise**: to do something again and again to get better at it.
- **heartily**: warmly and with real feeling.
- **pay you back**: to do something bad to someone because they did something bad to you.
- **ballroom**: a large room for dancing.
- **fingering**: the way a player uses the fingers on an instrument.
- **technique**: the skill of how to do something, for example how to play music.
- **patience**: the ability to stay calm when something is slow or annoying.

## Chapter 32

The next morning Elizabeth was sitting by herself and writing to Jane. Mrs. Collins and Maria had gone into the village on business. Suddenly a ring at the door startled her. This was a sure sign of a visitor. She had not heard a carriage, so she thought it might well be Lady Catherine. Because she feared this, she began to put away her half-finished letter. She wanted to escape any rude questions. Then the door opened. To her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and only Mr. Darcy, came into the room.

He also seemed astonished to find her alone. He apologised for disturbing her. He explained that he had understood that all the ladies were at home.

Then they sat down. When she had asked about everyone at Rosings, it seemed that they were in danger of falling into total silence. So it was absolutely necessary to think of something. In this difficult moment she remembered *when* she had last seen him in Hertfordshire. She was curious to know what he would say about their sudden departure. So she said,

“How very suddenly you all left Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a very pleasant surprise for Mr. Bingley to see you all follow him so soon. If I remember rightly, he left only the day before. I hope he and his sisters were well when you left London.”

“Perfectly well—thank you.”

She saw that she would get no other answer. After a short pause she added,

“I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley does not really plan ever to come back to Netherfield?”

“I have never heard him say so. But he will probably spend very little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is at an age when friends and invitations keep increasing.”

“If he means to be at Netherfield only a little, it would be better for the neighbourhood if he gave the place up completely. Then perhaps we might get a family that would settle there. But perhaps Mr. Bingley took the house more for his own good than for the good of the neighbourhood. Then we must expect him to keep it or leave it for the same reason.”

“I would not be surprised,” said Darcy, “if he gave it up as soon as he can buy a suitable place.”

Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid to talk any longer about his friend. She had nothing else to say, so she decided to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him.

He understood the hint, and soon he began, “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”

“I believe she did. And I am sure she could not have given her kindness to a more grateful person.”

“Mr. Collins seems very lucky in his choice of a wife.”

“Yes, indeed. His friends can be very glad about it. He met one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him. Or who would have made him happy if they had. My friend is very intelligent. But I am not sure that marrying Mr. Collins was the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however. And from a practical point of view, it is certainly a very good marriage for her.”

“It must be very pleasant for her to be settled so near her own family and friends. It is such an easy distance.”

“An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.”

“And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a *very* easy distance.”

“I would never have thought of the distance as one of the *advantages* of the marriage,” cried Elizabeth. “I would never have said that Mrs. Collins was settled *near* her family.”

“That shows how much you love Hertfordshire. Anything outside the close neighbourhood of Longbourn would seem far to you, I suppose.”

As he spoke there was a kind of smile on his face, and Elizabeth thought she understood it. He must think that she was thinking of Jane and Netherfield. She blushed as she answered,

“I do not mean that a woman cannot be settled too near her family. Far and near are relative. They depend on many different circumstances. When people have enough money, the cost of travelling is not important, and distance is not a problem. But that is not the case *here*. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not one that allows them to make many journeys. My friend would only call herself *near* her family at *half* the present distance. Not at more, I am sure.”

Mr. Darcy moved his chair a little towards her. He said, “*You* cannot have the right to such a very strong love for one place. *You* cannot always have been at Longbourn.”

Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman’s feelings changed a little. He moved his chair back, took a newspaper from the table and looked over it. Then he said, in a colder voice,

“Are you pleased with Kent?”

They had a short conversation about the countryside. Both of them were calm and spoke in few words. It was soon ended when Charlotte and her sister came in, just back from their walk. They were surprised to find the two of them alone together. Mr. Darcy explained the mistake that had made him disturb Miss Bennet. He sat a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, and then he went away.

“What can this mean?” said Charlotte, as soon as he had gone. “My dear Eliza, he must be in love with you. Otherwise he would never have called on us in this friendly, informal way.”

But Elizabeth told her how silent he had been. Then it did not seem very likely, even to Charlotte, who wished it were true. They tried many guesses. In the end they could only suppose that he had come because it was hard to find anything to do. This was even more likely at that time of year. All the hunting and shooting were over. Indoors there were Lady Catherine, books and a billiard table. But gentlemen cannot always stay indoors. From this time on, the two cousins were tempted to walk to the Parsonage almost every day. Perhaps it was because it was so near. Or perhaps it was the pleasant walk, or the pleasant people who lived there. They called at different times of the morning, sometimes alone, sometimes together, and now and then with their aunt.

It was clear to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he enjoyed their company. Of course this made them like him even more. Elizabeth enjoyed being with him, and he clearly admired her. Both these things reminded her of her old favourite, George Wickham. When she compared them, she saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners were less charmingly gentle. But she believed that he might have the better educated mind.

But it was more difficult to understand why Mr. Darcy came to the Parsonage so often. It could not be for company. He often sat there for ten minutes at a time without opening his mouth. And when he did speak, it seemed to be because he had to, not because he wanted to. It seemed a sacrifice to good manners, not a pleasure for himself. He rarely seemed really lively. Mrs. Collins did not know what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam sometimes laughed at him for being so dull. This proved that he was usually different, which Charlotte could not have known from her own knowledge of him. She would have liked to believe that love had caused this change. And she would have liked her friend Eliza to be the one he loved. So she began seriously to try to find out. She watched him whenever they were at Rosings and whenever he came to Hunsford. But she did not have much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal. But it was hard to say what that look meant. It was a serious, steady look. But she often doubted whether there was much admiration in it. Sometimes it seemed to be nothing but absent-mindedness.

Once or twice she had suggested to Elizabeth that he might like her. But Elizabeth always laughed at the idea. Mrs. Collins did not think it right to keep talking about it, because it might raise hopes which could end only in disappointment. For in her opinion there was no doubt at all about one thing. All her friend’s dislike would disappear if Elizabeth could believe that he was in her power.

In her kind plans for Elizabeth, she sometimes imagined her marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was by far the most pleasant man. He certainly admired her, and his position in life was very suitable. But against these advantages there was something else. Mr. Darcy had many church livings to give away, and his cousin had none at all.

### Glossary

- **startle**: to surprise and frighten someone a little.
- **departure**: the act of leaving a place.
- **relative**: here, depending on other things; not the same in every case.
- **income**: money received every year.
- **billiard table**: a table for a game played with long sticks and balls.
- **absent-mindedness**: not paying attention because you are thinking of something else.
- **in her power**: under her control, because he loves her.
- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **suitable**: right for a particular person or situation.

## Chapter 33

More than once, when Elizabeth was walking in the Park, she met Mr. Darcy by chance. She felt that it was very unlucky and annoying. Bad luck seemed to bring him to the very place where nobody else came. To stop it ever happening again, she made sure to tell him the first time that it was one of her favourite places. So it was very strange that it could happen a second time! Yet it did, and even a third time. It seemed like deliberate unkindness, or like a punishment that he chose for himself. On these occasions he did not just ask a few polite questions, pause awkwardly and then go away. He actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her.

He never said very much. And she did not take the trouble to talk or to listen much. But during their third meeting she noticed that he was asking some strange, unconnected questions. He asked whether she enjoyed being at Hunsford. He asked about her love of walking alone. And he asked her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s happiness. When he spoke of Rosings, she said she did not completely know the house. Then he seemed to expect that whenever she came to Kent again, she would be staying *there* too. His words seemed to suggest it. Could he be thinking of Colonel Fitzwilliam? She supposed that, if he meant anything, he must be hinting at what might happen with his cousin. It upset her a little. She was quite glad when she found herself at the gate in the fence opposite the Parsonage.

One day, as she walked, she was reading Jane’s last letter again. She was thinking about some parts of it. They showed that Jane had not been in good spirits when she wrote. Then she looked up. This time it was not Mr. Darcy who surprised her. She saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam was coming to meet her. She put the letter away at once and forced a smile. She said,

“I did not know that you ever walked this way.”

“I have been walking round the Park,” he replied, “as I usually do every year. I plan to end with a visit to the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?”

“No, I would have turned back in a moment.”

And so she turned, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.

“Are you sure that you are leaving Kent on Saturday?” she said.

“Yes—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I must do what he decides. He arranges things just as he pleases.”

“And if he cannot arrange things as he likes, at least he greatly enjoys the power of choosing. I do not know anybody who seems to enjoy the power of doing what he likes more than Mr. Darcy.”

“He likes to have his own way very much,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But so do we all. It is only that he has better means of getting it than many others, because he is rich and many others are poor. I speak from my own feelings. A younger son, you know, must get used to going without things and depending on others.”

“In my opinion, the younger son of an Earl can know very little of either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known about going without things and depending on others? When has a lack of money ever stopped you from going wherever you wanted? Or from getting anything you wished for?”

“Those are very personal questions. And perhaps I cannot say that I have suffered many hardships of that kind. But in more important matters, I may suffer from a lack of money. Younger sons cannot marry whoever they like.”

“Unless they like women with money, which I think they very often do.”

“We are used to spending a lot, and this makes us too dependent. There are not many men of my rank who can afford to marry without thinking about money.”

“Is this meant for me?” thought Elizabeth, and she blushed at the idea. But she recovered and said in a lively voice, “And tell me, what is the usual price of an Earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask more than fifty thousand pounds.”

He answered her in the same joking way, and they dropped the subject. She did not want him to think that what had been said had upset her. So, to break the silence, she soon said,

“I imagine your cousin brought you here mainly to have somebody who does what he wants. I wonder that he does not marry, to make sure of a lasting convenience of that kind. But perhaps his sister does as well for the present. As she is in his care alone, he can do what he likes with her.”

“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an advantage that he must share with me. He and I are Miss Darcy’s guardians together.”

“Are you, really? And tell me, what sort of guardians are you? Does the young lady in your care give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage. And if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”

As she spoke, she saw that he was looking at her seriously. He asked her at once why she thought Miss Darcy might cause them any worry. The way he asked convinced her that somehow she had come quite near the truth. She replied immediately,

“You need not be frightened. I never heard anything bad about her. And I dare say she is one of the easiest people in the world to manage. Some ladies I know like her very much, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them.”

“I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant, gentlemanly man. He is a great friend of Darcy’s.”

“Oh! yes,” said Elizabeth drily. “Mr. Darcy is unusually kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes an enormous amount of care of him.”

“Care of him!—Yes, I really believe Darcy *does* take care of him in the things where he most needs care. He told me something on our journey here. It gives me reason to think that Bingley owes him a great deal. But I should apologise to him, because I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person he meant. It was all a guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is something that Darcy of course would not want people in general to know. If it got back to the lady’s family, it would be unpleasant.”

“You can be sure that I will not mention it.”

“And remember that I do not have much reason to suppose it was Bingley. What he told me was only this. He was pleased with himself because he had recently saved a friend from the troubles of a very unwise marriage. But he did not mention any names or any other details. I only suspected Bingley because he seems the kind of young man to get into trouble of that sort. And I know that they were together the whole of last summer.”

“Did Mr. Darcy tell you his reasons for interfering?”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”

“And what tricks did he use to separate them?”

“He did not talk to me about his own tricks,” said Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”

Elizabeth made no answer. She walked on, and her heart was full of anger. Fitzwilliam watched her for a little while. Then he asked her why she was so thoughtful.

“I am thinking about what you have been telling me,” she said. “I do not like your cousin’s behaviour. Why should he be the judge?”

“You are rather inclined to call his interference unwanted and unnecessary?”

“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide whether his friend’s feelings were proper. And I do not see why he alone should decide how his friend was to be happy.” “But,” she went on, remembering herself, “we do not know any of the details, so it is not fair to blame him. We must not suppose that there was much love in the case.”

“That is a natural guess,” said Fitzwilliam. “But it makes my cousin’s triumph much less glorious, I am sorry to say.”

He said this as a joke. But to her it seemed such a true picture of Mr. Darcy that she did not trust herself to answer. So she suddenly changed the subject. She talked about unimportant things until they reached the Parsonage.

As soon as their visitor had left them, she shut herself in her own room. There she could think without interruption about everything she had heard. It was impossible that he could mean any other people than those connected with her. There could not be *two* men in the world over whom Mr. Darcy had such unlimited influence. She had never doubted that he had helped in the plans to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane. But she had always believed that Miss Bingley had mainly made and arranged those plans. But if his own vanity did not mislead him, *he* was the cause. His pride and his changeable moods were the cause of all that Jane had suffered and was still suffering. For a time he had destroyed every hope of happiness for the most loving, generous heart in the world. And no one could say how long the harm he had done might last.

“There were some very strong objections against the lady.” These were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words. And what were these strong objections? Probably that she had one uncle who was a country attorney. And another uncle who was in business in London.

“To Jane herself,” she cried, “there could be no possible objection. She is all loveliness and goodness! Her intelligence is excellent, her mind is educated, and her manners are charming. And nothing could be said against my father either. He has some strange ways. But he has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not look down on. And he is respectable in a way that Mr. Darcy will probably never be.”

When she thought of her mother, it is true, she felt a little less sure. But she would not accept that any objections *there* really mattered much to Mr. Darcy. She was convinced of something about his pride. It would be hurt more because his friend’s relations were not important than because they lacked sense. In the end she was quite certain about his reasons. Partly he had been guided by this worst kind of pride. And partly he had wanted to keep Mr. Bingley for his sister.

The subject upset her so much, and she cried so much, that she got a headache. It grew much worse towards the evening. She also did not want to see Mr. Darcy. So she decided not to go with her cousins to Rosings, where they were invited to drink tea. Mrs. Collins saw that she was really unwell. She did not press her to go, and she stopped her husband from pressing her as much as she could. But Mr. Collins could not hide his fear that Lady Catherine would be rather displeased because Elizabeth stayed at home.

### Glossary

- **deliberate**: done on purpose.
- **younger son**: a son who is not the eldest; in rich families he usually gets little of the family money.
- **Earl**: a nobleman of high rank, with the title “Lord”.
- **guardian**: a person legally responsible for a child.
- **interfere**: to get involved in other people’s affairs when you are not wanted.
- **objection**: a reason for being against something.
- **vanity**: wanting others to admire you; thinking too much of yourself.
- **attorney**: a lawyer.
- **respectable**: of good character and position, so that people respect you.

## Chapter 34

When they had gone, Elizabeth chose to spend her time reading all the letters that Jane had written to her since she came to Kent. It was as if she wanted to make herself as angry with Mr. Darcy as possible. The letters held no real complaint. Jane did not talk again about past events, and she did not write about any pain she felt now. But in all of them, and in almost every line of each, something was missing. It was the cheerfulness that had always marked Jane’s way of writing. This cheerfulness came from a calm mind, at peace with itself and kind towards everyone. It had almost never been clouded before. Now Elizabeth noticed every sentence that showed unease. She read them with an attention that she had hardly given them the first time. Mr. Darcy had shamefully boasted of the misery he had been able to cause. This made her feel her sister’s suffering more sharply. It was some comfort to think that his visit to Rosings would end on the day after next. It was a still greater comfort that in less than a fortnight she would be with Jane again. Then she could help her sister’s spirits to recover, with everything that love could do.

She could not think of Darcy leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was going with him. But Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions towards her at all. However pleasant he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.

While she was deciding this, she was suddenly disturbed by the sound of the doorbell. Her heart beat a little faster at the idea that it might be Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. He had once before called late in the evening, and he might now have come to ask about her health in particular. But she soon put this idea away, and her feelings changed in a very different way. To her complete amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In a hurried manner he at once began to ask about her health. He said that he had come because he wished to hear that she was better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then he got up and walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but she did not say a word. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated way, and he began like this:

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be held down. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth was more astonished than words can say. She stared, went red, doubted, and was silent. He took this as enough encouragement. At once he told her all that he felt for her, and had felt for a long time. He spoke well. But he had other feelings to describe, not only those of the heart. And he spoke no more eloquently about love than about pride. He felt that she was below him in rank, and that marrying her would lower him. He spoke of the obstacles of her family, which his good sense had always set against his wishes. He talked about all this with great warmth. The warmth seemed natural, because he was hurting his own importance by this offer. But it was very unlikely to make her look kindly on his proposal.

She had a deep dislike of him. Even so, she could not help feeling the compliment of such a man’s love. Her answer did not change for a moment. But at first she was sorry for the pain he was going to feel. Then the words he used next made her angry, and she lost all her pity in her anger. Still, she tried to calm herself, so that she could answer him patiently when he had finished. At the end he told her how strong his love for her was. He had tried very hard to overcome it, but he had found it impossible. And he said he hoped that she would now reward it by accepting his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a happy answer. He *spoke* of fear and worry, but his face showed that he felt quite safe. This could only make her angrier. When he stopped, the colour rose in her cheeks, and she said:

“In cases like this, I believe it is the custom to say that one feels grateful for the feelings shown. One says this even if one cannot return them in the same way. It is natural to feel grateful. And if I could *feel* gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot. I have never wanted your good opinion, and you have certainly given it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have caused pain to anyone. But I did it without knowing, and I hope it will not last long. You tell me that certain feelings stopped you for a long time from showing your love. After this explanation, those feelings will have little difficulty in overcoming it.”

Mr. Darcy was leaning against the mantelpiece, with his eyes fixed on her face. He seemed to hear her words with as much anger as surprise. His face became pale with anger, and the trouble in his mind showed in every feature. He was struggling to look calm. He would not open his lips until he believed that he had managed it. For Elizabeth the pause was dreadful. At last, in a voice of forced calm, he said:

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to know why I am rejected like this, with so little *endeavour* at civility. But it is of small importance.”

“I might as well ask,” she replied, “why you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character. You clearly meant to offend and insult me. Was not this some excuse for rudeness, if I *was* rude? But I have other reasons to be angry. You know I have. Suppose my own feelings had not decided against you. If they had been neutral, or even friendly, do you think anything would tempt me? Would I accept the man who has ruined, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

As she said these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour. But the feeling did not last long, and he listened without trying to interrupt her while she went on.

“I have every reason in the world to think badly of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you played *there*. You dare not, you cannot deny it. You have been the main cause, if not the only cause, of separating them from each other. You have made the world blame one of them for being changeable and unreliable. You have made the world laugh at the other for her disappointed hopes. And you have brought them both into misery of the sharpest kind.”

She stopped. With no small anger she saw that he was listening calmly. His manner showed that he felt no regret at all. He even looked at her with a smile of pretended disbelief.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

Then, with a calm that he put on, he replied, “I have no wish to deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister. Nor do I deny that I am glad of my success. Towards *him* I have been kinder than towards myself.”

Elizabeth would not show that she had noticed this polite remark. But she did not miss its meaning, and it was not likely to make her feel friendlier.

“But my dislike is not based only on this matter,” she went on. “Long before it happened, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was shown to me in the story which Mr. Wickham told me many months ago. What can you say about this? With what imaginary act of friendship can you defend yourself here? Or with what false story can you deceive others here?”

“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” said Darcy. His voice was less calm, and his face had grown redder.

“Who can know what his misfortunes have been, and not feel an interest in him?”

“His misfortunes!” Darcy repeated with contempt. “Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”

“And you caused them,” cried Elizabeth with energy. “You have brought him to his present state of poverty, or at least of comparative poverty. You have kept from him the advantages which you must know were meant for him. In the best years of his life, you have taken away his independence. It was his right, and he deserved it too. You have done all this! And yet you can treat any mention of his misfortunes with contempt and mockery.”

“And this,” cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is what you think of me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. By this calculation, my faults are heavy indeed!”

He stopped walking and turned towards her. “But perhaps,” he added, “these offences might have been overlooked if my honest confession had not hurt your pride. I told you of the doubts that had long stopped me from making any serious plan. These bitter accusations might have been kept back if I had been more clever and hidden my struggles. I could have flattered you. I could have made you believe that I was moved only by pure, simple love—and by reason, by thought, by everything. But I hate disguise of every sort. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I told you about. They were natural and right. Could you expect me to be glad that your connections are so far below me? Should I congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose position in life is so clearly beneath my own?”

Elizabeth felt herself growing angrier every moment. Still, she tried as hard as she could to speak calmly when she said:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you think the way you proposed affected me in any other way. It only spared me some regret. I might have felt sorry to refuse you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.”

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she went on:

“You could not have offered me your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Again his astonishment was clear. He looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and mortification. She went on.

“From the very beginning—I may almost say from the first moment I knew you—your manners made me fully believe in your arrogance and your conceit. They showed me your selfish scorn for the feelings of others. They formed the ground of my disapproval. Later events have built on it a dislike that nothing can move. And I had not known you a month before I felt this. You were the last man in the world whom I could ever be persuaded to marry.”

“You have said quite enough, madam. I understand your feelings perfectly, and now I can only be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

With these words he quickly left the room. A moment later Elizabeth heard him open the front door and leave the house.

Her mind was now in a painful turmoil. She did not know how to hold herself up. She was so weak that she sat down and cried for half an hour. She thought over what had happened, and each time she went over it, her astonishment grew. She had received an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! He had been in love with her for so many months! He loved her so much that he wished to marry her in spite of all the objections. Those objections had made him stop his friend from marrying her sister. And they must seem at least as strong in his own case. It was almost unbelievable! It was pleasing to have caused such a strong love without knowing it. But then she thought of his pride, his abominable pride. She thought of how shamelessly he had admitted what he had done to Jane. He had boldly admitted it, though he could not justify it, and that was unforgivable. And he had spoken of Mr. Wickham in such an unfeeling way. He had not even tried to deny his cruelty towards him. All this soon overcame the pity that she had felt for a moment when she thought of his love.

She went on with these troubling thoughts until she heard the sound of Lady Catherine’s carriage. Then she felt that she was not strong enough to face Charlotte’s watchful eyes, and she hurried away to her room.

### Glossary

- **fortnight**: two weeks.
- **in vain**: without success; all the effort was useless.
- **ardently**: with very strong, warm feeling.
- **civility**: polite behaviour.
- **endeavour**: a serious effort or attempt.
- **mantelpiece**: the shelf above a fireplace.
- **connections**: your relatives and your family’s position in society.
- **mortification**: a deep feeling of shame when your pride is hurt.
- **abominable**: very bad; hateful.

## Chapter 35

Elizabeth woke the next morning to the same thoughts that had at last closed her eyes the night before. She could not yet recover from her surprise at what had happened. It was impossible to think of anything else. She did not feel like doing any work at all. So soon after breakfast she decided to treat herself to some fresh air and exercise. She was going straight to her favourite walk when she remembered that Mr. Darcy sometimes came there. That stopped her. Instead of going into the park, she turned up the lane, which led her farther away from the main road. The park fence still ran along one side of the lane, and she soon passed one of the gates into the grounds.

She walked two or three times along that part of the lane. Then the pleasant morning tempted her to stop at the gates and look into the park. In the five weeks that she had now spent in Kent, the countryside had changed a great deal. Every day the early trees were growing greener. She was about to continue her walk when she saw a gentleman in the kind of grove that ran along the edge of the park. He was moving in her direction. She was afraid it was Mr. Darcy, and she turned back at once. But the person coming forward was now near enough to see her. He stepped forward eagerly and said her name. She had turned away. But she heard herself called, in a voice that she knew was Mr. Darcy’s. Even so, she moved towards the gate again. By that time he had reached it too. He held out a letter, and she took it without thinking. With a look of proud calm he said, “I have been walking in the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?” Then, with a slight bow, he turned back among the trees and was soon out of sight.

Elizabeth did not expect any pleasure, but she felt the strongest curiosity. She opened the letter. To her growing surprise, she found an envelope with two sheets of letter paper inside. They were written all over, in very small, close handwriting. The envelope itself was full of writing too. She went on along the lane and began to read. It was dated from Rosings, at eight o’clock in the morning, and it said:

“Do not be alarmed, madam, when you receive this letter. Do not fear that it repeats those feelings, or renews those offers, which disgusted you so much last night. I write without any wish to cause you pain, or to humble myself. I will not dwell on wishes which, for the happiness of both of us, cannot be forgotten too soon. Writing this letter and reading it must cost some effort. I would have spared us that effort, if my good name had not required it. So you must forgive the freedom with which I demand your attention. I know your feelings will give it unwillingly, but I demand it of your sense of justice.

“Last night you accused me of two offences. They were very different in kind, and not at all equal in size. The first was that I had separated Mr. Bingley from your sister, without caring about the feelings of either. The second was that I had ruined Mr. Wickham’s present well-being and destroyed his hopes for the future. You said I had done this against his claims on me, and against honour and humanity. If I had deliberately and cruelly thrown off the companion of my youth, it would be a terrible wickedness. He was my father’s known favourite. He was a young man who had almost nothing to depend on except our help, and he had been brought up to expect it. The separation of two young people, whose love could only have grown over a few weeks, could not be compared with such wickedness. Last night you blamed me very severely and very freely on each point. I hope you will not blame me so severely in future, after you have read this account of my actions and their reasons. I owe it to myself to explain them. If I must describe feelings that may offend yours, I can only say that I am sorry. It must be done, and any further apology would be foolish.

“I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, like others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the area. But I did not fear that he felt a serious attachment until the evening of the dance at Netherfield. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball I had the honour of dancing with you. While we danced, Sir William Lucas told me something by accident. Bingley’s attentions to your sister had made everyone expect their marriage. Sir William spoke of it as certain; only the date was still undecided. From that moment I watched my friend’s behaviour carefully. I could then see that his liking for Miss Bennet was greater than anything I had ever seen in him. I watched your sister too. Her looks and manners were as open, cheerful and charming as ever. But they showed no sign of any special feeling for him. After watching her closely that evening, I remained convinced of one thing. She received his attentions with pleasure, but she did not invite them by sharing his feelings. If *you* have not been mistaken here, *I* must have been wrong. You know your sister better than I do, so it is probably I who was wrong. If it is so, if this error led me to cause her pain, then your anger has not been unreasonable. But I will not hesitate to say this. Your sister’s face and manner were very calm. They might have convinced the sharpest observer that her heart was not likely to be easily touched, however sweet her nature was. It is certain that I wanted to believe she did not care for him. But I will dare to say that my hopes or fears do not usually affect my inquiries and decisions. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it. I believed it because I was fairly and honestly convinced. I believed it as truly as I wished it, for reasonable reasons.

“My objections to the marriage were not only those I admitted last night. In my own case, it took all the force of passion to put those aside. And the lack of connections could not be as great an evil for my friend as for me. But there were other reasons for my dislike of the match. These reasons still exist, and they exist equally in both cases. Yet I had tried to forget them myself, because they were not directly in front of me. I must state them, though briefly. The position of your mother’s family was not good. But this was nothing compared with the complete lack of propriety that was shown so often, almost always. It was shown by your mother herself and by your three younger sisters. Sometimes it was shown even by your father. Forgive me. It pains me to offend you. You will be troubled by the faults of your nearest relations, and displeased with my description of them. But let this comfort you. You and your eldest sister have behaved in a way that no one can blame like this. Everyone praises you both for it, and it does honour to the good sense and character of you both.

“I will only say this more. What happened that evening confirmed my opinion of everyone. It made every reason stronger that could have led me before to save my friend from what I thought a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London on the next day, as I am sure you remember. He meant to come back soon. Now I must explain the part I played. His sisters were as worried as I was. We soon found out that we felt the same. We all saw that there was no time to lose in separating their brother from her. So we quickly decided to join him in London at once. We went. And there I readily took on the task of showing my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described them to him and pressed them on him earnestly. This protest might have shaken him or delayed his decision. But I do not think it would have prevented the marriage in the end, if I had not given him another assurance. I told him, without hesitating, that your sister did not care for him. Before that, he had believed that she returned his love sincerely, if not equally. But Bingley is very modest by nature, and he depends more on my judgement than on his own. So it was not very difficult to convince him that he had deceived himself. Once he was convinced, it hardly took a moment to persuade him not to go back to Hertfordshire.

“I cannot blame myself for having done this much. There is only one part of my conduct in the whole affair that I do not think of with satisfaction. I lowered myself to use tricks, so far as to hide from him that your sister was in town. I knew it myself, and Miss Bingley knew it too, but her brother still does not know it. It is perhaps likely that they could have met without any harm. But his love did not seem to me dead enough for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this hiding, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say and no other apology to offer. If I have hurt your sister’s feelings, I did it without knowing. The reasons that guided me may very naturally seem to you not good enough. But I have not yet learnt to condemn them.

“Now I come to the other, more serious accusation, that I have injured Mr. Wickham. I can only answer it by laying before you the whole history of his connection with my family. I do not know what he has *particularly* accused me of. But I can call more than one witness, whose truthfulness no one can doubt, to prove what I shall tell you.

“Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man. For many years his father managed all the Pemberley estates. He did his duty so well that my father naturally wished to help him. So my father was very generous to George Wickham, who was his godson. My father paid for him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. This was very important help. His own father was always poor because his wife spent too much money. He could never have given his son a gentleman’s education. My father did not only enjoy the company of this young man, whose manners were always charming. He also had the highest opinion of him. He hoped that the church would be Wickham’s profession, and he meant to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him very differently. He had wicked habits, and he had no principles. He was careful to hide these from the knowledge of his best friend. But they could not escape the notice of a young man of nearly the same age. I had chances to see him in unguarded moments, which my father could not have. Here again I shall give you pain. Only you can tell how much. But whatever feelings Mr. Wickham has created in you, my suspicion of them will not stop me from showing his real character. It even gives me another reason to do it.

“My excellent father died about five years ago. His fondness for Mr. Wickham stayed firm to the end. In his will he asked me in particular to help Wickham’s career in the best way his profession allowed. If he took orders, my father wished that a valuable family living should be his as soon as it became free. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not live long after mine. Within half a year of these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to me. He had finally decided not to take orders, he said. He hoped I would not think it unreasonable for him to expect some money now. It would be instead of the church position, which he could not use. He added that he had some idea of studying the law. And I must know that the interest on one thousand pounds would not be nearly enough to support him in it. I wished, more than I believed, that he was sincere. But in any case I was quite ready to agree to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. So the business was soon settled. He gave up all claim to help in the church, even if he were ever in a position to receive it. In return he accepted three thousand pounds. All connection between us now seemed to be over. I thought too badly of him to invite him to Pemberley, or to accept his company in town. I believe he lived mostly in town. But his study of the law was only a pretence. Now he was free from all control, and he lived a life of idleness and wild pleasure.

“For about three years I heard little of him. But then the clergyman who held the living meant for him died. Wickham wrote to me again and asked me to give him the living. His situation, he told me, was extremely bad, and I had no difficulty in believing it. He had found the law a most unprofitable study. Now he was absolutely determined to be ordained, if I would give him the living in question. He trusted there could be little doubt of it. He was quite sure that I had no other person to provide for. And I could not have forgotten the wishes of my honoured father. You will hardly blame me for refusing this request, or for refusing it every time he repeated it. His anger was as great as his need. And no doubt he spoke as violently against me to others as he spoke to me in his reproaches. After this time, we dropped every appearance of knowing each other. How he lived I do not know. But last summer he forced himself on my attention again, most painfully.

“I must now mention something which I would like to forget myself. Nothing less than the present need would make me tell it to any human being. Having said this much, I have no doubt that you will keep it secret. My sister is more than ten years younger than I am. She was left in the care of two guardians, my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago she was taken from school, and a household was set up for her in London. Last summer she went to Ramsgate with the lady who was in charge of it. Mr. Wickham went there too, certainly on purpose. It turned out that he had known Mrs. Younge before. We had been most unhappily deceived about her character. With her secret help, he made himself very pleasing to Georgiana. Her affectionate heart still remembered how kind he had been to her as a child. So she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and she agreed to elope with him. She was then only fifteen, and that must be her excuse. I have told you of her foolishness. Now I am happy to add that I learned of it from her herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the planned elopement. Georgiana almost looked up to me as a father. She could not bear the idea of hurting and offending such a brother, so she told me everything. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Out of care for my sister’s good name and feelings, I made nothing public. But I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place at once. And of course Mrs. Younge was removed from her post. Mr. Wickham’s main aim was certainly my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds. But I cannot help thinking that the hope of revenge on me was also a strong reason. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

“This, madam, is a true account of every event in which he and I have been concerned together. If you do not completely reject it as false, I hope you will from now on clear me of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I do not know how, or with what kind of lie, he has deceived you. But perhaps his success is not surprising. Before, you knew nothing about either of us. So you could not discover the truth, and you were certainly not inclined to suspect him. You may wonder why I did not tell you all this last night. But I was not then enough master of myself to know what could or should be told. For the truth of everything here, I can call especially on Colonel Fitzwilliam as a witness. We are close relations and constant companions. Even more importantly, he is one of the executors of my father’s will. So he has necessarily known every detail of these matters. Your hatred of *me* may make *my* words worthless to you. But the same reason cannot stop you from trusting my cousin. So that you have the chance to ask him, I shall try to find some way of putting this letter into your hands during the morning. I will only add, God bless you.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

### Glossary

- **grove**: a small group of trees.
- **propriety**: correct and polite behaviour in society.
- **connections**: your relatives and your family’s position in society.
- **godson**: a boy whose godparent promises at his baptism to help him grow up well.
- **take orders / be ordained**: to become a clergyman in the church.
- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **legacy**: money that someone leaves to you in their will.
- **guardian**: a person who is legally responsible for a young person.
- **elope / elopement**: to run away secretly to get married.
- **executor**: a person who makes sure that a dead person’s will is carried out.

## Chapter 36

When Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, Elizabeth had not expected it to repeat his offers. But she had formed no idea at all of what it would contain. Such as it was, it is easy to imagine how eagerly she read it, and what opposite feelings it stirred in her. Her feelings as she read could hardly be described. First she was amazed that he believed he could offer any apology at all. And she was firmly convinced that he could give no explanation that a proper sense of shame would not hide. She began his account of what had happened at Netherfield with a strong prejudice against everything he might say. She read so eagerly that she could hardly understand it. She was so impatient to know what the next sentence would bring that she could not attend to the sense of the one before her eyes. He believed that her sister felt nothing for Bingley. At once she decided that this was false. And his account of the real objections to the match, the worst ones, made her too angry to wish to be fair to him. He expressed no regret for what he had done that satisfied her. His style was not sorry, but proud. It was all pride and insolence.

Then this subject was followed by his account of Mr. Wickham. She read it with somewhat clearer attention. It told of events which, if they were true, must destroy every good opinion of Wickham that she had treasured. And it was alarmingly like Wickham’s own story about himself. So her feelings were even more painful, and even harder to describe. Astonishment, fear, and even horror weighed on her. She wished to disbelieve it completely. Again and again she cried, “This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the most shameful lie!” She went through the whole letter, though she hardly knew anything of the last page or two. Then she quickly put it away. She declared that she would pay no attention to it, and that she would never look at it again.

In this troubled state of mind, with thoughts that could not rest on anything, she walked on. But it was no use. In half a minute the letter was unfolded again. She calmed herself as well as she could. Then she began again to read all that was about Wickham, though it was humiliating. She forced herself to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what Wickham had told her himself. She had not known before how great the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy had been. But it agreed just as well with Wickham’s own words. So far each story supported the other. But when she came to the will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said about the living was fresh in her memory. As she remembered his very words, she could not help feeling that one of the two men was shamefully dishonest. For a few moments she let herself believe that her wishes were right. Then she read the details that came next, and she read them again with the closest attention. Wickham had given up all claim to the living. Instead he had received the large sum of three thousand pounds. Again she was forced to hesitate. She put down the letter. She weighed every fact, and she meant to be fair. She thought about how likely each statement was, but with little success. On both sides there were only claims, with no proof. Again she read on. She had believed that no trick could ever make Mr. Darcy’s conduct in this affair look less than shameful. But every line proved more clearly that the affair could be turned another way. And then he would be completely without blame in the whole of it.

He did not hesitate to accuse Mr. Wickham of wasting money and of a wild, immoral life. This shocked her greatly, and all the more because she could bring no proof that it was unjust. She had never heard of Wickham before he joined the ——shire Militia. He had joined because a young man had persuaded him. This young man had met him by chance in town, and there they had renewed a slight acquaintance. Nothing was known in Hertfordshire about his earlier way of life, except what he told himself. As to his real character, she had never felt any wish to ask about it, even if she could have found out. His face, voice and manner had made her believe at once that he had every virtue. She tried to remember some example of goodness, some clear sign of honesty or kindness, that might save him from Mr. Darcy’s attacks. Or at least she wanted to find enough virtue to make up for some occasional mistakes. That was how she would try to see what Mr. Darcy had described as many years of idleness and vice. But she could remember nothing of the kind to help her. She could see him at once before her, with all the charm of his looks and manners. But she could remember no more solid good than two things. The neighbourhood generally approved of him, and his social gifts had won him the liking of his fellow officers. She stopped on this point for quite a long time, and then she continued to read once more. But, alas! the story that followed, of his plans for Miss Darcy, was partly confirmed by her talk with Colonel Fitzwilliam only the morning before. And at last, for the truth of every detail, she was told to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. She already knew from him that he was closely involved in all his cousin’s affairs. And she had no reason to doubt his character. At one time she had almost decided to ask him. But the awkwardness of asking stopped her. And at last she gave up the idea completely, because she was sure that Mr. Darcy would never have risked such a suggestion if he had not been certain that his cousin would support him.

She remembered perfectly everything that she and Wickham had said to each other on their first evening at Mr. Philips’s. Many of his words were still fresh in her memory. *Now* she was struck by how improper it was to tell such things to a stranger. She wondered that she had not noticed it before. She saw how indelicate it was of him to push himself forward as he had done. She saw that what he said did not match what he did. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy might leave the country, he had said, but *he* would stand his ground. Yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered also that he had told his story to no one but herself until the Netherfield family had left the country. But after they had gone, it had been discussed everywhere. Then he had shown no reserve and no doubts about ruining Mr. Darcy’s character. And yet he had assured her that respect for the father would always stop him from exposing the son.

How different everything that concerned him looked now! His attentions to Miss King now seemed to come only from a hateful love of money. Her fortune was not large. But this no longer proved that his wishes were modest. It proved that he was eager to grab at anything. His behaviour to Elizabeth herself could now have had no acceptable motive. Either he had been mistaken about her fortune, or he had been pleasing his vanity by encouraging her liking for him. She believed she had shown that liking very carelessly. Every last struggle in his favour grew weaker and weaker. And to be fair to Mr. Darcy, she had to admit more. Long ago, when Jane asked him, Mr. Bingley had declared that Darcy was without blame in the affair. Darcy’s manners were proud and unpleasant. But in all the time she had known him, she had never seen anything that showed him to be without principles or unjust. She had never seen anything that suggested irreligious or immoral habits. And lately they had been together a great deal, so she had come to know his ways quite well. Among his own family and friends he was respected and valued. Even Wickham had admitted that he was a good brother. And she had often heard him speak so warmly of his sister that he must be capable of *some* kind feeling. If his actions had been what Wickham described, such a terrible wrong could hardly have been hidden from the world. And a friendship between a man capable of such things and a man as kind as Mr. Bingley was impossible to understand.

She grew completely ashamed of herself. She could not think of either Darcy or Wickham without feeling that she had been blind, unfair, prejudiced and absurd.

“How despicably I have acted!” she cried. “I, who have been so proud of my ability to judge people! I, who have valued myself on my cleverness! I have often looked down on my sister’s generous trust in others. And I have pleased my vanity with useless or wrong distrust. How humiliating this discovery is! Yet how just a humiliation! If I had been in love, I could not have been more miserably blind. But vanity, not love, has been my foolishness. At the very start of our acquaintance, one of them pleased me by preferring me. The other offended me by ignoring me. So I welcomed prejudice and ignorance, and I drove reason away, wherever either of them was concerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself.”

Her thoughts went from herself to Jane, and from Jane to Bingley. Soon they reminded her that Mr. Darcy’s explanation *there* had seemed very weak. So she read it again. The second reading had a very different effect. She had been forced to believe his statements in one case. How could she refuse to believe them in the other? He said that he had never suspected her sister’s love for Bingley. And she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Nor could she deny that his description of Jane was fair. She felt that Jane’s feelings were strong but rarely shown. There was a constant calm contentment in her look and manner. That is not often found together with deep feeling.

Then she came to the part of the letter about her family. His words blamed them in a way that was humiliating, yet deserved. Her sense of shame was severe. The charge was too clearly true for her to deny it. He had mentioned in particular what had happened at the Netherfield ball. He said that it had confirmed all his first disapproval. Those events could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.

She did feel the compliment to herself and her sister. It soothed her. But it could not comfort her for the contempt which the rest of her family had brought on themselves. She considered that Jane’s disappointment had really been the work of her nearest relations. She thought how badly the good name of both sisters must be hurt by such improper behaviour. And she felt more depressed than she had ever felt before.

She wandered along the lane for two hours, giving way to every kind of thought. She thought again about past events and decided what was probable. She got used, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important. At last she was tired, and she remembered how long she had been away, so she went home. She entered the house wishing to appear as cheerful as usual. She was determined to push away the thoughts that would make her unfit for conversation.

At once she was told that both gentlemen from Rosings had called while she was out. Mr. Darcy had come only for a few minutes to say goodbye. But Colonel Fitzwilliam had sat with them for at least an hour, hoping that she would return. He had almost decided to walk after her until he found her. Elizabeth could only just *pretend* to be sorry that she had missed him. Really she was glad of it. Colonel Fitzwilliam no longer interested her. She could think only of her letter.

### Glossary

- **insolence**: rude and proud behaviour that shows no respect.
- **living**: a church job with a house and income, given by a rich patron.
- **militia**: soldiers who protect the home country, often staying in a town for some months.
- **alas**: an old word that shows sadness or regret.
- **indelicate**: not polite; talking about things that should stay private.
- **despicably**: in a way that deserves to be hated or looked down on.
- **humiliating**: making you feel ashamed and foolish.
- **prejudiced**: having an opinion of someone before you know the facts.
- **vanity**: too much pride in yourself; wanting others to admire you.

## Chapter 37

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning. Mr. Collins had been waiting near the lodges to make them his farewell bow. So he was able to bring home the pleasing news that they looked very healthy. Their spirits were as good as could be expected after the sad scene that had just taken place at Rosings. Then he hurried to Rosings to comfort Lady Catherine and her daughter. When he came back, he brought with great satisfaction a message from her Ladyship. She felt so dull, she said, that she very much wished to have them all to dine with her.

Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without remembering something. If she had chosen it, she might by this time have been introduced to her as her future niece. Nor could she think without a smile of how angry her ladyship would have been. “What would she have said? How would she have behaved?” Elizabeth amused herself with these questions.

Their first subject was how small the Rosings party had become. “I assure you, I feel it very much,” said Lady Catherine. “I believe nobody feels the loss of friends as much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men, and I know that they are very attached to me! They were extremely sorry to go! But they always are. The dear colonel kept his spirits up fairly well until the very end. But Darcy seemed to feel it most sharply, more, I think, than last year. His attachment to Rosings certainly grows.”

Mr. Collins had a compliment and a little hint to add here, and the mother and daughter kindly smiled at them.

After dinner Lady Catherine noticed that Elizabeth seemed low in spirits. At once she explained it herself: Elizabeth surely did not like to go home again so soon. So she added,

“But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg to stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”

“I am very grateful to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but I am not able to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”

“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no reason for you to go so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight.”

“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to ask me to hurry home.”

“Oh! your father of course can spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never so important to a father. And if you will stay another full *month*, I shall be able to take one of you as far as London. I am going there early in June, for a week. And as Dawson does not object to the barouche box, there will be plenty of room for one of you. And indeed, if the weather should be cool, I would not mind taking you both, as neither of you is large.”

“You are all kindness, madam, but I believe we must keep to our original plan.”

Lady Catherine seemed to accept it.

“Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. You know I always say what I think. I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper. You must find some way to send somebody. I dislike that sort of thing more than anything in the world. Young women should always be properly guarded and looked after, according to their position in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made sure that two men servants went with her. Miss Darcy is the daughter of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Lady Anne. She could not properly have appeared in any other way. I pay very great attention to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad that I thought of mentioning it, because it would really be a disgrace to *you* to let them go alone.”

“My uncle is going to send a servant for us.”

“Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of those things. Where will you change horses? Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, they will look after you.”

Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask about their journey. She did not answer them all herself, so Elizabeth had to pay attention. Elizabeth believed this was lucky for her. With her mind so full, she might otherwise have forgotten where she was. She had to save her thinking for the hours when she was alone. Whenever she was alone, she gave way to her thoughts as the greatest relief. Not a day went by without a walk on her own, in which she could enjoy all the delight of unpleasant memories.

She was well on the way to knowing Mr. Darcy’s letter by heart. She studied every sentence, and her feelings towards its writer were very different at different times. When she remembered the manner in which he had proposed, she was still full of anger. But then she considered how unjustly she had condemned him and scolded him. Then her anger turned against herself, and she felt pity for his disappointed feelings. His love made her grateful, and his general character made her respect him. But she could not approve of him. Nor could she for a moment regret her refusal, or feel the slightest wish ever to see him again. Her own past behaviour was a constant cause of annoyance and regret. And the unhappy faults of her family were a cause of even heavier sorrow. There was no hope of curing them. Her father was content to laugh at them. He would never make the effort to control the wild silliness of his youngest daughters. And her mother, whose own manners were so far from right, did not see the harm at all. Elizabeth had often joined Jane in trying to check the foolishness of Catherine and Lydia. But while their mother spoiled them, what chance could there be that they would improve? Catherine was weak, easily annoyed, and completely led by Lydia. She had always been offended by their advice. Lydia was self-willed and careless, and she would hardly listen to them. They were ignorant, lazy and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him. And while Meryton was within walking distance of Longbourn, they would go there for ever.

She was also very worried about Jane. Mr. Darcy’s explanation had given Bingley back all of Elizabeth’s former good opinion. This made her feel even more strongly what Jane had lost. His love had been proved sincere. His conduct was cleared of all blame, unless he could be blamed for trusting his friend so completely. How painful, then, was this thought! Jane had lost a position that was so desirable in every way, so full of advantages, so promising for happiness. And she had lost it through the foolishness and bad manners of her own family!

To these memories was added the discovery of Wickham’s true character. So it is easy to believe how much her happy spirits were affected now. They had seldom been low before. Now it was almost impossible for her to appear even fairly cheerful.

During the last week of her stay they went to Rosings as often as they had at first. They spent the very last evening there. Her Ladyship again asked about every detail of their journey. She told them the best way to pack. She insisted so strongly on placing gowns in the only right way that Maria felt she had to do it all again. When she got back, she undid all the work of the morning and packed her trunk afresh.

When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good journey. She invited them to come to Hunsford again next year. And Miss De Bourgh made the effort to curtsey and hold out her hand to both of them.

### Glossary

- **lodges**: small houses at the gates of a large park.
- **fortnight**: two weeks.
- **barouche box**: the high seat at the front of a barouche, a kind of open carriage, where the driver and a servant sit.
- **travelling post**: travelling in a hired carriage, changing horses at inns on the way.
- **attachment**: a strong feeling of love or liking for someone or something.
- **condescension**: kindness from a high-ranked person to a lower one.
- **curtsey**: a polite greeting in which a woman bends her knees a little.
- **trunk**: a large, strong box for clothes on a journey.

## Chapter 38

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met at breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared. He took the chance to make the polite farewell speeches that he thought absolutely necessary.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “you have been kind in coming to us. I do not know whether Mrs. Collins has yet told you how much she feels it. But I am very sure that you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for it. I assure you that we have felt the favour of your company very much. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble home. We live plainly, our rooms are small, and we have few servants. We see little of the world. All this must make Hunsford extremely dull for a young lady like yourself. But I hope you will believe that we are grateful for your condescension. And I hope you believe that we have done everything in our power to stop you from spending your time unpleasantly.”

Elizabeth was eager to thank him and to assure him that she had been happy. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment. There was the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attention she had received. These must make *her* the one who owed thanks. Mr. Collins was pleased, and with a more smiling seriousness he replied,

“It gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that you have spent your time not unpleasantly. We have certainly done our best. Most fortunately, we have been able to introduce you to very superior society. And through our connection with Rosings, we have often been able to vary the humble scene at home. So I think we may flatter ourselves that your visit to Hunsford cannot have been completely tiresome. Our position with Lady Catherine’s family is indeed an extraordinary advantage and blessing. It is a kind that few people can boast of. You see on what terms we are with them. You see how continually we are invited there. In truth I must admit one thing. This humble parsonage has all its disadvantages. But I would not think that anyone living in it deserved pity. That is, as long as they shared our close friendship with Rosings.”

Words were not enough for his high feelings, and he had to walk about the room. Meanwhile Elizabeth tried to be both polite and truthful in a few short sentences.

“You may, in fact, take a very good report of us back to Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. At least I flatter myself that you will be able to do so. Every day you have seen Lady Catherine’s great attentions to Mrs. Collins. And altogether I trust it does not seem that your friend has made an unfortunate—but on this point it will be better to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, of one thing. From my heart I can most warmly wish you the same happiness in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have only one mind and one way of thinking. In everything there is a most remarkable likeness of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other.”

Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness when that was the case. And she could add something just as sincerely. She firmly believed in his comforts at home and was glad of them. However, she was not sorry when his account of them was interrupted. The lady from whom they came entered the room. Poor Charlotte! It was sad to leave her to such company! But she had chosen it with her eyes open. She clearly regretted that her visitors were going, but she did not seem to ask for pity. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry had not yet lost their charm for her. Neither had all the things connected with them.

At last the chaise arrived. The trunks were tied on, the parcels were placed inside, and it was declared ready. The two friends said an affectionate goodbye. Then Mr. Collins walked Elizabeth to the carriage. As they walked down the garden, he gave her his best respects to take to all her family. He did not forget his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter. He also sent his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though he did not know them. Then he helped her in, and Maria followed. The door was about to be closed when he suddenly reminded them, in some alarm, of something. So far they had forgotten to leave any message for the ladies of Rosings.

“But,” he added, “you will of course wish me to give them your humble respects. And you will wish to send your grateful thanks for their kindness to you while you have been here.”

Elizabeth made no objection. Then the door was allowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.

“Good gracious!” cried Maria, after a few minutes of silence. “It seems only a day or two since we first came! And yet how many things have happened!”

“A great many indeed,” said her companion with a sigh.

“We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice! How much I shall have to tell!”

Elizabeth added silently to herself, “And how much I shall have to conceal.”

They made the journey without much conversation or any alarm. Within four hours of leaving Hunsford, they reached Mr. Gardiner’s house, where they were to stay a few days.

Jane looked well. Her kind aunt had planned many visits and outings for them, so Elizabeth had little chance to study Jane’s spirits. But Jane was going home with her, and at Longbourn there would be time enough to observe her.

Meanwhile it took an effort for Elizabeth to wait even until Longbourn. Only there would she tell her sister about Mr. Darcy’s proposal. She knew that she had the power to tell Jane something that would astonish her enormously. At the same time it would greatly please a part of her own vanity. She had not yet been able to reason this part away. This was a very strong temptation to speak openly. Nothing could have overcome it except two things. She was still undecided about how much she should tell. And she was afraid that once she began on the subject, she might be hurried into repeating something about Bingley. That might only make her sister sadder.

### Glossary

- **condescension**: kindness from a high-ranked person to a lower one (Mr. Collins uses it as praise).
- **flatter ourselves**: to believe something pleasant about ourselves, perhaps too easily.
- **parsonage**: the house where a clergyman lives.
- **parish**: the area that a church and its clergyman look after.
- **poultry**: chickens, ducks and other birds kept for eggs and meat.
- **chaise**: a light carriage pulled by horses.
- **compliments**: polite greetings or good wishes sent to someone.
- **conceal**: to hide; to keep secret.

## Chapter 39

It was the second week in May. The three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of —— in Hertfordshire. Mr. Bennet’s carriage was to meet them at an inn there. As they came near the inn, they soon saw proof that the coachman had been on time. Both Kitty and Lydia were looking out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been there more than an hour. They had been happily busy. They had visited a milliner’s shop across the street, watched the soldier on guard, and prepared a salad and cucumber.

After they had welcomed their sisters, they proudly showed them a table. On it was the kind of cold meat that an inn kitchen usually has. “Isn’t this nice? Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” they cried.

“And we mean to treat you all,” added Lydia, “but you must lend us the money. We have just spent ours at the shop out there.” Then she showed them what she had bought. “Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty. But I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home. Then I will see if I can make it up any better.”

Her sisters said it was ugly. She answered, without caring at all, “Oh! but there were two or three much uglier ones in the shop. I shall buy some prettier-coloured satin to trim it again. Then I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not matter much what one wears this summer, after the ——shire have left Meryton. And they are going in a fortnight.”

“Are they really?” cried Elizabeth, very pleased indeed.

“They are going to camp near Brighton. And I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious plan, and I dare say it would cost almost nothing. Mamma would like to go too, more than anything! Only think what a miserable summer we shall have otherwise!”

“Yes,” thought Elizabeth, “*that* would be a delightful plan indeed. It would finish us all at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole camp full of soldiers! And this for us! We have already been thrown into confusion by one poor regiment of militia, and by the monthly balls of Meryton.”

“Now I have got some news for you,” said Lydia, as they sat down at the table. “What do you think? It is excellent news, wonderful news, and about a certain person that we all like.”

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other. They told the waiter that he need not stay. Lydia laughed and said,

“Yes, that is just like you, so formal and so careful. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse things than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for my news. It is about dear Wickham. It is too good for the waiter, isn’t it? There is no danger of Wickham marrying Mary King. There’s news for you! She has gone down to her uncle at Liverpool. She has gone to stay. Wickham is safe.”

“And Mary King is safe!” added Elizabeth. “She is safe from a match that would be unwise where money is concerned.”

“She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.”

“But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,” said Jane.

“I am sure there is none on *his* side. I promise you he never cared three straws about her. Who *could* care about such a nasty little freckled thing?”

Elizabeth was shocked. She herself could never use such coarse *words*. But the coarse *feeling* was little different from one that she had once held in her own heart. And she had even thought it generous!

As soon as everyone had eaten, and the older sisters had paid, the carriage was ordered. After some planning, the whole party sat in it. They had all their boxes, workbags and parcels with them. They also had the unwelcome addition of Kitty’s and Lydia’s purchases.

“How nicely we are crammed in!” cried Lydia. “I am glad I bought my bonnet, if only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and cosy, and talk and laugh all the way home. And first, let us hear what has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was hoping very much that one of you would get a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost three and twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be if I was not married before three and twenty! My aunt Philips wants you to get husbands so much, you can’t think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr. Collins. But *I* do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord! how I should like to be married before any of you! Then I would be your chaperon and take you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forster’s. Kitty and me were to spend the day there. Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the evening. (By the way, Mrs. Forster and me are *such* friends!) So she asked the two Harringtons to come. But Harriet was ill, and so Pen had to come by herself. And then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman’s clothes, so that he would pass for a lady. Only think what fun! Not a soul knew about it except Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me. My aunt knew too, because we had to borrow one of her gowns. You cannot imagine how well he looked! Then Denny and Wickham and Pratt came in, and two or three more of the men. They did not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! And so did Mrs. Forster. I thought I should die. And *that* made the men suspect something, and then they soon found out what was the matter.”

With stories like these about their parties and good jokes, Lydia tried to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Kitty helped her with hints and additions. Elizabeth listened as little as she could. But she could not escape the frequent mention of Wickham’s name.

They were received very kindly at home. Mrs. Bennet was glad to see that Jane was as beautiful as ever. And more than once during dinner, Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth, without being asked,

“I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.”

The party in the dining-room was large. Almost all the Lucases had come to meet Maria and hear the news. Many different subjects kept them busy. Lady Lucas was asking Maria across the table about her eldest daughter’s health and poultry. Mrs. Bennet was busy in two ways. On one side, she was getting news of the latest fashions from Jane, who sat some way down the table. On the other side, she was passing it all on to the younger Miss Lucases. And Lydia was listing the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would listen. Her voice was rather louder than anyone else’s.

“Oh! Mary,” she said, “I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and me closed all the blinds. We pretended there was nobody in the coach. I should have gone like that all the way, if Kitty had not been sick. And when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very handsomely. We treated the other three to the nicest cold lunch in the world. And if you had gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should get into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way home! We talked and laughed so loud that anybody might have heard us ten miles away!”

Mary answered very seriously, “Far be it from me, my dear sister, to think little of such pleasures. No doubt they would suit most female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for *me*. I should much prefer a book.”

But Lydia did not hear a word of this answer. She rarely listened to anybody for more than half a minute, and she never paid attention to Mary at all.

In the afternoon Lydia begged the other girls to walk to Meryton and see how everybody was. But Elizabeth firmly opposed the plan. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets went chasing the officers before they had been home half a day. There was another reason too. She dreaded seeing Wickham again, and she had decided to avoid it as long as possible. The regiment was soon leaving, and this was a comfort to *her* beyond words. In a fortnight they were to go. Once they were gone, she hoped there would be nothing more to trouble her because of him.

She had not been many hours at home before she found that her parents often discussed the Brighton plan. Lydia had hinted at it at the inn. Elizabeth saw at once that her father had not the smallest intention of giving in. But his answers were so vague and unclear that her mother had never yet given up hope. She was often discouraged, but she still hoped that she would succeed in the end.

### Glossary

- **milliner**: a person who makes and sells women’s hats
- **bonnet**: a woman’s hat tied under the chin
- **satin**: a smooth, shiny cloth
- **trim**: to decorate clothes or a hat with ribbons, lace and so on
- **cared three straws**: cared even a little (a straw is a dry stem of grass, worth nothing)
- **bandbox**: a light round box for carrying hats
- **old maid**: an unkind name for a woman who has not married
- **chaperon**: an older woman who goes with a young unmarried woman to social events
- **Far be it from me**: a formal way of saying “I would never wish to”

## Chapter 40

Elizabeth could no longer hold back her wish to tell Jane what had happened. At last she decided to leave out every detail that concerned her sister. The next morning she prepared Jane for a surprise. Then she told her the main part of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Miss Bennet’s astonishment soon grew less. Her strong love for her sister made it seem quite natural that anyone should admire Elizabeth. Soon all surprise was lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy had expressed his feelings in a way so unlikely to win approval. But she was even sorrier for the unhappiness that her sister’s refusal must have caused him.

“It was wrong of him to be so sure of success,” she said, “and he certainly should not have shown it. But think how much that must increase his disappointment.”

“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth, “I am truly sorry for him. But he has other feelings which will probably soon drive away his love for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?”

“Blame you! Oh, no.”

“But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham.”

“No—I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.”

“But you *will* know it, when I have told you what happened the very next day.”

Then she spoke of the letter. She repeated everything in it that concerned George Wickham. What a blow this was for poor Jane! She would gladly have gone through life without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole human race. And here it was, all collected in one man. Darcy’s name was now cleared, and this was pleasant to her feelings. But even that could not comfort her for such a discovery. She tried very hard to prove that there might be a mistake. She tried to clear one man without blaming the other.

“This will not do,” said Elizabeth. “You will never be able to make both of them good. Make your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is only a certain amount of goodness between them. It is just enough to make one good sort of man. And lately it has been moving about between them quite a lot. For my part, I am inclined to believe it is all Mr. Darcy’s. But you may choose as you like.”

It was some time, however, before Elizabeth could get a smile from Jane.

“I do not know when I have been more shocked,” said Jane. “Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only think what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! And he knew your bad opinion of him too! And he had to tell such a thing about his sister! It is really too sad. I am sure you must feel it so.”

“Oh! no. My regret and pity are all gone, because I see you so full of both. I know you will be so fair to him that I am growing more careless and cold every moment. You are so generous with your feelings that I can save mine. If you feel sorry for him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather.”

“Poor Wickham! There is such a look of goodness in his face! His manner is so open and gentle.”

“There certainly was some great mistake in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.”

“I never thought Mr. Darcy was so lacking in the *appearance* of it as you used to.”

“And yet I meant to be very clever when I took such a strong dislike to him, without any reason. A dislike of that kind is such a spur to one’s cleverness, such a chance for wit. One may keep saying unkind things without saying anything fair. But one cannot always be laughing at a man without sometimes hitting on something witty.”

“Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.”

“Indeed I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was very uncomfortable—I may even say unhappy. And I had no one to speak to about what I felt. There was no Jane to comfort me. There was no one to say that I had not been so very weak and vain and foolish. And I knew I had been! Oh! how I wanted you!”

“How unlucky that you used such very strong words when you spoke of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, because now they *do* seem completely undeserved.”

“Certainly. But speaking with bitterness was a very natural result of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. Tell me whether I ought or ought not to let our friends and neighbours know Wickham’s character.”

Miss Bennet paused a little and then replied, “Surely there is no need to expose him so terribly. What is your own opinion?”

“That we should not try it. Mr. Darcy has not given me permission to make what he told me public. In fact, every detail about his sister was meant to be kept to myself as much as possible. And if I try to show people the truth about the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? Everyone has such a violent prejudice against Mr. Darcy. It would kill half the good people in Meryton to try to show him in an amiable light. I am not strong enough for it. Wickham will soon be gone. So it will not matter to anybody here what he really is. Some time later it will all be found out. Then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. For now I will say nothing about it.”

“You are quite right. If his faults were made public, it might ruin him for ever. Perhaps he is now sorry for what he has done, and anxious to make a good name again. We must not make him desperate.”

This conversation calmed the confusion in Elizabeth’s mind. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight. And she was sure Jane would always listen willingly whenever she wished to talk again of either. But there was still something hidden, which good sense told her not to reveal. She did not dare to tell the other half of Mr. Darcy’s letter. Nor could she explain to her sister how sincerely his friend had valued her. This was knowledge that no one could share. She felt that only a perfect understanding between Jane and Bingley could allow her to tell this last secret. “And then,” she said, “if that very unlikely event should ever happen, I shall only be able to tell what Bingley may tell much more pleasantly himself. I cannot be free to tell it until it has lost all its value!”

Now that she was settled at home, she had time to observe the real state of her sister’s spirits. Jane was not happy. She still had a very tender love for Bingley. She had never even imagined herself in love before. So her love had all the warmth of a first attachment. Because of her age and character, it was also steadier than first attachments often are. She valued her memory of him very deeply, and she preferred him to every other man. So she needed all her good sense, and all her care for her friends’ feelings, to control her regrets. If she had given way to them, they would have harmed her own health and her friends’ peace of mind.

“Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet one day, “what is your opinion *now* of this sad business of Jane’s? For my part, I have decided never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very unworthy young man. And I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer. And I have asked everybody who is likely to know, too.”

“I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”

“Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. But I shall always say that he treated my daughter extremely badly. If I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart. And then he will be sorry for what he has done.”

But Elizabeth could not take comfort from any such hope, so she made no answer.

“Well, Lizzy,” her mother went on soon afterwards, “and so the Collinses live very comfortably, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is careful enough with money. There is nothing wasteful in *their* housekeeping, I dare say.”

“No, nothing at all.”

“A great deal of good management, you may be sure. Yes, yes. *They* will take care not to spend more than their income. *They* will never be short of money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look on it quite as their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.”

“It was a subject which they could not mention in front of me.”

“No. It would have been strange if they had. But I have no doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can feel easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. *I* should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.”

### Glossary

- **wit**: the ability to say clever, funny things
- **spur**: something that pushes you to do more
- **as light as a feather**: very light; here, free from sad feelings
- **expose**: to show people the bad truth about someone
- **amiable**: friendly and pleasant
- **attachment**: a feeling of love for someone
- **keep a table**: to give meals of a certain kind and quality at home
- **much good may it do them**: an unkind way of saying “I hope they enjoy it, but I don’t care”
- **entailed**: passed by a legal rule only to a male relative

## Chapter 41

The first week after their return was soon gone. The second began. It was the last week of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were quickly losing their spirits. The sadness was almost everywhere. Only the elder Miss Bennets were still able to eat, drink and sleep, and go on with their usual activities. Kitty and Lydia very often blamed them for this lack of feeling. Their own misery was extreme, and they could not understand such hard-heartedness in anyone in the family.

“Good Heaven! What will become of us? What are we to do?” they would often cry in bitter sorrow. “How can you smile like that, Lizzy?”

Their loving mother shared all their grief. She remembered what she herself had suffered on a similar occasion, twenty-five years ago.

“I am sure,” she said, “I cried for two days together when Colonel Millar’s regiment went away. I thought I should break my heart.”

“I am sure I shall break *mine*,” said Lydia.

“If only one could go to Brighton!” said Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh, yes!—if only one could go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”

“A little sea-bathing would make me well for ever.”

“And my aunt Philips is sure it would do *me* a great deal of good,” added Kitty.

These were the kind of complaints that sounded all the time through the house at Longbourn. Elizabeth tried to be amused by them, but all pleasure was lost in shame. She felt again how right Mr. Darcy’s objections were. She had never before been so ready to forgive him for interfering in his friend’s plans.

But the gloom of Lydia’s future was soon cleared away. She received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the regiment’s Colonel, to go with her to Brighton. This priceless friend was a very young woman, and very recently married. They were alike in their good humour and high spirits, and this had made them like each other. In their *three* months of acquaintance, they had been close friends for *two*.

Lydia’s rapture, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, Mrs. Bennet’s delight, and Kitty’s mortification can hardly be described. Lydia did not think about her sister’s feelings at all. She flew about the house in restless joy, calling for everyone’s congratulations. She laughed and talked more wildly than ever. Meanwhile, unlucky Kitty stayed in the parlour and complained about her fate. Her words were as unreasonable as her voice was cross.

“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask *me* as well as Lydia,” she said, “though I am *not* her special friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, because I am two years older.”

Elizabeth tried in vain to make her reasonable, and Jane tried in vain to make her accept it. As for Elizabeth herself, the invitation did not stir in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia. Far from it. She thought of it as the death-warrant of any hope of common sense in Lydia. If it were known, such a step would make her hated. Even so, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let Lydia go. She told him about all the improper things in Lydia’s general behaviour. She told him how little good Lydia could get from the friendship of a woman like Mrs. Forster. Lydia would probably be even more unwise with such a companion at Brighton, she said. The temptations there must be greater than at home. He listened to her carefully, and then said,

“Lydia will never be content until she has made a fool of herself in some public place or other. And we can never expect her to do it with so little cost or trouble to her family as now.”

“People notice Lydia’s careless and unwise manner,” said Elizabeth. “If you knew how much harm that must do to us all, I am sure you would judge differently. No—it has already done us harm.”

“Already done harm!” repeated Mr. Bennet. “What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be sad. Young men so delicate that they cannot bear to be connected with a little foolishness are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of the poor fellows who have been kept away by Lydia’s folly.”

“Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to complain of. I am not complaining of harm to me in particular, but of harm to us all. Our importance and our good name in the world must suffer from Lydia’s character. It is marked by wild, changeable spirits, by boldness, and by contempt for every rule. Excuse me—for I must speak plainly. My dear father, if you will not take the trouble to check her high spirits, and to teach her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond correction. Her character will be fixed. At sixteen she will be the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous. And a flirt of the worst and lowest kind, too. She has no attraction except youth and a tolerable figure. Her mind is ignorant and empty. So she will be quite unable to protect herself from the general contempt which her hunger for admiration will cause. Kitty is in this danger too. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and completely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you think it possible that people will not blame and despise them wherever they are known? And that their sisters will not often be included in the disgrace?”

Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject. He took her hand lovingly and said in reply,

“Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued. And you will not look any worse for having a couple of—or I may say, three—very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and he will keep her out of any real trouble. And luckily she is too poor to be anybody’s prey. At Brighton she will be less important, even as a common flirt, than she has been here. The officers will find women more worth their notice. So let us hope that being there may teach her how unimportant she is. At any rate, she cannot grow much worse. If she does, we shall have the right to lock her up for the rest of her life.”

Elizabeth had to be content with this answer. But her own opinion stayed the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. However, it was not in her nature to make her troubles bigger by dwelling on them. She was sure that she had done her duty. It was not in her character to worry over evils she could not avoid, or to make them worse by anxiety.

Lydia and her mother did not know what she had said to her father. If they had known, even both of them talking at once could hardly have expressed their anger. In Lydia’s imagination, a visit to Brighton held every possible earthly happiness. With the creative eye of fancy she saw the streets of that cheerful seaside town covered with officers. She saw herself the centre of attention for tens and scores of them, all at present unknown to her. She saw all the glories of the camp. She saw its tents stretched out in beautiful, even lines, crowded with the young and the merry, and bright with scarlet. And to complete the picture, she saw herself sitting under a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

Her sister was trying to tear her away from such hopes and such realities as these. If Lydia had known it, what would she have felt? Only her mother could have understood her feelings, because she might have felt nearly the same. Her husband, she was sadly sure, never meant to go to Brighton himself. Lydia’s going there was her only comfort for this.

But they knew nothing of what had happened. Their raptures went on almost without a break until the very day Lydia left home.

Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. She had often been in company with him since her return, so her nervousness was mostly over. The nervousness that came from her former liking for him was completely over. She had even learnt to see something false and dull in the very gentleness which had first delighted her. It disgusted and tired her. In his present behaviour towards her, she also found a new reason for displeasure. He soon showed that he wished to start again the attentions he had paid her early in their acquaintance. After all that had happened since, this could only make her angry. She lost all interest in him when she found herself chosen for such idle and empty flirting. She firmly discouraged it. But she could not help feeling the insult in what he believed. He believed that he could stop his attentions for any length of time, and for any reason. Then, whenever he started them again, her vanity would be pleased and her liking would be his.

On the very last day of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, he dined at Longbourn with some of the other officers. Elizabeth did not wish at all to part from him in a good mood. He asked how she had spent her time at Hunsford. In answer, she mentioned that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had both spent three weeks at Rosings. And she asked him if he knew Colonel Fitzwilliam.

He looked surprised, displeased and alarmed. But after a moment he collected himself. With a returning smile, he replied that he had often seen him in the past. He said that he was a very gentleman-like man, and asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s favour. Soon afterwards Wickham added, as if he did not care, “How long did you say that he was at Rosings?”

“Nearly three weeks.”

“And you saw him often?”

“Yes, almost every day.”

“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”

“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.”

“Indeed!” cried Wickham, with a look which she noticed. “And may I ask—?” But he stopped himself and added in a lighter tone, “Is it in his manners that he improves? Has he been so kind as to add any politeness to his usual style? For I dare not hope,” he went on in a lower and more serious voice, “that he has improved in essentials.”

“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth. “In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he always was.”

As she spoke, Wickham hardly seemed to know whether to be glad at her words or to distrust their meaning. There was something in her face which made him listen with worried and anxious attention, while she added,

“When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were improving. I meant that, because I know him better, I understand his character better.”

Wickham’s alarm now showed in his reddened face and agitated look. For a few minutes he was silent. Then he shook off his embarrassment, turned to her again, and said in his gentlest voice,

“You know so well my feelings towards Mr. Darcy. So you will easily understand how sincerely I must be glad of one thing. He is wise enough to put on even the *appearance* of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be useful, if not to himself, then to many others. It must stop him from such wicked behaviour as I have suffered from. But I fear that the carefulness you mean, I imagine, is only put on when he visits his aunt. He greatly respects her good opinion and judgment, and he is afraid of her. I know his fear of her has always worked on him when they were together. And much of it comes from his wish to bring about the marriage with Miss De Bourgh. I am certain he cares about that very much.”

Elizabeth could not hold back a smile at this, but she answered only with a slight nod. She saw that he wanted to draw her into the old subject of his grievances. She was not in the mood to let him. For the rest of the evening he had the *appearance* of his usual cheerfulness. But he made no more attempts to pay special attention to Elizabeth. At last they parted with politeness on both sides—and possibly with a wish on both sides never to meet again.

When the party broke up, Lydia went back to Meryton with Mrs. Forster. They were to set out from there early the next morning. Her parting from her family was more noisy than sad. Kitty was the only one who cried, but she cried from annoyance and envy. Mrs. Bennet was long-winded in her good wishes for her daughter’s happiness. She was very firm in her orders that Lydia should not miss any chance to enjoy herself as much as possible. There was every reason to believe that this advice would be followed. Lydia herself said goodbye so loudly and happily that her sisters’ gentler farewells were not heard.

### Glossary

- **sea-bathing**: swimming or bathing in the sea, once thought to be good for health
- **mortification**: deep hurt to one’s pride; strong embarrassment
- **death-warrant**: an order that someone must die; here, the end of all hope
- **flirt**: a person who plays at love with many people for fun
- **prey**: an animal that is hunted; here, a girl a man might chase for her money
- **scarlet**: bright red, the colour of soldiers’ coats
- **in essentials**: in the most important things, in his real character
- **grievances**: complaints about being treated unfairly
- **parlour**: a sitting room in a private house

## Chapter 42

If Elizabeth had judged only by her own family, she could not have pictured married happiness or home comfort very pleasantly. Her father had been charmed by youth and beauty. He had also been charmed by the look of good humour that youth and beauty usually give. Because of this, he had married a woman with a weak understanding and a narrow mind. Very early in their marriage, this had ended all real love for her. Respect, esteem and trust had vanished for ever. All his hopes of happiness at home were destroyed. His own lack of wisdom had brought on this disappointment. But it was not in Mr. Bennet’s nature to look for comfort in certain pleasures. These are the pleasures which too often comfort unhappy people for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of books, and these tastes gave him his main enjoyments. He owed his wife very little, except that her ignorance and folly had added to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would generally wish to owe to his wife. But where other kinds of entertainment are missing, the true philosopher will make use of those he is given.

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to how improperly her father behaved as a husband. It had always pained her to see it. But she respected his abilities, and she was grateful for his loving treatment of herself. So she tried to forget what she could not overlook. She tried to put out of her mind his continual failures in a husband’s duty and good manners. By these failures he exposed his wife to the contempt of her own children, and this was very wrong. But she had never felt the disadvantages for the children of such an unsuitable marriage as strongly as now. Nor had she ever seen so clearly the harm that came from using talents so badly. His talents, if he had used them rightly, might at least have kept his daughters respectable. Even if they could not widen his wife’s mind, they could have done that.

Apart from her joy at Wickham’s departure, Elizabeth found little other reason to be pleased about the loss of the regiment. Their parties outside the house were less varied than before. And at home she had a mother and a sister who constantly complained about how dull everything was. This threw a real gloom over their family circle. In time Kitty might regain her natural share of sense, now that those who had disturbed her brain were gone. But greater evil could be feared from her other sister’s character. Lydia was likely to be hardened in all her folly and boldness. She was now in a situation of double danger: a seaside town and a camp. On the whole, therefore, Elizabeth found something that people have sometimes found before. She had looked forward to an event with impatient desire. But when it came, it did not bring all the satisfaction she had promised herself. So she had to name some other time for the start of real happiness. She had to fix her wishes and hopes on some other point. By enjoying again the pleasure of looking forward, she could comfort herself for the present and prepare for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the subject of her happiest thoughts. It was her best comfort for all the uncomfortable hours which her mother’s and Kitty’s discontent made unavoidable. And if she could have included Jane in the plan, every part of it would have been perfect.

“But it is lucky,” she thought, “that I have something to wish for. If the whole plan were complete, my disappointment would be certain. But this way I shall carry with me one constant cause of regret: my sister will not be there. So I may reasonably hope that all my expectations of pleasure will come true. A plan of which every part promises delight can never be successful. General disappointment is only kept away by some small, particular annoyance.”

When Lydia went away, she promised to write very often and in great detail to her mother and Kitty. But her letters were always long awaited, and always very short. Those to her mother said little else than this. They had just come back from the library, where such and such officers had been with them. There she had seen such beautiful ornaments that they made her quite wild. She had a new gown, or a new parasol. She would have described it more fully, but she had to stop in a great hurry. Mrs. Forster was calling her, and they were going to the camp. And from her letters to her sister there was even less to learn. Her letters to Kitty were rather longer, but they had far too many lines under the words to be shown.

After the first two or three weeks of her absence, health, good humour and cheerfulness began to come back to Longbourn. Everything looked happier. The families who had been in London for the winter came back again, and summer clothes and summer parties began. Mrs. Bennet returned to her usual calm state of complaining. By the middle of June Kitty had recovered so much that she could enter Meryton without tears. This event was so promising that Elizabeth hoped that by next Christmas Kitty might be reasonable enough not to mention an officer more than once a day. That is, unless the war-office cruelly and spitefully arranged for another regiment to be stationed in Meryton.

The time fixed for the start of their tour to the north was now coming near. Only a fortnight was left before it, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner. The letter delayed the start of the tour and made it shorter at the same time. Business would stop Mr. Gardiner from setting out until a fortnight later, in July. And he must be in London again within a month. That left too little time for them to go so far and see as much as they had planned. At least, they could not see it with the leisure and comfort they had counted on. So they had to give up the Lakes and choose a shorter tour instead. According to the present plan, they would go no further north than Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to see to fill most of their three weeks. And for Mrs. Gardiner it had a very strong attraction. She had once spent some years of her life in a town there. They were now to spend a few days in that town. To her, it was probably as interesting as all the famous beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale or the Peak.

Elizabeth was terribly disappointed. She had set her heart on seeing the Lakes, and she still thought there might have been time enough. But it was her business to be satisfied—and certainly it was her nature to be happy. Soon all was right again.

Many ideas were connected with Derbyshire. She could not see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its owner. “But surely,” she said, “I may enter his county safely, and take away a few petrified spars without his noticing me.”

The time of waiting was now doubled. Four weeks had to pass before her uncle and aunt arrived. But they did pass, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at last appear at Longbourn. The children were two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys. They were to be left in the special care of their cousin Jane. She was everybody’s favourite. Her steady good sense and sweet temper made her perfect for looking after them in every way. She would teach them, play with them and love them.

The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn. The next morning they set off with Elizabeth to look for new sights and amusement. One pleasure was certain: they were well suited as companions. They had the health and temper to bear inconveniences, and the cheerfulness to make every pleasure greater. They also had love and intelligence, which could keep them happy among themselves if there were disappointments on the way.

It is not the purpose of this book to describe Derbyshire, or any of the famous places on their way there. Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenelworth, Birmingham and the rest are well enough known. Only a small part of Derbyshire matters here. After they had seen all the main wonders of the county, they went to the little town of Lambton. Mrs. Gardiner had once lived there, and she had recently learned that some people she knew still lived there. Elizabeth learned from her aunt that Pemberley was within five miles of Lambton. It was not on their direct road, but it was no more than a mile or two off it. When they talked over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner said she would like to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner said he was willing, and they asked Elizabeth if she agreed.

“My love, wouldn’t you like to see a place you have heard so much about?” said her aunt. “A place, too, that so many of the people you know are connected with. Wickham spent all his youth there, you know.”

Elizabeth was upset. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, and she had to pretend that she did not want to see it. She said she must admit that she was tired of great houses. After going round so many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.

Mrs. Gardiner scolded her for being so stupid. “If it were only a fine house, richly furnished,” she said, “I would not care about it myself. But the grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the country.”

Elizabeth said no more, but in her mind she could not agree. At once she thought that she might meet Mr. Darcy while they were looking at the place. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea. She thought it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run such a risk. But there were objections to this. At last she decided that it could be her last resort. She would use it only if her private questions about the family’s absence got a bad answer.

So when she went to her room that night, she asked the chambermaid some questions. Was Pemberley not a very fine place? What was the name of its owner? And, with no little alarm, were the family down for the summer? To the last question came a most welcome “no”. Now her fears were gone, and she had time to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself. The next morning the subject was raised again, and they asked her once more. She could answer readily, and with a proper air of not caring, that she did not really dislike the plan.

To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

### Glossary

- **esteem**: respect and a good opinion of someone
- **philosopher**: a person who thinks deeply and accepts life calmly
- **parasol**: a light umbrella that protects you from the sun
- **war-office**: the government office that decides where soldiers go
- **petrified spars**: shiny stones and crystals; tourists collected them in Derbyshire
- **grounds**: the gardens, park and land around a big house
- **last resort**: the thing you do only when nothing else is possible
- **chambermaid**: a woman who cleans the bedrooms in an inn or hotel

## Chapter 43

As they drove along, Elizabeth watched for the first sight of Pemberley Woods with some nervousness. And when at last they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter.

The park was very large, and the ground in it was very varied. They entered it at one of its lowest points. For some time they drove through a beautiful wood which spread over a wide area.

Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and view. They climbed gradually for half a mile. Then they found themselves at the top of a high hill, where the wood ended. At once their eyes were caught by Pemberley House. It stood on the other side of a valley, and the road wound down into it quite steeply. It was a large, handsome stone building. It stood well on rising ground, with a ridge of high, wooded hills behind it. In front, a stream of some natural size had been made larger, but it did not look artificial. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely decorated. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place where nature had done more. Nor had she seen natural beauty so little spoiled by bad taste. They were all warm in their admiration. And at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

They went down the hill, crossed the bridge and drove to the door. While she looked at the house from close by, all her fears of meeting its owner returned. She was afraid that the chambermaid had been mistaken. They asked to see the house and were let into the hall. As they waited for the housekeeper, Elizabeth had time to wonder at being where she was.

The housekeeper came. She was a respectable-looking, elderly woman, much less grand and more polite than Elizabeth had expected. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large room with good proportions, and it was handsomely furnished. Elizabeth looked round it quickly, then went to a window to enjoy the view. The hill they had come down, crowned with wood, looked steeper from a distance. It was a beautiful sight. Every part of the land was well arranged. She looked with delight on the whole scene. She saw the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding valley as far as she could follow it. As they passed into other rooms, these things appeared in different positions. But from every window there were beautiful things to see. The rooms were high and handsome, and their furniture suited the fortune of their owner. But Elizabeth saw that it was neither showy nor uselessly fine, and she admired his taste. There was less splendour and more real elegance than in the furniture at Rosings.

“And of this place,” she thought, “I might have been mistress! I might now know these rooms well! Instead of looking at them as a stranger, I might have enjoyed them as my own. I might have welcomed my uncle and aunt to them as visitors.—But no,” she remembered, “that could never be. My uncle and aunt would have been lost to me. I would not have been allowed to invite them.”

This was a lucky thought—it saved her from something like regret.

She longed to ask the housekeeper whether her master was really away, but she did not have the courage. At last, however, her uncle asked the question. She turned away in alarm while Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was. “But we expect him tomorrow,” she added, “with a large party of friends.” How glad Elizabeth was that nothing had delayed their own journey by a day!

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She came near and saw a likeness of Mr. Wickham. It hung among several other miniatures over the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her with a smile how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward. She told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward. Her late master had brought him up at his own expense. “He has now gone into the army,” she added, “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.”

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not return it.

“And that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, “is my master—and very like him. It was painted at the same time as the other—about eight years ago.”

“I have heard much about your master’s fine looks,” said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture. “It is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like him or not.”

Mrs. Reynolds’s respect for Elizabeth seemed to grow when she learned that Elizabeth knew her master.

“Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth blushed and said, “A little.”

“And don’t you think him a very handsome gentleman, Ma’am?”

“Yes, very handsome.”

“I am sure *I* know nobody so handsome. But in the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master’s favourite room. These miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.”

This explained to Elizabeth why Mr. Wickham’s picture was among them.

Mrs. Reynolds then showed them one of Miss Darcy, painted when she was only eight years old.

“And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?” said Mr. Gardiner.

“Oh! yes—the handsomest young lady that ever was seen. And so accomplished!—She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument that has just arrived for her—a present from my master. She comes here tomorrow with him.”

Mr. Gardiner’s manners were easy and pleasant. With his questions and remarks he encouraged her to talk. Mrs. Reynolds, either from pride or from love, clearly took great pleasure in talking about her master and his sister.

“Is your master often at Pemberley during the year?”

“Not as much as I could wish, Sir. But I dare say he may spend half his time here. And Miss Darcy is always here for the summer months.”

“Except,” thought Elizabeth, “when she goes to Ramsgate.”

“If your master married, you might see more of him.”

“Yes, Sir. But I do not know when *that* will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.”

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, “It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.”

“I say no more than the truth, and what everybody who knows him will say,” replied the housekeeper. Elizabeth thought this was going rather far. And she listened with growing astonishment as the housekeeper added, “I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”

This praise was the most extraordinary of all, and the most opposite to her ideas. She had firmly believed that he was not a good-tempered man. Now her attention was fully awake. She longed to hear more, and she was grateful to her uncle for saying,

“There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky to have such a master.”

“Yes, Sir, I know I am. If I went through the whole world, I could not meet with a better one. But I have always noticed that people who are good-natured as children are good-natured when they grow up. And he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world.”

Elizabeth almost stared at her. “Can this be Mr. Darcy?” she thought.

“His father was an excellent man,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Yes, Ma’am, that he was indeed. And his son will be just like him—just as affable to the poor.”

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs. Reynolds could not interest her in anything else. She told them about the subjects of the pictures, the size of the rooms and the price of the furniture. It was all in vain. Mr. Gardiner was very amused by this kind of family prejudice. He thought it was the reason for her great praise of her master. So he soon led her back to the subject. And she talked with energy of her master’s many good qualities as they went up the great staircase together.

“He is the best landlord and the best master,” she said, “that ever lived. He is not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. Every one of his tenants and servants will speak well of him. Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my mind, it is only because he does not chatter away like other young men.”

“In what an amiable light this places him!” thought Elizabeth.

“This fine account of him,” whispered her aunt as they walked, “does not quite agree with his behaviour to our poor friend.”

“Perhaps we might be deceived.”

“That is not very likely. Our source was too good.”

When they reached the large landing upstairs, they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room. It had been fitted up recently, with more elegance and lightness than the rooms below. They were told that it had only just been done. It was to please Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room when she was last at Pemberley.

“He is certainly a good brother,” said Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of the windows.

Mrs. Reynolds imagined Miss Darcy’s delight when she came into the room. “And this is always the way with him,” she added. “Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done at once. There is nothing he would not do for her.”

There was only the picture gallery and two or three of the main bedrooms left to see. In the gallery were many good paintings. But Elizabeth knew nothing about art. Downstairs she had already turned gladly from paintings like these to look at some of Miss Darcy’s drawings in crayons. Their subjects were usually more interesting, and also easier to understand.

In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could not hold a stranger’s attention for long. Elizabeth walked on, looking for the only face she would know. At last it stopped her. She saw a striking likeness of Mr. Darcy. There was a smile on the face, which she remembered having sometimes seen when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture, studying it seriously. She went back to it again before they left the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds told them that it had been painted while his father was still alive.

At this moment Elizabeth certainly had a gentler feeling towards the real man. She had never felt so gently towards him, even when they knew each other best. Mrs. Reynolds’s praise of him was not a small thing. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she thought, how many people’s happiness he had in his care! How much pleasure or pain he had the power to give! How much good or evil he must do! Everything the housekeeper had said was in favour of his character. She stood before the canvas on which he was painted, and his eyes were fixed on her. Then she thought of his love for her with a deeper feeling of gratitude than ever before. She remembered its warmth, and she softened in her mind the improper way he had expressed it.

When they had seen all of the house that was open to visitors, they went back downstairs. They said goodbye to the housekeeper and were handed over to the gardener, who met them at the hall door.

As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again. Her uncle and aunt stopped too. Her uncle began to guess the date of the building. At that moment its owner himself suddenly came forward. He came from the road which led behind the house to the stables.

They were within twenty yards of each other. His appearance was so sudden that it was impossible to avoid being seen. Their eyes met at once, and both their faces turned deep red. He gave a real start, and for a moment he seemed unable to move from surprise. But he soon recovered, came towards the party and spoke to Elizabeth. If his words were not perfectly calm, they were at least perfectly polite.

She had turned away without thinking. But as he came near, she stopped and received his greetings with an embarrassment that she could not overcome. If his appearance, or his likeness to the picture they had just seen, had not been enough to tell the other two who he was, the gardener’s surprise at seeing his master must have told them at once. They stood a little way off while he was talking to their niece. She was astonished and confused, and hardly dared to lift her eyes to his face. She did not know what answers she gave to his polite questions about her family. She was amazed at the change in his manner since they had last parted. Every sentence he spoke increased her embarrassment. And she kept thinking how improper it was for her to be found there. The few minutes they spent together were some of the most uncomfortable of her life. He did not seem much more at ease. When he spoke, his voice had none of its usual calm. He asked again and again when she had left Longbourn and how long she had been in Derbyshire. He asked so often and in such a hurried way that it clearly showed how confused his thoughts were.

At last he seemed to run out of ideas. After standing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly collected himself and said goodbye.

The others then joined her and said how much they admired his figure. But Elizabeth did not hear a word. She was completely taken up with her own feelings, and she followed them in silence. She was overcome by shame and annoyance. Her coming there was the most unlucky, the most foolish thing in the world! How strange it must seem to him! In what a shameful light it might strike such a vain man! It might seem as if she had thrown herself in his way again on purpose! Oh! why had she come? Or why had he come a day before he was expected? If they had been only ten minutes earlier, they would have been out of his sight. He had clearly arrived that very moment. He had just got off his horse or out of his carriage. She blushed again and again at the bad luck of the meeting. And his behaviour, so greatly changed—what could it mean? It was amazing that he should even speak to her!—but to speak so politely, and to ask after her family! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified. Never had he spoken so gently as at this unexpected meeting. What a contrast it was to the last time he had spoken to her in Rosings Park! Then he had put his letter into her hand. She did not know what to think, or how to explain it.

They had now entered a beautiful path beside the water. Every step showed a finer slope of ground, or a finer stretch of the woods they were coming to. But it was some time before Elizabeth noticed any of it. Her uncle and aunt kept speaking to her, and she answered without thinking. She seemed to look at the things they pointed out, but she saw no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that one spot in Pemberley House, wherever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what was passing in his mind at that moment. How did he think of her? And was she, in spite of everything, still dear to him? Perhaps he had been polite only because he felt at ease. Yet there had been *something* in his voice which was not like ease. She could not tell whether he had felt more pain or more pleasure in seeing her. But he certainly had not seen her calmly.

At last, however, her companions’ remarks on her absent mind woke her up. She felt that she must seem more like herself.

They entered the woods and said goodbye to the river for a while. They climbed some of the higher ground. From there, in places where there were openings in the trees, the eye could wander over many charming views. They saw the valley and the hills opposite, many of them covered with long stretches of woods. Sometimes they saw part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner wished to go round the whole park, but he feared it might be too far to walk. With a proud smile, they were told that it was ten miles round. That settled the matter. They followed the usual round path. After some time it brought them down among hanging woods to the edge of the water. They came to one of its narrowest parts. They crossed it by a simple bridge, which suited the general feel of the scene. This spot was less decorated than any they had seen yet. The valley here became a narrow glen. There was room only for the stream and a narrow path among the rough young trees along its side. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings. But when they had crossed the bridge, they saw how far they were from the house. Mrs. Gardiner was not a great walker. She could go no further, and thought only of getting back to the carriage as quickly as possible. So her niece had to give in. They took the shortest way back towards the house on the other side of the river. But they moved slowly. Mr. Gardiner was very fond of fishing, though he could seldom enjoy it. He was busy watching the trout that sometimes appeared in the water, and talking to the man about them. So he hardly moved forward. While they were wandering on in this slow way, they were surprised again. Elizabeth was quite as astonished as she had been the first time. They saw Mr. Darcy coming towards them, not far away. The path here was less sheltered than on the other side, so they could see him before they met. Elizabeth, though astonished, was at least more prepared for a meeting than before. She decided to look and speak calmly if he really meant to meet them. For a few moments, indeed, she thought he would probably turn into some other path. She thought this while a bend in the path hid him from their view. Then they passed the bend, and he was right in front of them. With one glance she saw that he had lost none of his new politeness. To copy his politeness, she began to admire the beauty of the place as they met. But she had not got beyond the words “delightful” and “charming” when some unlucky memories came into her mind. She imagined that praise of Pemberley from her might be understood in a bad way. Her colour changed, and she said no more.

Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind. When Elizabeth paused, he asked her if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends. She was not at all prepared for this act of politeness. She could hardly hold back a smile. He now wished to know some of the very people his pride had revolted against in his proposal to her. “How surprised he will be,” she thought, “when he knows who they are! He takes them now for people of fashion.”

The introduction, however, was made at once. As she told him how they were related to her, she gave him a sly look to see how he took it. She half expected him to escape as fast as he could from such shameful companions. It was clear that he was *surprised* by the relationship. But he bore it bravely. Far from going away, he turned back with them and started a conversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could not help being pleased; she could not help feeling triumphant. It was a comfort that he should know she had some relations she did not need to blush for. She listened very carefully to everything that passed between them. She gloried in every word of her uncle’s which showed his intelligence, his taste or his good manners.

The conversation soon turned to fishing. She heard Mr. Darcy very politely invite him to fish there as often as he liked during his stay. At the same time he offered to give him fishing tackle. He also pointed out the parts of the stream where there was usually the best fishing. Mrs. Gardiner, who was walking arm in arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look full of wonder. Elizabeth said nothing, but it pleased her very much. The compliment must be all for herself. Her astonishment, however, was extreme. She kept repeating to herself, “Why is he so changed? What can be the cause? It cannot be for *me*. It cannot be for *my* sake that his manners are so softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not make such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me.”

They walked for some time like this, the two ladies in front and the two gentlemen behind. Then they went down to the river’s edge to look more closely at a curious water-plant. When they took their places again, there happened to be a little change. It began with Mrs. Gardiner. She was tired from the morning’s exercise and found that Elizabeth’s arm did not support her enough. So she preferred her husband’s. Mr. Darcy took her place beside her niece, and they walked on together. After a short silence, Elizabeth spoke first. She wished him to know that she had been told he was away before she came. So she began by saying that his arrival had been very unexpected. “For your housekeeper,” she added, “told us that you would certainly not be here till tomorrow. And indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not expected in the country soon.” He agreed that all this was true. Business with his steward, he said, had made him come a few hours before the rest of his party. “They will join me early tomorrow,” he went on. “Among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you—Mr. Bingley and his sisters.”

Elizabeth answered only with a slight bow. Her thoughts were at once driven back to the last time Mr. Bingley’s name had been mentioned between them. And judging from his colour, *his* mind was busy with much the same thing.

“There is also one other person in the party,” he went on after a pause, “who particularly wishes to know you. Will you allow me—or do I ask too much—to introduce my sister to you during your stay at Lambton?”

The surprise of such a request was very great indeed. It was too great for her to know how she agreed to it. She felt at once that whatever wish Miss Darcy had to know her must be her brother’s work. Without looking further, this was satisfying. It was pleasant to know that his anger had not made him think really badly of her.

They now walked on in silence, each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth was not comfortable; that was impossible. But she was flattered and pleased. His wish to introduce his sister to her was a compliment of the highest kind. They soon got far ahead of the others. When they reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile behind.

He then asked her to come into the house, but she said she was not tired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a time much might have been said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but every subject seemed forbidden. At last she remembered that she had been travelling. They talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with great determination. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly. Her patience and her ideas were nearly worn out before their talk alone together was over. When Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner came up, they were all urged to go into the house and take some refreshment. But they declined, and they parted on each side with the greatest politeness. Mr. Darcy helped the ladies into the carriage. When it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the house.

Now her uncle and aunt began to give their opinions. Each of them declared him to be far better than anything they had expected. “He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,” said her uncle.

“There *is* something a little stately about him, to be sure,” replied her aunt. “But it is only in his manner, and it suits him. I can now say what the housekeeper said. Some people may call him proud, but *I* have seen nothing of it.”

“I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more than polite; it was really attentive. And there was no need for such attention. He hardly knew Elizabeth.”

“To be sure, Lizzy,” said her aunt, “he is not so handsome as Wickham. Or rather, he does not have Wickham’s face, for his features are perfectly good. But why did you tell us that he was so disagreeable?”

Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could. She said that she had liked him better when they met in Kent than before. And she said that she had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.

“But perhaps he may be a little changeable in his politeness,” replied her uncle. “Your great men often are. So I shall not take him at his word about fishing. He might change his mind another day and order me off his land.”

Elizabeth felt that they had completely misunderstood his character, but she said nothing.

“From what we have seen of him,” continued Mrs. Gardiner, “I really would not have thought it. I would not have thought that he could behave so cruelly to anybody as he has to poor Wickham. He does not have an unkind look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks. And there is a dignity in his face that would not give one a bad idea of his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who showed us the house did give him a very glowing character! I could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a generous master, I suppose, and *that*, in a servant’s eyes, includes every virtue.”

Elizabeth felt she must say something here to defend his behaviour to Wickham. So, as carefully as she could, she let them understand something. From what she had heard from his relations in Kent, his actions could be understood very differently. His character was not at all so bad, nor Wickham’s so amiable, as people in Hertfordshire had thought. To prove this, she told them the details of all the money matters between the two men. She did not actually name the person who had told her. But she said it was a source that could be trusted.

Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned. But they were now coming near the place where she had once been happy. Every other idea gave way to the charm of memory. She was too busy pointing out to her husband all the interesting spots around it to think of anything else. She had been tired by the morning’s walk. Yet as soon as they had dined, she set off again to look for her old friends. The evening was spent in the pleasure of meeting them again after many years apart.

The events of the day were too interesting to leave Elizabeth much attention for any of these new friends. She could do nothing but think, and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy’s politeness. Above all, she thought of his wish that she should know his sister.

### Glossary

- **lodge**: a small house at the gate of a large park
- **mistress**: here, the woman in charge of a large house; the owner’s wife
- **miniature**: a very small painted picture of a person
- **mantelpiece**: the shelf above a fireplace
- **steward**: a man who manages a rich person’s land and money
- **affable**: friendly and easy to talk to
- **tenants**: people who rent land or a house from its owner
- **glen**: a narrow valley
- **fishing tackle**: the things you need for fishing, such as rods and lines
- **unassuming**: not proud; not trying to seem important
- **stately**: grand and formal in manner
- **dignified**: serious, formal and proud in a calm way

## Chapter 44

Elizabeth had decided that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit her. They would come on the very day after Miss Darcy reached Pemberley. So she had made up her mind to stay within sight of the inn all that morning. But she was wrong. These visitors came on the very morning after Elizabeth and her relations had arrived at Lambton. The three of them had been walking about the place with some of their new friends. They had just come back to the inn to dress, because they were going to dine with the same family. Then the sound of a carriage brought them to a window. They saw a gentleman and a lady in a curricle, driving up the street. Elizabeth recognised the servants’ livery at once and guessed what it meant. She surprised her relations very much when she told them about the honour she expected. Her uncle and aunt were completely amazed. Elizabeth’s manner was embarrassed as she spoke. This, together with the visit itself and many things from the day before, gave them a new idea about the whole business. Nothing had ever suggested it before. But now they felt that there was no other way to explain such attentions from such a person. He must have a special liking for their niece. While these new ideas were passing through their heads, Elizabeth’s feelings grew more troubled every moment. She was quite amazed at how upset she was. Among other worries, she was afraid that the brother’s liking for her had made him say too much in her favour. She was more anxious than usual to please. So, naturally, she suspected that all her power to please would fail her.

She moved back from the window, because she was afraid of being seen. She walked up and down the room and tried to calm herself. But she saw such looks of questioning surprise on her uncle’s and aunt’s faces that everything became worse.

Miss Darcy and her brother came in, and this frightening introduction took place. Elizabeth saw with astonishment that her new acquaintance was at least as embarrassed as she was herself. Since she came to Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was extremely proud. But after watching her for only a few minutes, Elizabeth was sure that she was only extremely shy. It was difficult to get from her even one word longer than a single syllable.

Miss Darcy was tall, and built on a larger scale than Elizabeth. She was little more than sixteen, but her figure was already formed, and she looked womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother. But there was good sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were completely modest and gentle. Elizabeth had expected her to be an observer as sharp and as calm as Mr. Darcy had ever been. So she was very relieved to see such different feelings in her.

They had not been together long when Darcy told her that Bingley was also coming to visit her. She had hardly had time to say how glad she was, and to prepare for such a visitor. Then Bingley’s quick step was heard on the stairs. A moment later he came into the room. All Elizabeth’s anger against him had gone long ago. But if she had still felt any, it could hardly have lasted against the natural, honest warmth with which he greeted her again. He asked after her family in a friendly but general way. He looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease as he always had.

To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was almost as interesting a person as he was to her. They had wished to see him for a long time. In fact, the whole group in front of them caught their lively attention. They had just begun to suspect something between Mr. Darcy and their niece. So they watched each of them closely, with serious but careful curiosity. From this watching they soon became fully sure that at least one of them knew what it was to love. About the lady’s feelings they were still a little in doubt. But it was clear enough that the gentleman was overflowing with admiration.

Elizabeth, on her side, had a lot to do. She wanted to find out the feelings of each of her visitors. She wanted to calm her own feelings, and to make herself pleasant to everyone. She feared most that she would fail in this last aim. But it was the one where she was most sure of success. This was because the people she wanted to please already thought well of her. Bingley was ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy was determined, to be pleased.

When she saw Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister. And oh! how much she longed to know whether any of his thoughts went the same way. Sometimes she could imagine that he talked less than he used to. Once or twice she pleased herself with the idea that, as he looked at her, he was trying to find a likeness to Jane. But this might only be her imagination. About his behaviour to Miss Darcy, however, she could not be mistaken. Miss Darcy had been presented as a rival to Jane. But no look on either side showed any special feeling. Nothing happened between them that could support the hopes of Bingley’s sister. On this point Elizabeth was soon satisfied. And before they parted, two or three little things happened. In her anxious opinion, they showed that he remembered Jane, not without tenderness. They also showed that he wished to say more, which might lead to talk of Jane, if he had dared. At one moment, when the others were talking together, he spoke to her in a tone of real regret. He said that it “was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing her.” Before she could answer, he added, “It is more than eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”

Elizabeth was pleased to find that his memory was so exact. Later, when none of the others were paying attention, he found a chance to ask her a question. He asked whether *all* her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question, or in the remark before it. But there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning.

She could not often turn her eyes to Mr. Darcy himself. But whenever she did catch a glimpse of him, she saw a wish to be pleasant to everyone. In all that he said, she heard a tone very far from pride or scorn for the people with him. This convinced her that the better manners she had seen yesterday had lasted at least one day. Their life might still prove short in the end. She saw him trying to get to know these people and to win their good opinion. A few months ago, any contact with them would have been a disgrace to him. She saw him so polite, not only to herself, but to the very relations he had openly looked down on. And she remembered their last heated scene in Hunsford Parsonage. The difference, the change, was so great and struck her mind so strongly that she could hardly hide her astonishment. Never, even with his dear friends at Netherfield or his grand relations at Rosings, had she seen him so eager to please. She had never seen him so free from self-importance or stiff reserve as now. And yet nothing important could come from the success of his efforts. Even knowing the people he was so kind to would bring him the laughter and blame of the ladies of both Netherfield and Rosings.

Their visitors stayed with them more than half an hour. When they got up to leave, Mr. Darcy asked his sister to join him in an invitation. They wished to see Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet at dinner at Pemberley before they left the area. Miss Darcy readily did so. But she was shy about it, which showed that she was not used to giving invitations. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece. She wanted to know how *she* felt about accepting, since the invitation concerned her most. But Elizabeth had turned her head away. Mrs. Gardiner thought, however, that this careful avoidance showed only a moment’s embarrassment, not any dislike of the plan. Her husband was fond of company, and she saw that he was perfectly willing to accept. So she dared to promise that Elizabeth would come, and the day after next was fixed for the dinner.

Bingley said he was very pleased that he would certainly see Elizabeth again. He still had a great deal to say to her, and many questions to ask about all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth took all this as a wish to hear her talk about her sister, and she was pleased. When the visitors had left, she found that she could think back on the last half hour with some satisfaction. This was for that reason, and for some others too. While it was happening, though, she had enjoyed it very little. She wanted to be alone, and she was afraid of questions or hints from her uncle and aunt. So she stayed with them only long enough to hear their good opinion of Bingley. Then she hurried away to dress.

But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s curiosity. They did not wish to force her to tell them anything. It was clear that she knew Mr. Darcy much better than they had ever imagined. It was clear that he was very much in love with her. They saw much that interested them, but nothing that gave them a reason to ask questions.

They were now anxious to think well of Mr. Darcy. And as far as they knew him, they could find no fault in him. They could not help being touched by his politeness. They could have judged his character only from their own feelings and his servant’s report. Then his Hertfordshire acquaintances would not have recognised it as Mr. Darcy. Now, however, they had a reason to want to believe the housekeeper. They soon understood that the word of such a servant should not be quickly rejected. She had known him since he was four years old, and her own manners showed that she was respectable. Nothing they had heard from their friends in Lambton made her word much less important. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride. He probably did have pride. And if he did not, the people of a small market town would certainly say that he did. The family did not visit in the town. Everyone agreed, however, that he was a generous man and did much good among the poor.

As for Wickham, the travellers soon found that people there did not think highly of him. His main dealings with the son of his patron were not well understood. But it was a well-known fact that he had left many debts behind him when he left Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy had later paid them.

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening even more than the evening before. The evening seemed long while it was passing. But it was not long enough for her to decide her feelings towards *one* person in that great house. She lay awake for two whole hours, trying to understand them. She certainly did not hate him. No; her hatred had disappeared long ago. For almost as long, she had been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike for him that could be called hatred. She had come to respect him because she was sure of his good qualities. At first she had admitted them unwillingly. But for some time now that respect had stopped being unpleasant to her feelings. And now it had grown into something friendlier because of yesterday’s report. That report had spoken so highly of him, and had shown his nature in such a pleasant light. But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a feeling of goodwill in her which she could not ignore. It was gratitude. She was grateful, not only because he had once loved her, but because he still loved her enough to forgive her. He forgave all the bad temper and bitterness of her manner when she refused him. He forgave all the unfair accusations that came with her refusal. She had been sure that he would avoid her as his greatest enemy. But at this chance meeting, he seemed very eager to continue the acquaintance. He made no indelicate show of his feelings. There was nothing strange in his manner in things that concerned only the two of them. Yet he was trying to win the good opinion of her friends. And he was determined to introduce her to his sister. Such a change in a man of so much pride caused not only astonishment but gratitude. It could only come from love, ardent love. So the feeling it gave her was one she wanted to encourage. It was not at all unpleasant, though she could not describe it exactly. She respected him, she esteemed him, she was grateful to him, and she felt a real interest in his well-being. She only wanted to know how far she wished his well-being to depend on her. And she wanted to know how far it would make them both happy if she used her power to bring him to court her again. Her imagination told her that she still had that power.

In the evening the aunt and niece had agreed on something. Miss Darcy had been very polite in coming to them on the very day she arrived at Pemberley. She had only got there in time for a late breakfast. Such politeness ought to be copied by some effort of politeness on their side, though it could not be equalled. So it would be very wise to visit her at Pemberley the next morning. They were, therefore, to go. Elizabeth was pleased, though when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.

Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing plan had been made again the day before. He had firmly promised to meet some of the gentlemen at Pemberley by noon.

### Glossary

- **curricle**: a light, open carriage with two wheels, pulled by two horses.
- **livery**: the special uniform worn by the servants of one rich family.
- **acquaintance**: a person you know a little; also the fact of knowing someone.
- **reserve**: a cold, quiet manner; not showing your feelings.
- **patron**: a rich person who gives money or help to someone.
- **esteem**: to have a high opinion of someone; respect.
- **ardent**: very strong and passionate.
- **court**: to try to win a woman’s love, hoping to marry her.

## Chapter 45

Elizabeth was now sure that Miss Bingley’s dislike of her had come from jealousy. So she could not help feeling how unwelcome her arrival at Pemberley must be to that lady. She was curious to know how politely Miss Bingley would now renew their acquaintance.

When they reached the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon. It faced north, which made it delightful in summer. Its windows opened down to the ground. They gave a very refreshing view of the high wooded hills behind the house. They also showed the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the lawn in between.

In this room they were received by Miss Darcy. She was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and with the lady she lived with in London. Georgiana received them very politely. But she was full of embarrassment. This came from shyness and the fear of doing something wrong. Yet it could easily make people who felt themselves below her believe that she was proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, judged her fairly and felt sorry for her.

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley greeted them only with a curtsey. When they had sat down, there was a pause for a few moments, as awkward as such pauses always are. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a well-mannered, pleasant-looking woman. She tried to start some kind of conversation. This showed that she was more truly well-bred than either of the others. The conversation was carried on between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with some help from Elizabeth now and then. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished she had enough courage to join in. Sometimes she did dare to say a short sentence, when there was least danger of its being heard.

Elizabeth soon saw that Miss Bingley was watching her closely. She could not say a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without Miss Bingley noticing it. This would not have stopped her from trying to talk to Miss Darcy, if they had not been sitting too far apart. But she was not sorry to be spared the need to say much. She was busy with her own thoughts. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would come into the room. She wished, and she feared, that the master of the house might be among them. She could hardly decide whether she wished it or feared it more. They sat like this for a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss Bingley’s voice. Then Elizabeth was roused when Miss Bingley coldly asked after the health of her family. She answered just as coldly and briefly, and the other lady said no more.

The next change in their visit came when servants brought in food. They brought cold meat, cake, and many of the finest fruits of the season. But this did not happen until Mrs. Annesley had given Miss Darcy many meaningful looks and smiles. These were to remind her of her duty. Now the whole party had something to do. They could not all talk, but they could all eat. The beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines and peaches soon brought them together round the table.

While they were busy with this, Elizabeth had a good chance to settle a question. She could decide whether she feared or wished for Mr. Darcy’s arrival more. She could judge by the feelings she had when he came into the room. Only a moment before, she had believed that her wishes were stronger. But when he came in, she began to be sorry that he had come.

He had been with Mr. Gardiner for some time. Mr. Gardiner was busy by the river with two or three other gentlemen from the house. Darcy had left him only when he heard that the ladies of the family planned to visit Georgiana that morning. As soon as he appeared, Elizabeth wisely decided to be perfectly calm and at ease. This decision was all the more necessary, though perhaps not easier to keep. The reason was that she saw that the whole party suspected them. There was hardly an eye that did not watch his behaviour when he first came into the room. No face showed such close curiosity as Miss Bingley’s, although she smiled whenever she spoke to either of them. Jealousy had not yet made her lose all hope. She had certainly not given up her attentions to Mr. Darcy. When her brother came in, Miss Darcy tried much harder to talk. Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get to know each other. He helped every attempt at conversation on either side as much as he could. Miss Bingley saw all this too. In her anger she acted unwisely. She took the first chance to say, with mocking politeness:

“Pray, Miss Eliza, has the ——shire militia not been moved from Meryton? They must be a great loss to *your* family.”

In front of Darcy she did not dare to say Wickham’s name. But Elizabeth understood at once that he was first in Miss Bingley’s thoughts. The different memories connected with him upset her for a moment. But she made a strong effort to fight back against this unkind attack. Soon she answered the question in a fairly unconcerned voice. As she spoke, she glanced at Darcy without meaning to. His face was flushed, and he was looking at her earnestly. His sister was overcome with confusion and could not lift her eyes. If Miss Bingley had known how much pain she was giving her dear friend, she certainly would not have made the remark. She had only wanted to upset Elizabeth. She had brought up the idea of a man whom she believed Elizabeth liked. She hoped to make Elizabeth show feelings that might hurt her in Darcy’s opinion. Perhaps she wanted to remind Darcy of all the foolish, silly behaviour connecting part of Elizabeth’s family with that regiment. Not a word had ever reached her about Miss Darcy’s planned elopement. Nobody had been told about it, where secrecy was possible, except Elizabeth. Her brother was especially anxious to hide it from all of Bingley’s relations. This was because of the very wish that Elizabeth had long ago believed he had. It was the wish that they might one day become Georgiana’s own relations. He had certainly formed such a plan. He did not mean it to affect his efforts to separate Bingley from Miss Bennet. But it probably added something to his strong concern for his friend’s happiness.

Elizabeth’s calm behaviour, however, soon quieted his feelings. Miss Bingley was annoyed and disappointed, and she did not dare to come any closer to the subject of Wickham. So Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to say anything more. She was afraid to meet her brother’s eye. But he hardly remembered her part in the affair. Miss Bingley’s remark had been meant to turn his thoughts away from Elizabeth. Yet it seemed to have fixed them on her more, and more cheerfully.

Their visit did not last long after the question and answer above. Mr. Darcy walked them to their carriage. Meanwhile Miss Bingley let out her feelings by criticising Elizabeth’s looks, behaviour and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother’s good word was enough to win her favour. His judgment could not be wrong. And he had spoken of Elizabeth in such terms that Georgiana could not find her anything but lovely and pleasant. Darcy came back to the saloon. Then Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him part of what she had been saying to his sister.

“How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy,” she cried. “I never in my life saw anyone so much changed as she is since the winter. She has grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we would not have known her again.”

However little Mr. Darcy may have liked such talk, he simply answered coolly. He said that he saw no other change than that she was rather tanned. And that was hardly a miracle, after travelling in the summer.

“For my own part,” she went on, “I must admit that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin. Her skin has no glow, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose has no character; there is nothing special in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but nothing out of the ordinary. And as for her eyes, which some people have called so fine, I never could see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all. And in her whole manner there is a self-satisfaction without any fashion, which is intolerable.”

Miss Bingley was sure that Darcy admired Elizabeth, so this was not the best way to make him like her. But angry people are not always wise. When she saw that at last he looked a little annoyed, she had all the success she expected. He stayed firmly silent, however. She was determined to make him speak, so she continued:

“When we first knew her in Hertfordshire, people thought she was a beauty. I remember how amazed we all were to find that. And I particularly remember you saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, ‘*She* a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit.’ But later she seemed to improve in your eyes, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.”

“Yes,” replied Darcy, who could not control himself any longer, “but *that* was only when I first knew her. For it is many months now since I have considered her one of the handsomest women I know.”

He then went away. Miss Bingley was left with all the satisfaction of having forced him to say it. What he said gave no one any pain but herself.

Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked on the way back. They talked of everything that had happened during their visit, except what had most interested them both. They discussed the looks and behaviour of everyone they had seen, except the person who had most held their attention. They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit—of everything but himself. Yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him. And Mrs. Gardiner would have been very pleased if her niece had started the subject.

### Glossary

- **saloon**: a large, elegant room in a big house where guests are received.
- **curtsey**: a small bow made by a woman, bending her knees, to greet someone politely.
- **well-bred**: having good manners because of a good upbringing.
- **nectarine**: a sweet fruit like a peach, but with smooth skin.
- **flushed**: red in the face, because of strong feeling.
- **tolerable**: just acceptable; not bad, but not very good.
- **shrewish**: bad-tempered and sharp, like a woman who often scolds.
- **wit**: a clever person who says amusing things.

## Chapter 46

Elizabeth had been quite disappointed not to find a letter from Jane when they first arrived at Lambton. She had felt this disappointment again on each of the mornings they had spent there since. But on the third morning her complaints were over, and her sister was proved not to be at fault. Two letters from Jane arrived at once. On one of them it was marked that it had been sent to the wrong place. Elizabeth was not surprised at this, because Jane had written the address remarkably badly.

They had just been getting ready to go for a walk when the letters came in. Her uncle and aunt left her to enjoy them in peace and went out by themselves. She had to read the one that had gone to the wrong place first. It had been written five days before. The beginning told her about all their little parties and invitations, with whatever news the area had to offer. But the second half was dated a day later. It was clearly written in great agitation, and it gave more important news. This is what it said:

“Since I wrote the part above, dearest Lizzy, something very unexpected and serious has happened. But I am afraid of alarming you—be sure that we are all well. What I have to say is about poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we had all gone to bed. It was from Colonel Forster, to tell us that she had gone off to Scotland with one of his officers. To tell the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so completely unexpected. I am very, very sorry. Such an unwise match on both sides! But I am willing to hope for the best, and to hope that his character has been misunderstood. I can easily believe that he is thoughtless and careless. But this step (and let us be glad about it) shows nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, because he must know that my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is very sad. My father bears it better. How thankful I am that we never let them know what has been said against him. We must forget it ourselves. People think they left on Saturday night at about twelve, but they were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent at once. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, telling her what they planned to do. I must stop now, because I cannot be away from my poor mother for long. I am afraid you will not be able to understand this, but I hardly know what I have written.”

Elizabeth did not give herself time to think, and she hardly knew what she felt. When she had finished this letter, she at once seized the other one. She opened it with great impatience and read the following. It had been written a day later than the end of the first.

“By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter. I wish this one may be clearer. I am not short of time, but my head is so confused that I cannot promise to make sense. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I want to write. But I have bad news for you, and it cannot wait. A marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be unwise. But we are now anxious to be sure that it has taken place. There is too much reason to fear that they have not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday. He had left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Lydia’s short letter to Mrs. F. made them believe that they were going to Gretna Green. But Denny let something slip. He said he believed that W. never meant to go there, or to marry Lydia at all. This was repeated to Colonel F., who was alarmed at once. He set off from B., meaning to follow their route. He traced them easily to Clapham, but no further. When they got there, they moved into a hackney-coach and sent away the chaise that had brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is that they were seen going on along the London road. I do not know what to think. Colonel F. made every possible enquiry on that side of London. Then he came on into Hertfordshire. He anxiously asked again at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success. No such people had been seen to pass through. Out of the kindest concern, he came on to Longbourn. He told us his fears in a way that does great credit to his heart. I am truly sorry for him and Mrs. F., but no one can blame them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so badly of him. Many things might make it more suitable for them to marry privately in town than to follow their first plan. And even if *he* could form such a plan against a young woman with Lydia’s connections, which is not likely, can I believe that she has lost all sense of what is right? Impossible! I am sad to find, however, that Colonel F. is not inclined to count on their marriage. He shook his head when I told him my hopes. He said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill and stays in her room. If she could make an effort, it would be better, but we cannot expect this. And as for my father, I have never in my life seen him so upset. Poor Kitty has had to bear anger for hiding their attachment. But as it was a secret told to her, one cannot wonder at it. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared some of these painful scenes. But now that the first shock is over, may I admit that I long for you to come back? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if it is inconvenient. Adieu. I pick up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not do. But things are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well that I am not afraid to ask it. And I still have something more to ask of my uncle. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster at once, to try to find her. What he means to do, I really do not know. But his great distress will not let him follow any plan in the best and safest way. And Colonel Forster has to be back at Brighton tomorrow evening. At such a time of need, my uncle’s advice and help would mean everything in the world. He will understand at once what I must feel, and I rely on his goodness.”

“Oh! where, where is my uncle?” cried Elizabeth. As she finished the letter, she jumped up from her seat. She was eager to follow him without losing a moment of such precious time. But as she reached the door, a servant opened it, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and wild manner made him start. Lydia’s situation had pushed every other idea out of her mind. Before he could recover enough to speak, she quickly cried, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot wait. I have not a moment to lose.”

“Good God! what is the matter?” he cried, with more feeling than politeness. Then he remembered himself. “I will not keep you a minute. But let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough—you cannot go yourself.”

Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees were shaking under her. She felt how little she would gain if she tried to follow them. So she called back the servant and told him to fetch his master and mistress home at once. She spoke so breathlessly that he could hardly understand her.

When he had left the room, she sat down, because she could not stand. She looked so terribly ill that Darcy could not leave her. He could not stop himself from saying, in a gentle and pitying voice, “Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take, to give you some relief now?—A glass of wine—shall I get you one?—You are very ill.”

“No, thank you,” she replied, trying to recover herself. “There is nothing wrong with me. I am quite well. I am only upset by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”

She burst into tears as she spoke of it, and for a few minutes she could not say another word. Darcy waited in miserable uncertainty. He could only say something unclear about his concern, and watch her in silent sympathy. At last she spoke again. “I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be hidden from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends—has eloped—has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They have gone off together from Brighton. *You* know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost for ever.”

Darcy stood still in astonishment. “When I think,” she added in a still more agitated voice, “that *I* might have prevented it!—*I*, who knew what he was. If only I had explained some part of it—some part of what I learnt—to my own family! If his character had been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”

“I am grieved, indeed,” cried Darcy; “grieved—shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain?”

“Oh yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and they were traced almost to London, but not beyond. They have certainly not gone to Scotland.”

“And what has been done, what has been tried, to get her back?”

“My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle’s help at once. We shall leave, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How can such a man be persuaded? How can they even be found? I have not the smallest hope. It is horrible in every way!”

Darcy shook his head in silent agreement.

“When *my* eyes were opened to his real character—Oh! if I had known what I ought to do, what I dared to do! But I did not know—I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!”

Darcy made no answer. He hardly seemed to hear her. He was walking up and down the room, deep in thought. His brow was frowning, and he looked gloomy. Elizabeth soon noticed it, and she understood it at once. Her power over him was sinking. Everything *must* sink under such proof of her family’s weakness, such certainty of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder at it nor blame him. But the belief that he was conquering his feelings brought no comfort to her heart. It did not ease her distress at all. On the contrary, it was exactly the thing to make her understand her own wishes. And never had she felt so honestly that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be in vain.

But thoughts of herself, though they pushed their way in, could not fill her mind. Lydia—the shame, the misery she was bringing on them all—soon swallowed up every private worry. Elizabeth covered her face with her handkerchief and soon forgot everything else. After a pause of several minutes, she was brought back to her situation by the voice of her companion. His manner showed pity, but it showed self-control too. “I am afraid you have wanted me to leave for a long time. And I have no excuse for staying, except real concern, though it can do no good. I wish to heaven that I could say or do something to comfort you in such distress. But I will not trouble you with useless wishes, which may seem to be asking for your thanks on purpose. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister from having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today.”

“Oh, yes. Please be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Hide the unhappy truth as long as possible.—I know it cannot be long.”

He readily promised to keep it secret. He said again how sorry he was for her distress. He wished it a happier end than there was reason to hope for at present. He left his compliments for her relations. Then, with only one serious parting look, he went away.

As he left the room, Elizabeth felt how unlikely it was that they would ever meet again on such friendly terms as in Derbyshire. She looked back over their whole acquaintance, so full of contradictions and changes. And she sighed at how contrary her feelings were. Now they would have wanted the acquaintance to continue. Before, they would have been glad to see it end.

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations for love, Elizabeth’s change of feeling will seem neither unlikely nor wrong. But love is often described as starting at the first meeting, even before two words have been spoken. If a liking from gratitude and esteem is unreasonable or unnatural compared with that, nothing can be said in her defence. Only this can be said: she had tried that second way a little, in her liking for Wickham. And its bad result might perhaps give her the right to look for the other, less interesting kind of attachment. However that may be, she was sorry to see him go. This was an early example of what Lydia’s shameful act must cause. It gave her even more pain as she thought about that wretched business. Since reading Jane’s second letter, she had never had any hope that Wickham meant to marry Lydia. Nobody but Jane, she thought, could comfort herself with such a hope. Surprise was the smallest of her feelings at this turn of events. While she had only the first letter in her mind, she had been completely surprised. She had been astonished that Wickham would marry a girl whom he could not possibly marry for money. And she had not been able to understand how Lydia could ever have attracted him. But now it all seemed too natural. For this kind of attachment, Lydia might have enough charms. Elizabeth did not think that Lydia was deliberately going into an elopement without meaning to marry. But she easily believed that neither her virtue nor her good sense would keep her from falling an easy victim.

She had never noticed, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any special liking for him. But she was sure that Lydia had only needed encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one officer, sometimes another had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in her opinion. Her affections had always been changing, but there had always been someone to settle on. The harm done by neglecting such a girl, and by spoiling her in the wrong way—oh! how sharply she felt it now.

She longed wildly to be at home—to hear, to see, to be on the spot. She wanted to share with Jane the worries that must now fall on Jane alone, in a family in such disorder. Their father was away. Their mother could make no effort and needed constant care. Elizabeth was almost sure that nothing could be done for Lydia. But her uncle’s help seemed extremely important, and until he came into the room, her impatience was terribly painful. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm. From what the servant had said, they thought their niece had suddenly fallen ill. But she quickly told them that she had not. Then she eagerly explained why she had called them. She read the two letters aloud, and she dwelt on the postscript of the second one with trembling energy. Lydia had never been a favourite with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, but they could not help being deeply affected. Not only Lydia, but all the family were concerned in it. After the first cries of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readily promised every help in his power. Elizabeth had expected nothing less, but she thanked him with tears of gratitude. All three were moved by one spirit, and everything about their journey was quickly settled. They were to leave as soon as possible. “But what is to be done about Pemberley?” cried Mrs. Gardiner. “John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us—was he?”

“Yes. And I told him we would not be able to keep our engagement. *That* is all settled.”

“That is all settled,” Mrs. Gardiner repeated to herself, as she ran into her room to get ready. “And are they on such terms that she could tell him the real truth! Oh, if only I knew how it was!”

But wishes were useless. At best they could only amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the next hour. If Elizabeth had had time to be idle, she would have stayed certain that someone as miserable as she was could not do any work. But she had her share of business, just as her aunt did. Among other things, there were notes to write to all their friends in Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. In an hour, however, everything was done. Meanwhile Mr. Gardiner had paid his bill at the inn, and nothing was left to do but go. After all the misery of the morning, Elizabeth found herself sitting in the carriage, on the road to Longbourn, sooner than she could have imagined.

### Glossary

- **express**: a very fast, urgent letter carried by a special rider.
- **disinterested**: not done for money or for your own advantage.
- **hackney-coach**: a carriage with a driver that anyone could pay to ride in, like a taxi.
- **chaise**: a closed carriage for travelling, pulled by horses.
- **turnpike**: a gate on a main road where travellers paid money to pass.
- **connections**: a person’s family and the important people they are related to.
- **Adieu**: a polite old word for “goodbye”.
- **postscript**: an extra part added at the end of a letter, after it seemed finished.
- **esteem**: a high opinion of someone; respect.

## Chapter 47

“I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,” said her uncle, as they drove out of the town. “And really, after serious thought, I am much more inclined than before to judge the matter as your eldest sister does. It seems so very unlikely to me that any young man would form such a plan against this girl. She is by no means unprotected or without friends. And she was actually staying with his colonel’s family. So I am strongly inclined to hope for the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he expect to be accepted by the regiment again, after such an insult to Colonel Forster? What tempts him is not great enough for such a risk.”

“Do you really think so?” cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.

“Upon my word,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “I begin to agree with your uncle. It would be too great an offence against decency, honour and his own interest for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very badly of Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, give him up so completely as to believe him capable of it?”

“Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But I can believe him capable of every other neglect. If only it should be so! But I dare not hope it. If that were the case, why would they not go on to Scotland?”

“In the first place,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is no absolute proof that they have not gone to Scotland.”

“Oh! but their moving from the chaise into a hackney coach is such a strong sign! And besides, no traces of them were found on the Barnet road.”

“Well, then—suppose they are in London. They may be there only to hide, and for no worse purpose. It is not likely that either of them has much money. And it might occur to them that they could marry more cheaply in London than in Scotland, though less quickly.”

“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of being found? Why must their marriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely. His closest friend, you see from Jane’s account, was sure that he never meant to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia? What attractions has she, except youth, health and good humour? Could they make him give up, for her sake, every chance of gaining by a good marriage? Fear of disgrace in the regiment might hold him back from a dishonourable elopement with her. I cannot judge how far it would, because I know nothing of the effects such a step might have. But as for your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly stand. Lydia has no brothers to step forward. And he might judge from my father’s behaviour. My father is lazy, and he has always seemed to pay little attention to what happens in his family. So Wickham might imagine that *he* would do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could in such a matter.”

“But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but her love for him? Would she agree to live with him on any other terms than marriage?”

“It does seem so,” replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes. “And it is very shocking indeed that one could doubt a sister’s sense of decency and virtue on such a point. But really, I do not know what to say. Perhaps I am not being fair to her. But she is very young. She has never been taught to think about serious things. And for the last half year—no, for a whole year—she has given herself up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to spend her time in the most idle and silly way. And she has been allowed to take up any opinions that came her way. Since the ——shire were first stationed in Meryton, she has had nothing in her head but love, flirting and officers. By thinking and talking about it, she has done everything she could to make her feelings more—what shall I call it?—more easily stirred. And they are lively enough by nature. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of looks and manner that can win a woman’s heart.”

“But you see that Jane,” said her aunt, “does not think so badly of Wickham as to believe him capable of such an attempt.”

“Of whom does Jane ever think badly? And whatever anyone has done in the past, would she believe them capable of such an attempt before it was proved against them? But Jane knows as well as I do what Wickham really is. We both know that he has lived a wild, wasteful life in every sense of the word. We know that he has neither honesty nor honour. We know that he is as false and deceitful as he is smooth and flattering.”

“And do you really know all this?” cried Mrs. Gardiner. She was very curious to know how Elizabeth had learnt it.

“I do, indeed,” replied Elizabeth, blushing. “I told you the other day about his shameful behaviour to Mr. Darcy. And you yourself heard how he spoke of the man who had treated him with such patience and generosity. That was when you were last at Longbourn. And there are other things which I am not free to—which are not worth telling. But his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was fully ready to see a proud, reserved, unpleasant girl. Yet he himself knew the opposite. He must know that she is as pleasant and modest as we have found her.”

“But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she not know what you and Jane seem to understand so well?”

“Oh, yes!—that, that is the worst of all. Until I was in Kent, and saw so much of both Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I did not know the truth myself. And when I came home, the ——shire was going to leave Meryton in a week or a fortnight. Because of that, neither Jane, to whom I told everything, nor I thought it necessary to make our knowledge public. What use could it be to anyone, it seemed, to destroy the good opinion that all the neighbourhood had of him at that time? And then it was settled that Lydia would go with Mrs. Forster. Even then, I never thought it necessary to open her eyes to his character. It never entered my head that *she* could be in any danger from his deceit. You can easily believe that I never imagined that such a result as *this* could follow.”

“When they all moved to Brighton, then, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe they were fond of each other.”

“Not the slightest. I can remember no sign of affection on either side. And if anything of the kind had been visible, you must know that ours is not a family where it would go unnoticed. When he first joined the regiment, she was ready enough to admire him. But so were we all. Every girl in or near Meryton was mad about him for the first two months. But he never paid *her* any special attention. So after a moderate period of wild and excessive admiration, her fancy for him passed. Other officers of the regiment, who paid her more attention, became her favourites again.”

They talked about this interesting subject again and again. As is easy to believe, they could add little that was new to their fears, hopes and guesses. But no other subject could keep them away from it for long during the whole journey. It never left Elizabeth’s thoughts. It was fixed there by the sharpest of all pain, blaming herself. She could find no moment of ease or forgetting.

They travelled as fast as possible. They slept one night on the road and reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth that Jane could not have been tired out by a long wait.

The little Gardiners had been attracted by the sight of a chaise. They were standing on the steps of the house as the carriage entered the paddock. When it drove up to the door, joyful surprise lit up their faces. It showed itself in their whole bodies, as they jumped and skipped about in all kinds of ways. This was the first pleasant sign of their welcome.

Elizabeth jumped out. She gave each of them a quick kiss and hurried into the hall. There Jane, who came running downstairs from her mother’s room, met her at once.

Elizabeth hugged her lovingly, while tears filled the eyes of both. She did not lose a moment in asking whether anything had been heard of the runaways.

“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now that my dear uncle has come, I hope everything will be well.”

“Is my father in town?”

“Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote to you.”

“And have you heard from him often?”

“We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived safely. He also gave me his address, which I had especially asked him to do. He only added that he would not write again till he had something important to tell.”

“And my mother—how is she? How are you all?”

“My mother is fairly well, I hope, though she is very much shaken. She is upstairs, and will be very glad to see you all. She does not leave her dressing-room yet. Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven! are quite well.”

“But you—how are you?” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale. How much you must have gone through!”

Her sister, however, assured her that she was perfectly well. Their conversation had taken place while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were busy with their children. Now it was ended by the arrival of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt. She welcomed and thanked them both, smiling and crying in turn.

When they were all in the drawing-room, the others of course asked the same questions that Elizabeth had already asked. They soon found that Jane had no news to give. But her kind heart still gave her a cheerful hope of good, and it had not left her yet. She still expected that it would all end well. She thought every morning would bring some letter, from Lydia or from her father, to explain what they were doing. Perhaps it would announce the marriage.

After a few minutes of talk together, they all went to Mrs. Bennet’s room. She received them exactly as might be expected. She cried and complained with regret. She attacked Wickham’s wicked behaviour, and complained of her own sufferings and ill treatment. She blamed everybody except the person whose foolish spoiling was the main cause of her daughter’s mistakes.

“If I had been able,” she said, “to get my way and go to Brighton with all my family, *this* would not have happened. But poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her out of their sight? I am sure they were very careless in some way. She is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to take care of her. But I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child! And now Mr. Bennet has gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham wherever he meets him. And then he will be killed, and what will become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out before he is cold in his grave. And if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do.”

They all cried out against such terrible ideas. Mr. Gardiner assured her in general of his love for her and all her family. Then he told her that he meant to be in London the very next day. He would help Mr. Bennet in every effort to get Lydia back.

“Do not give way to useless alarm,” he added. “It is right to be prepared for the worst, but there is no reason to think it is certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few more days we may get some news of them. Till we know that they are not married, and do not plan to marry, let us not give the matter up as lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother. I shall make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we can discuss together what is to be done.”

“Oh! my dear brother,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that is exactly what I would most wish for. And now, when you get to town, do find them, wherever they may be. And if they are not married already, *make* them marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for those. Tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she likes to buy them, after they are married. And above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in—that I am frightened out of my wits. Tell him I have such tremblings, such flutterings all over me. I have such spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at my heart. So I can get no rest by night or by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to give any orders about her clothes till she has seen me. She does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know you will manage it all.”

Mr. Gardiner assured her again that he would try his hardest. But he could not help advising her to be moderate, in her hopes as well as her fears. He talked with her in this way till dinner was on the table. Then they left her to pour out all her feelings to the housekeeper, who looked after her while her daughters were away.

Her brother and sister-in-law believed that there was no real need for her to stay away from the family like this. But they did not try to stop it. They knew that she did not have enough sense to keep quiet in front of the servants while they waited at table. They thought it better that only *one* person in the household should know all her fears and worries about the matter. And it should be the one they could trust most.

In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty. Both had been too busy in their own rooms to appear before. One came from her books, and the other from dressing. The faces of both, however, were fairly calm. No change could be seen in either, except in Kitty’s voice, which sounded more irritable than usual. This came from the loss of her favourite sister, or from the anger she herself had earned in the business. As for Mary, she was calm enough to whisper to Elizabeth, with a look of serious thought, soon after they sat down at table:

“This is a most unfortunate affair, and it will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation.”

Then, seeing that Elizabeth did not want to reply, she added, “Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson. Loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable. One false step brings her to endless ruin. Her reputation is as easily broken as it is beautiful. And she cannot be too careful in her behaviour towards the undeserving members of the other sex.”

Elizabeth looked up in amazement, but she was too weighed down to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to comfort herself with moral lessons of this kind, drawn from the evil in front of them.

In the afternoon the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be alone for half an hour. Elizabeth at once used the chance to ask many questions, and Jane was just as eager to answer them. Together they grieved over the dreadful end that this event seemed to promise. Elizabeth thought this end was almost certain. Miss Bennet could not say it was completely impossible. Then Elizabeth went on, “But tell me everything about it that I have not already heard. Give me more details. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no fears of anything before the elopement happened? They must have seen them together all the time.”

“Colonel Forster did admit that he had often suspected some liking, especially on Lydia’s side, but nothing to alarm him. I am so sorry for him. His behaviour was as attentive and kind as it could be. He *was* coming to us to tell us of his concern, before he had any idea that they had not gone to Scotland. When that fear first spread, it made him hurry his journey.”

“And was Denny sure that Wickham would not marry? Did he know they planned to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?”

“Yes. But when *he* questioned him, Denny said he knew nothing of their plan, and he would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his belief that they would not marry. And from *that*, I am inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before.”

“And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you had any doubt, I suppose, that they were really married?”

“How could such an idea enter our heads! I felt a little uneasy—a little fearful for my sister’s happiness with him in marriage. This was because I knew that his behaviour had not always been quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that. They only felt how unwise a match it must be. Then Kitty admitted that Lydia’s last letter had prepared her for such a step. She felt a very natural triumph at knowing more than the rest of us. It seems she had known for many weeks that they were in love with each other.”

“But not before they went to Brighton?”

“No, I believe not.”

“And did Colonel Forster seem to think badly of Wickham himself? Does he know his real character?”

“I must admit that he did not speak as well of Wickham as he used to. He believed him to be unwise and wasteful with money. And since this sad affair happened, people say that he left Meryton deeply in debt. But I hope this may be false.”

“Oh, Jane, if we had been less secret, if we had told what we knew of him, this could not have happened!”

“Perhaps it would have been better,” replied her sister. “But it seemed wrong to expose anyone’s past faults without knowing what their feelings were now. We acted with the best intentions.”

“Could Colonel Forster tell you the details of Lydia’s note to his wife?”

“He brought it with him for us to see.”

Jane then took it out of her pocket-book and gave it to Elizabeth. These were the contents:

“My dear Harriet,

“You will laugh when you know where I have gone. And I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise tomorrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton. For there is only one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so I think it no harm to be off. You need not send word to Longbourn of my going, if you do not want to. It will make the surprise greater when I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Please make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my promise to dance with him tonight. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows everything. And tell him I will dance with him at the next ball where we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn. But I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great tear in my worked muslin gown before they are packed. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

“Your affectionate friend,

“Lydia Bennet.”

“Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!” cried Elizabeth when she had finished it. “What a letter to write at such a moment! But at least it shows that *she* was serious about the purpose of her journey. Whatever he might persuade her to do afterwards, on her side it was not a *plan* of shame. My poor father! How he must have felt it!”

“I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for a full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill at once, and the whole house was in such confusion!”

“Oh! Jane,” cried Elizabeth, “was there a single servant in the house who did not know the whole story before the end of the day?”

“I do not know. I hope there was. But it is very difficult to be careful at such a time. My mother was in hysterics. I tried to give her every help I could, but I am afraid I did not do as much as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen almost took away my powers of thinking.”

“Looking after her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh! if only I had been with you! You have had every care and worry on yourself alone.”

“Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every tiring task, I am sure. But I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much that her hours of rest should not be disturbed. My aunt Philips came to Longbourn on Tuesday, after my father went away. She was so good as to stay with me till Thursday. She was a great help and comfort to us all. And Lady Lucas has been very kind. She walked here on Wednesday morning to express her sympathy. She offered her help, or the help of any of her daughters, if they could be of use to us.”

“She had better have stayed at home,” cried Elizabeth. “Perhaps she *meant* well. But in such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too little of one’s neighbours. Help is impossible; sympathy is unbearable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied.”

She then went on to ask what her father had planned to do in town to get his daughter back.

“He meant, I believe,” replied Jane, “to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses. He wanted to see the postilions and try to learn something from them. His main aim must be to discover the number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come from London with a passenger. He thought people might have noticed a gentleman and lady moving from one carriage into another. So he meant to make enquiries at Clapham. If he could somehow learn the house where the coachman had set down his earlier passenger, he was determined to ask there. He hoped it might not be impossible to find out the coach’s stand and number. I do not know of any other plans he had made. But he was in such a hurry to leave, and so upset, that I had difficulty finding out even this much.”

### Glossary

- **hackney coach**: a carriage with a driver that anyone could pay to ride in, like a taxi.
- **paddock**: a small field near a house, where horses are kept.
- **warehouses**: large shops or stores where cloth and other goods were sold.
- **stem the tide of malice**: stop the flood of unkind talk (Mary’s grand way of speaking).
- **bosom**: an old word for the chest, or for the heart and feelings.
- **balm**: something soft that heals pain; comfort.
- **irretrievable**: lost for ever; impossible to get back.
- **simpleton**: a foolish, stupid person.
- **muslin**: a thin, fine cotton cloth used for dresses.
- **postilions**: men who ride one of the horses pulling a carriage, to guide them.

## Chapter 48

The whole family hoped for a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning. But the post came, and it did not bring a single line from him. His family knew that on all ordinary occasions he was a very careless and slow letter-writer. But at such a time, they had hoped he would make an effort. They had to conclude that he had no good news to send. But they would have been glad to be certain even of *that*. Mr. Gardiner had waited only for the letters, and then he left.

When he was gone, they were at least sure of getting regular news of what was happening. At parting, their uncle promised to persuade Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn as soon as he could. This was a great comfort to his sister. She thought it was the only way to make sure that her husband was not killed in a duel.

Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to stay in Hertfordshire a few days longer. She thought her presence might be useful to her nieces. She helped them look after Mrs. Bennet, and she was a great comfort to them in their free hours. Their other aunt also visited them often. She always came, as she said, to cheer them up and give them courage. But she never came without reporting some new story of Wickham’s wasteful spending or bad behaviour. So she seldom went away without leaving them sadder than she found them.

All Meryton seemed to be trying to blacken the name of this man. Only three months before, he had been almost an angel of light. People said that he owed money to every shopkeeper in the town. His love affairs were all given the name of seduction, and people said they had reached every shopkeeper’s family. Everybody said that he was the wickedest young man in the world. And everybody began to discover that they had always distrusted his appearance of goodness. Elizabeth did not believe more than half of what was said. But she believed enough to make her even more certain that her sister was ruined. Even Jane, who believed still less of it, became almost hopeless. This was especially because enough time had now passed. If the couple had gone to Scotland, the family would probably have had some news by now. Until now, Jane had never completely given up hope of that.

Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday. On Tuesday his wife received a letter from him. It told them that he had immediately found Mr. Bennet when he arrived. He had persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street. Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham before Mr. Gardiner arrived, but he had not found any useful information. Now he was determined to ask at all the main hotels in London. He thought the couple might have gone to one of them when they first came to London, before they found rooms. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this plan. But Mr. Bennet was eager to try it, so Mr. Gardiner meant to help him with it. He added that at present Mr. Bennet seemed completely unwilling to leave London. He promised to write again very soon. There was also a postscript, which said this:

“I have written to Colonel Forster. I have asked him to question some of the young man’s close friends in the regiment, if possible. He should learn whether Wickham has relations or friends who would probably know where in London he is now hiding. If there was anyone we could ask, with a chance of getting such a clue, it might be very important. At present we have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do everything in his power to help us on this point. But, on second thoughts, perhaps Lizzy could tell us better than anyone else what relations he has now living.”

Elizabeth understood very well where this respect for her knowledge came from. But she could not give any information as useful as the compliment deserved.

She had never heard that he had any relations except a father and mother. Both of them had been dead for many years. But it was possible that some of his friends in the ——shire might be able to give more information. She did not have much hope of it. But the request to Colonel Forster was at least something to look forward to.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of worry. But the most anxious part of each day was the time when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was the first great object of every morning’s impatience. Whatever good or bad news there was would come through letters. And they expected every new day to bring some important news.

But before they heard from Mr. Gardiner again, a letter arrived for their father from a different place. It was from Mr. Collins. Jane had been told to open all the letters that came for her father while he was away. So she read it. Elizabeth knew what strange things his letters always were. She looked over Jane’s shoulder and read it too. It said this:

“My dear Sir,

“We are relations, and I have my position in life. Because of this, I feel I must share in the terrible sorrow you are now suffering. We heard of it yesterday in a letter from Hertfordshire. Be sure, my dear Sir, that Mrs. Collins and I sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family in your present distress. It must be of the bitterest kind, because it comes from a cause that no time can remove. I will not fail to offer any argument that can make so severe a misfortune lighter, or that may comfort you. For this must be, of all things, the most painful to a parent’s mind. The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison with this. And it is all the more to be regretted for this reason. There is reason to believe, as my dear Charlotte tells me, that your daughter’s immoral behaviour came from a faulty degree of indulgence. At the same time, to comfort you and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own character must be naturally bad. Otherwise she could not be guilty of such a terrible wrong at so young an age. However that may be, you are greatly to be pitied. Mrs. Collins shares this opinion with me. So do Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have told the affair. They agree with me in fearing that this false step of one daughter will harm the chances of all the others. For who, as Lady Catherine herself says with great condescension, will connect themselves with such a family? And this thought also makes me remember a certain event of last November with even greater satisfaction. For if things had gone differently, I would have been involved in all your sorrow and shame. Let me advise you, then, my dear Sir, to comfort yourself as much as possible. Throw off your unworthy child from your love for ever, and leave her to suffer the results of her own wicked crime.

“I am, dear Sir, etc. etc.”

Mr. Gardiner did not write again until he had received an answer from Colonel Forster. And then he had nothing pleasant to tell. Nobody knew of a single relation of Wickham’s with whom he kept in contact. And it was certain that he had no close relation still alive. He had once had many acquaintances. But since he had been in the militia, he did not seem to be a particular friend of any of them. So there was no one who could be named as likely to give any news of him. His money troubles were terrible, and this gave him a very strong reason for secrecy. This was besides his fear of being found by Lydia’s relations. For it had just become known that he had left gambling debts behind him, and they were very large. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would be needed to pay what he owed at Brighton. He owed a good deal to people in the town, but his debts of honour were even bigger. Mr. Gardiner did not try to hide these details from the Longbourn family. Jane heard them with horror. “A gamester!” she cried. “This is completely unexpected. I had no idea of it.”

Mr. Gardiner added in his letter that they could expect to see their father at home on the next day. That was Saturday. All their efforts had failed, and Mr. Bennet had lost heart. So he had agreed to his brother-in-law’s request that he should return to his family. He would leave it to Mr. Gardiner to do whatever seemed best for continuing their search. When Mrs. Bennet was told this, she did not show as much satisfaction as her children expected. They had expected more, after all her worry about his life before.

“What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia!” she cried. “Surely he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is going to fight Wickham and make him marry her, if he comes away?”

Mrs. Gardiner was beginning to wish to be at home. So it was arranged that she and her children would go to London. They would go at the same time as Mr. Bennet came back from it. The carriage therefore took them on the first stage of their journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.

Mrs. Gardiner went away still puzzled about Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend. She had been puzzled ever since they left that part of the country. Her niece had never mentioned his name in front of them of her own free will. Mrs. Gardiner had half expected that a letter from him would follow them, but this had come to nothing. Since her return, Elizabeth had received no letter that could have come from Pemberley.

The present unhappy state of the family made any other excuse for her low spirits unnecessary. So nothing could fairly be guessed from *that*. But by this time Elizabeth understood her own feelings quite well. She knew perfectly well that if she had known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the fear of Lydia’s shame a little better. It would have saved her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.

When Mr. Bennet arrived, he seemed as calm and philosophical as usual. He said as little as he had always been in the habit of saying. He did not mention the business that had taken him away. It was some time before his daughters had the courage to speak of it.

It was not until the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that Elizabeth dared to bring up the subject. She briefly said that she was sorry for what he must have suffered. He replied, “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.”

“You must not be too hard on yourself,” replied Elizabeth.

“You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so ready to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me feel once in my life how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overcome by the feeling. It will pass away soon enough.”

“Do you think they are in London?”

“Yes. Where else could they be so well hidden?”

“And Lydia used to want to go to London,” added Kitty.

“She is happy, then,” said her father drily. “And she will probably stay there for quite some time.”

Then, after a short silence, he continued, “Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being proved right in your advice to me last May. Considering what has happened, that shows some greatness of mind in me.”

They were interrupted by Jane, who came to fetch her mother’s tea.

“This is a show,” he cried, “which does one good. It gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same. I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can. Or perhaps I may wait until Kitty runs away.”

“I am not going to run away, Papa,” said Kitty crossly. “If *I* ever went to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.”

“*You* go to Brighton! I would not trust you as near to it as East Bourne, not for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have learnt at last to be careful, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, or even to pass through the village. Balls will be completely forbidden, unless you dance with one of your sisters. And you are never to go out of the house until you can prove one thing. You must prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a sensible way.”

Kitty took all these threats seriously, and she began to cry.

“Well, well,” he said, “do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them.”

### Glossary

- **duel**: a fight with guns or swords between two men, to settle a question of honour
- **seduction**: persuading a woman to have a sexual relationship, often with false promises
- **postscript**: a short extra note added at the end of a letter, after the name
- **indulgence**: letting a child do or have whatever she wants
- **condescension**: kindness from a person of high rank to a person of lower rank (Mr. Collins uses it as praise)
- **gamester**: a person who gambles a lot
- **debts of honour**: money lost in gambling, which a gentleman was expected to pay
- **powdering gown**: a loose gown worn at home, once used while hair was powdered
- **review**: an official show where soldiers march in front of important people

## Chapter 49

Two days after Mr. Bennet’s return, Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house. They saw the housekeeper coming towards them. They thought she was coming to call them to their mother, so they went forward to meet her. But when they reached her, she did not call them as they expected. Instead she said to Jane, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you. But I hoped you might have had some good news from London, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”

“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from London.”

“Dear madam,” cried Mrs. Hill in great surprise, “don’t you know that an express has come for the master from Mr. Gardiner? The messenger has been here for half an hour, and the master has had a letter.”

The girls ran off, too eager to get inside to have time to speak. They ran through the entrance hall into the breakfast room, and from there to the library. Their father was in neither room. They were about to look for him upstairs with their mother, when they met the butler. He said,

“If you are looking for my master, ma’am, he is walking towards the little copse.”

When they heard this, they at once went through the hall again. They ran across the lawn after their father. He was walking at an unhurried pace towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.

Jane was not as light as Elizabeth, and not as used to running. She soon fell behind. Her sister, out of breath, caught up with him and eagerly cried out,

“Oh, Papa, what news? What news? Have you heard from my uncle?”

“Yes, I have had a letter from him by express.”

“Well, and what news does it bring? Good or bad?”

“What good can we expect?” he said, taking the letter from his pocket. “But perhaps you would like to read it.”

Elizabeth impatiently took it from his hand. Jane now came up.

“Read it aloud,” said their father, “for I hardly know myself what it is about.”

“Gracechurch-street, Monday, August 2.

“My dear Brother,

“At last I am able to send you some news of my niece. On the whole, I hope it will satisfy you. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was lucky enough to find out in what part of London they were. I will keep the details until we meet. It is enough to know that they have been found. I have seen them both——”

“Then it is as I always hoped,” cried Jane. “They are married!”

Elizabeth read on: “I have seen them both. They are not married, and I cannot find that they ever intended to be. But if you are willing to keep the promises which I have dared to make for you, I hope they will be married before long. All that you have to do is this. By a settlement, you must promise your daughter her equal share of the five thousand pounds. This money is secured for your children after the death of yourself and my sister. Also, you must agree to give her one hundred pounds a year during your life. Considering everything, I did not hesitate to accept these conditions for you, as far as I thought I had the right. I shall send this by express, so that no time is lost in getting your answer. You will easily understand from these details that Mr. Wickham’s situation is not as hopeless as people generally believe. People have been wrong about that. And I am happy to say that there will be a little money to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune, even when all his debts are paid. I expect that you will send me full power to act in your name in this whole business. If you do, I will at once tell Haggerston to prepare a proper settlement. There will not be the smallest need for you to come to London again. So stay quietly at Longbourn, and trust in my hard work and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can, and be careful to write clearly. We have decided that it is best for my niece to be married from this house, and I hope you will approve. She is coming to us today. I shall write again as soon as anything more is decided. Yours, etc.

“Edw. Gardiner.”

“Is it possible!” cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. “Can it be possible that he will marry her?”

“Wickham is not so unworthy, then, as we have thought him,” said her sister. “My dear father, I congratulate you.”

“And have you answered the letter?” said Elizabeth.

“No; but it must be done soon.”

Then she begged him very seriously not to lose any more time before he wrote.

“Oh! my dear father,” she cried, “come back and write at once. Think how important every moment is in such a case.”

“Let me write for you,” said Jane, “if you do not like the trouble yourself.”

“I dislike it very much,” he replied, “but it must be done.”

And with these words he turned back with them and walked towards the house.

“And may I ask—?” said Elizabeth. “But I suppose the terms must be accepted.”

“Accepted! I am only ashamed that he asks so little.”

“And they *must* marry! Yet he is *such* a man!”

“Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there are two things that I want very much to know. One is how much money your uncle has paid out to bring it about. And the other is how I am ever going to pay him back.”

“Money! My uncle!” cried Jane. “What do you mean, Sir?”

“I mean that no man in his right mind would marry Lydia for so small a temptation. One hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone!”

“That is very true,” said Elizabeth, “though I had not thought of it before. His debts paid, and something still left over! Oh! it must be my uncle’s doing! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has put himself in difficulty. A small sum could not do all this.”

“No,” said her father. “Wickham’s a fool if he takes her with a single penny less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so badly of him at the very beginning of our relationship.”

“Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How could even half such a sum be paid back?”

Mr. Bennet made no answer. Each of them was deep in thought, and they stayed silent until they reached the house. Their father then went to the library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

“And they are really going to be married!” cried Elizabeth, as soon as they were alone. “How strange this is! And for *this* we must be thankful. Their chance of happiness is small, and his character is terrible. But we are forced to be glad that they will marry! Oh, Lydia!”

“I comfort myself with this thought,” replied Jane. “He certainly would not marry Lydia if he did not really care for her. Our kind uncle has done something towards clearing his debts. But I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been paid. He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare even half of ten thousand pounds?”

“If we are ever able to learn what Wickham’s debts have been,” said Elizabeth, “and how much he is settling on our sister, we shall know exactly what Mr. Gardiner has done for them. For Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be repaid. They have taken her into their home and given her their own protection and support. That is such a sacrifice for her good that years of gratitude cannot thank them enough. By now she is actually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt!”

“We must try to forget everything that has happened on both sides,” said Jane. “I hope and trust that they will still be happy. I will believe that his agreeing to marry her proves he has begun to think in the right way. Their love for each other will make them steady. And I like to hope that they will settle down quietly and live sensibly. Then in time their past foolishness may be forgotten.”

“Their behaviour has been such,” replied Elizabeth, “that neither you, nor I, nor anybody can ever forget it. It is useless to talk of it.”

Now the girls realised that their mother very probably knew nothing at all of what had happened. So they went to the library and asked their father whether he wanted them to tell her. He was writing, and without raising his head, he replied coolly,

“Just as you please.”

“May we take my uncle’s letter to read to her?”

“Take whatever you like, and get away.”

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet, so one telling would do for everyone. They prepared her a little for good news, and then the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly control herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner’s hope that Lydia would soon be married, her joy burst out. Every following sentence made it wilder. She was now as violently excited by delight as she had ever been restless from fear and worry. It was enough for her to know that her daughter would be married. She had no fear for Lydia’s happiness. And no memory of Lydia’s bad behaviour made her feel humble.

“My dear, dear Lydia!” she cried. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her! And to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about them at once. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father and ask him how much he will give her. Wait, wait, I will go myself. Ring the bell for Hill, Kitty. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!”

Her eldest daughter tried to calm these wild feelings a little. She turned her mother’s thoughts to how much they all owed Mr. Gardiner for his behaviour.

“For we must thank his kindness,” she added, “for a great part of this happy ending. We are sure that he has promised to help Mr. Wickham with money.”

“Well,” cried her mother, “that is all quite right. Who should do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children would have had all his money, you know. And this is the first time we have ever had anything from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a short time I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds. And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am so excited that I am sure I can’t write. So I will tell you what to say, and you write for me. We will settle the money with your father afterwards. But the things should be ordered at once.”

She then began on all the details of calico, muslin and cambric. She would soon have dictated some very large orders, if Jane had not stopped her. With some difficulty, Jane persuaded her to wait until her father was free to be asked. One day’s delay, Jane said, would not matter much. And her mother was too happy to be quite as stubborn as usual. Other plans came into her head too.

“I will go to Meryton,” she said, “as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister Philips. And on my way back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. A drive in the fresh air would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married. And you shall all have a bowl of punch to celebrate at her wedding.”

Mrs. Hill at once began to express her joy. Elizabeth received her congratulations with the rest. Then, sick of this foolishness, she escaped to her own room so that she could think freely.

Poor Lydia’s situation must, at best, be bad enough. But Elizabeth had reason to be thankful that it was no worse. She felt this. Looking forward, she could not fairly expect either sensible happiness or worldly success for her sister. But looking back to what they had feared only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had gained.

### Glossary

- **shrubbery**: a part of a garden planted with bushes, with paths to walk on
- **express**: a very fast, urgent letter carried by a special rider
- **copse**: a small group of trees; a little wood
- **paddock**: a small field near a house, often for horses
- **settlement**: a legal agreement about money for a wife and children
- **sixpence**: a small coin; “not sixpence” means no money at all
- **calico, muslin and cambric**: kinds of cotton or linen cloth used for clothes
- **punch**: a drink of wine or spirits mixed with fruit juice and spices, served from a big bowl

## Chapter 50

Before this time of his life, Mr. Bennet had very often wished that he had not spent his whole income. He wished he had saved a sum every year to provide better for his children. He also wished it for his wife, if she lived longer than him. He now wished it more than ever. If he had done his duty in that way, Lydia would not now be in her uncle’s debt. She would not owe him for whatever honour or good name could now be bought for her. One of the most worthless young men in Great Britain had been persuaded to be her husband. The satisfaction of this might then have rested in its proper place.

A cause of so little benefit to anyone was being paid for by his brother-in-law alone. He was seriously worried about this. He was determined to find out, if possible, how much Mr. Gardiner had helped. And he was determined to pay back the debt as soon as he could.

When Mr. Bennet first married, saving money was thought to be completely unnecessary. For of course they were going to have a son. This son would join his father in cutting off the entail as soon as he came of age. In that way, the widow and younger children would be provided for. Five daughters were born, one after another, but still the son did not come. For many years after Lydia’s birth, Mrs. Bennet had been sure that he would. At last they gave up hope of this. But by then it was too late to start saving. Mrs. Bennet had no talent for saving money. Only her husband’s love of independence had stopped them from spending more than their income.

Five thousand pounds had been settled on Mrs. Bennet and the children by the marriage articles. But how it should be divided among the children depended on the wishes of the parents. This was one point which now had to be settled, at least for Lydia. And Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation in agreeing to the plan in front of him. He thanked his brother gratefully for his kindness, though in very few words. Then on paper he gave his complete approval of all that had been done. He also said that he was willing to keep the promises that had been made for him. He had never before imagined that, if Wickham could be persuaded to marry his daughter, it would cost him so little. He would hardly lose ten pounds a year by the hundred that was to be paid to them. There was her food and her pocket money. And there were the constant presents of money which reached her through her mother’s hands. With all these, Lydia had already been costing him very nearly that sum.

It was another very welcome surprise that it would be done with so little effort on his side. For at present his chief wish was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. His first violent anger had made him active in looking for her. When it was over, he naturally went back to all his old laziness. His letter was soon sent off. He was slow to begin business, but he was quick to finish it. He asked to know more details of what he owed his brother. But he was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.

The good news quickly spread through the house, and just as quickly through the neighbourhood. The neighbours bore it with decent philosophy. Of course it would have been better for conversation if Miss Lydia Bennet had ended up as a woman of the streets. Or, as the happiest choice, if she had been shut away from the world in some distant farmhouse. But there was still much to talk about in her marriage. All the spiteful old ladies in Meryton had earlier wished her well in their good-natured way. Their wishes lost little of their spirit after this change. For with such a husband, her misery was thought to be certain.

Mrs. Bennet had not been downstairs for a fortnight. But on this happy day she again took her seat at the head of her table. Her spirits were so high that they were tiring to others. No feeling of shame spoiled her triumph. Since Jane was sixteen, the marriage of a daughter had been the first aim of her wishes. Now it was about to happen. Her thoughts and her words were all about the things that go with an elegant wedding. These were fine muslins, new carriages and servants. She was busy searching the neighbourhood for a suitable house for her daughter. She did not know or think about what their income might be. And she rejected many houses as too small or not grand enough.

“Haye-Park might do,” she said, “if the Gouldings would leave it. Or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger. But Ashworth is too far away! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me. And as for Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.”

Her husband let her talk on without interrupting her while the servants were in the room. But when they had gone, he spoke to her. “Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or all of these houses for your son and daughter, let us understand each other. There is *one* house in this neighbourhood which they shall never enter. I will not encourage the shameless behaviour of either of them by receiving them at Longbourn.”

A long argument followed. But Mr. Bennet was firm, and it soon led to another argument. Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would not give a single guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He declared that she would receive no sign of love at all from him on this occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly understand it. Without new clothes, her daughter’s marriage would hardly seem real. His anger had gone so far that he would refuse his daughter even this. That was beyond everything Mrs. Bennet could believe possible. She felt strongly the disgrace that a wedding without new clothes would bring on her daughter. She felt it much more than any shame at Lydia’s elopement, and at her living with Wickham for a fortnight before the wedding.

Elizabeth was now very sorry that, in the distress of that moment, she had told Mr. Darcy of their fears for her sister. Lydia’s marriage would so soon bring a proper end to the elopement. So they might hope to hide its bad beginning from all those who had not been close by.

She had no fear that the story would spread further through him. There were few people whose secrecy she would trust more. But at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of her sister’s weakness would have hurt her pride so much. This was not because she feared any harm from it to herself. For in any case, there seemed to be a gulf between them that could not be crossed. Even if Lydia had married on the most honourable terms, nobody could expect Mr. Darcy to connect himself with such a family. To every other objection there would now be added a very close relationship. He would be related to the man whom he so rightly despised.

She could not wonder that he would draw back from such a connection. In Derbyshire she had felt sure that he wished to win her love. But no sensible person could expect that wish to survive such a blow as this. She was humbled, she was sad; she was sorry, though she hardly knew for what. She became jealous of his good opinion, when she could no longer hope to benefit from it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of getting news. She was sure that she could have been happy with him, when they were no longer likely to meet.

What a triumph it would be for him, she often thought, if he could know this! Only four months ago she had proudly refused his proposal. Now she would have accepted it gladly and gratefully! She did not doubt that he was as generous as the most generous of men. But as long as he was human, there must be a triumph.

She now began to understand that he was exactly the man who, in character and talents, would suit her best. His mind and temper were unlike her own, but they would have answered all her wishes. It would have been a union to the advantage of both. Her ease and liveliness might have softened his mind and improved his manners. And from his judgment, his knowledge and his experience of the world, she would certainly have gained something of greater importance.

But now no such happy marriage could teach the admiring crowd what married happiness really was. A union of a different kind was soon to be made in their family, and it made the other one impossible.

She could not imagine how Wickham and Lydia were going to live with any reasonable independence. They had only come together because their passions were stronger than their virtue. She could easily guess how little lasting happiness such a couple could have.

Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to Mr. Bennet. He answered Mr. Bennet’s thanks briefly. He said that he was eager to help any member of his family. And he ended by begging that the subject should never be mentioned to him again. The main purpose of his letter was to tell them that Mr. Wickham had decided to leave the militia.

“It was very much my wish that he should do so,” he added, “as soon as his marriage was settled. And I think you will agree with me that leaving that corps is very wise. It is wise both for his sake and for my niece’s. Mr. Wickham intends to go into the regulars. Among his former friends, there are still some who are able and willing to help him in the army. He has the promise of a place as an ensign in General ——’s regiment, which is now stationed in the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of the country. He makes good promises. They will be among different people, where they will each have a good name to keep. There, I hope, they will both be more sensible. I have written to Colonel Forster to tell him of our present arrangements. I have asked him to assure Mr. Wickham’s various creditors in and near Brighton that they will soon be paid. I have given my word for this. And will you take the trouble to give the same promise to his creditors in Meryton? I shall add a list of them below, as he has given it to me. He has told us all his debts; I hope at least that he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our instructions, and everything will be finished in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to Longbourn. I understand from Mrs. Gardiner that my niece wishes very much to see you all before she leaves the South. She is well, and she sends her respectful greetings to you and her mother. Yours, etc.

“E. Gardiner.”

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham’s leaving the ——shire as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could. But Mrs. Bennet was not so pleased with it. She had by no means given up her plan that they should live in Hertfordshire. Now Lydia was to settle in the North, just when Mrs. Bennet had expected most pleasure and pride in her company. This was a great disappointment. Besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she knew everybody. She had so many favourites there.

“She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,” she said. “It will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ——’s regiment.”

Lydia wished to be received by her family again before she set off for the North. This could be seen as a request. At first her father refused it absolutely. But Jane and Elizabeth both wished her parents to take notice of her marriage. They wished it for the sake of their sister’s feelings and position. So they begged him to receive her and her husband at Longbourn as soon as they were married. They asked so earnestly, and yet so sensibly and so gently, that he was persuaded. He came to think as they thought, and to act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing that she could show her married daughter in the neighbourhood. She could do it before Lydia was sent away to the North. So when Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, he gave his permission for them to come. It was arranged that they should go to Longbourn as soon as the wedding was over. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should agree to such a plan. If she had thought only of her own wishes, any meeting with him would have been the last thing she wanted.

### Glossary

- **entail**: a legal rule that lets only a male relative inherit the house and land
- **come of age**: to reach the age (then twenty-one) when a person is legally an adult
- **marriage articles**: a legal agreement about money, made when a couple marries
- **decent philosophy**: a calm, polite way of accepting news (said here with irony)
- **woman of the streets**: a woman who has lost her good name and lives by selling her body
- **guinea**: a gold coin worth a little more than one pound
- **attics**: small rooms at the top of a house, under the roof
- **corps**: a group of soldiers; here, the militia regiment
- **regulars**: the regular army, not the militia
- **creditors**: people to whom someone owes money

## Chapter 51

Their sister’s wedding day arrived. Jane and Elizabeth probably felt more for her than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet the couple at ——, and it was to bring them back by dinner-time. The two elder Miss Bennets dreaded their arrival. Jane especially was miserable when she thought of what her sister must suffer. For she gave Lydia the feelings that she herself would have had, if *she* had been the guilty one.

They came. The family had gathered in the breakfast room to receive them. Mrs. Bennet’s face was full of smiles as the carriage drove up to the door. Her husband looked deeply serious, and nobody could read anything in his face. Her daughters were alarmed, anxious and uneasy.

Lydia’s voice was heard in the entrance hall. The door was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forward, hugged her and welcomed her with delight. She gave her hand with a loving smile to Wickham, who followed his lady. She wished them both joy so eagerly that she clearly had no doubt of their happiness.

Then they turned to Mr. Bennet, and his welcome was not quite so warm. His face became even more severe, and he hardly opened his lips. The easy confidence of the young couple was indeed enough to make him angry. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Jane was shocked. Lydia was still Lydia: untamed, unashamed, wild, noisy and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, asking for their congratulations. When at last they all sat down, she looked eagerly round the room. She noticed some small change in it, and said with a laugh that it was a long time since she had been there.

Wickham was not at all more uncomfortable than she was. But his manners were always so pleasing. If his character and his marriage had been exactly what they should be, his smiles would have delighted them all. So would his easy way of speaking, as he claimed them as his new relations. Elizabeth had not believed before that he could be quite so bold. But she sat down and decided that in future she would set no limits to the shamelessness of a shameless man. *She* blushed, and Jane blushed. But the cheeks of the two people who caused their discomfort did not change colour at all.

There was plenty of talk. Neither the bride nor her mother could talk fast enough. Wickham happened to sit near Elizabeth. He began asking after the people he knew in the neighbourhood. He did it with a good-humoured ease which she felt quite unable to match in her replies. They each seemed to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing in the past was remembered with pain. And Lydia herself led the talk to subjects which her sisters would not have mentioned for the world.

“Only think, it is three months,” she cried, “since I went away! I declare it seems only a fortnight. And yet plenty of things have happened in that time. Good gracious! When I went away, I am sure I had no idea of being married before I came back! Though I thought it would be very good fun if I was.”

Her father raised his eyes. Jane was upset. Elizabeth gave Lydia a meaningful look. But Lydia never heard or saw anything that she chose not to notice. She cheerfully went on, “Oh! mamma, do the people around here know I am married today? I was afraid they might not. We passed William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he should know it. So I let down the side window next to him, and took off my glove. I let my hand just rest on the window frame so that he might see the ring. And then I bowed and smiled like anything.”

Elizabeth could not bear it any longer. She got up and ran out of the room. She did not come back until she heard them passing through the hall to the dining-parlour. Then she joined them, soon enough to see Lydia walk up to her mother’s right hand with eager show. And she heard her say to her eldest sister, “Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman.”

Nobody could suppose that time would give Lydia the embarrassment that she had been so completely free of at first. Her ease and good spirits grew. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases and all their other neighbours, and to hear each of them call her “Mrs. Wickham.” In the meantime, after dinner she went to show her ring to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids, and to boast of being married.

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

“Very true; and if I had my way, we would. But my dear Lydia, I don’t like your going so far away at all. Must it be so?”

“Oh, lord! yes. There is nothing in that. I shall like it more than anything. You and papa and my sisters must come and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all winter, and I dare say there will be some balls. I will take care to get good partners for them all.”

“I should like it more than anything!” said her mother.

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

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

Their visitors were to stay no more than ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

Nobody but Mrs. Bennet was sorry that their stay would be so short. She made the most of the time by visiting people with her daughter, and by having very frequent parties at home. These parties were welcome to everyone. Those who did think wanted to avoid a family circle even more than those who did not.

Wickham’s love for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it: not equal to Lydia’s love for him. She hardly needed to watch them now. From the logic of things, she was already sure that their elopement had come from the strength of her love rather than his. Without caring for her very strongly, why had he chosen to run away with her at all? She would have wondered about this, if she had not felt certain of the reason. His flight had been made necessary by his money troubles. And if that was so, he was not the young man to refuse a chance of having a companion.

Lydia was extremely fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion; nobody could be compared with him. He did everything best in the world. And she was sure that he would shoot more birds on the first of September than anybody else in the country.

One morning, soon after they arrived, she was sitting with her two elder sisters, and she said to Elizabeth,

“Lizzy, I never gave *you* an account of my wedding, I think. You were not there when I told mamma and the others all about it. Aren’t you curious to hear how it was managed?”

“No, really,” replied Elizabeth. “I think the less said on the subject, the better.”

“La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went. We were married, you know, at St. Clement’s, because Wickham’s lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o’clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together, and the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off. And then I should have gone quite mad. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear more than one word in ten. For I was thinking, as you can imagine, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat.

“Well, and so we had breakfast at ten as usual. I thought it would never be over. For, by the way, you must understand that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you’ll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party, or plan, or anything. To be sure, London was rather empty, but still, the little Theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away on business to that horrid man, Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there is no end to it. Well, I was so frightened that I did not know what to do. For my uncle was to give me away. And if we were later than the hour, we could not be married all day. But luckily he came back again in ten minutes, and then we all set out. However, I remembered afterwards that if he *had* been prevented from going, the wedding need not have been put off. For Mr. Darcy might have done as well.”

“Mr. Darcy!” repeated Elizabeth, in complete amazement.

“Oh, yes! He was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!”

“If it was meant to be a secret,” said Jane, “say not another word on the subject. You can be sure I will not ask any more.”

“Oh! certainly,” said Elizabeth, though she was burning with curiosity. “We will ask you no questions.”

“Thank you,” said Lydia, “for if you did, I would certainly tell you everything, and then Wickham would be angry.”

With such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth had to make it impossible for herself, by running away.

But to stay ignorant about such a thing was impossible. Or at least, it was impossible not to try to find out. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister’s wedding. It was exactly the kind of scene, and exactly the kind of people, where he seemed to have least business and least wish to go. Quick, wild guesses about the meaning of it rushed into her mind, but none of them satisfied her. The ones that pleased her best, because they showed his conduct in the noblest light, seemed the least likely. She could not bear such uncertainty. She quickly took a sheet of paper and wrote a short letter to her aunt. She asked for an explanation of what Lydia had let slip, if that was possible with the secrecy that had been intended.

“You can easily understand,” she added, “how curious I must be about this. A person who has no connection with any of us, and is (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our family, was among you at such a time. How did this happen? Please write at once, and let me understand it. Unless, for very strong reasons, it must stay as secret as Lydia seems to think necessary. In that case I must try to be satisfied with not knowing.”

“Not that I *shall* be, though,” she added to herself, as she finished the letter. “And my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable way, I shall certainly be forced to use tricks and stratagems to find it out.”

Jane’s delicate sense of honour would not let her speak to Elizabeth privately about what Lydia had let slip. Elizabeth was glad of it. Until she knew whether her questions would be answered, she would rather be without a confidante.

### Glossary

- **untamed, unashamed**: wild and not controlled; not feeling any shame
- **curricle**: a light, fast, open carriage with two wheels, pulled by two horses
- **commission**: a position as an army officer, usually bought
- **elopement**: running away secretly to get married
- **lodgings**: rooms rented in someone else’s house
- **parish**: the area that has its own church and clergyman
- **give me away**: at a wedding, to lead the bride to the man she will marry
- **stratagems**: clever tricks or plans to get what you want
- **confidante**: a person you trust and tell your secrets to

## Chapter 52

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as quickly as possible. As soon as she had it, she hurried into the little copse, where she was least likely to be disturbed. 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 refusal.

“Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.

“My dear niece,

“I have just received your letter, and I shall spend this whole morning answering it. I can see that a *little* writing will not hold all that I have to tell you. I must admit that your request surprised me. I did not expect it from *you*. Don’t think I am angry, however. I only mean to let you know that I had not imagined such questions would be necessary on *your* side. If you choose not to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as surprised as I am. Nothing but the belief that you were one of the people concerned would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and know nothing, I must speak more plainly.

“On the very day I came home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him for several hours. It was all over before I arrived. So my curiosity was not so terribly tortured as *yours* seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were. He had seen and talked with them both: Wickham several times, Lydia once. From what I can gather, he left Derbyshire only one day after us. He came to London determined to hunt for them. The reason he gave was this. He was convinced that it was his own fault that Wickham’s worthlessness had not been better known. If it had been known well enough, no young woman of good character could have loved or trusted him. He generously blamed it all on his own mistaken pride. He admitted that before, he had thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. So he called it his duty to step forward and try to put right an evil which he himself had caused. If he *had another* motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him.

“He had been in London some days before he was able to find them. But he had something to guide his search, which was more than *we* had. Knowing this was another reason for his decision to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy. She was dismissed from her post because of something that was disapproved of, though he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street, and has lived since then by letting rooms. He knew that this Mrs. Younge was a close friend of Wickham’s. So he went to her for news of him as soon as he got to London. But it was two or three days before he could get from her what he wanted. I suppose she would not betray her trust without bribery and corruption. For she really did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham had indeed gone to her when they first arrived in London. If she had been able to take them into her house, they would have stayed with her. At last, however, our kind friend got the address he wanted. They were in —— street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.

“His first aim with her, he admitted, had been to persuade her to leave her present shameful situation. He wanted her to return to her friends, as soon as they could be persuaded to receive her. And he offered his help, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely determined to stay where she was. She cared for none of her friends. She wanted no help from him. She would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they would be married some time or other, and it did not much matter when. Since she felt like this, he thought there was nothing left to do but to secure a marriage and make it happen quickly. In his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt that marriage had never been *his* plan. Wickham admitted that he had been forced to leave the regiment because of some very pressing debts of honour. He did not hesitate to blame all the bad results of Lydia’s flight on her own foolishness alone. He meant to give up his commission at once. As to his future, he could guess very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he would have nothing to live on.

“Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister at once. Mr. Bennet was not thought to be very rich, but he would have been able to do something for him. And marriage would have improved his situation. But in reply to this question, Mr. Darcy found that Wickham still hoped to make his fortune better by marrying in some other country. In such circumstances, however, he was not likely to resist the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times, for there was much to discuss. Wickham of course wanted more than he could get. But at last he was brought to be reasonable.

“When everything was settled between *them*, Mr. Darcy’s next step was to tell your uncle about it. He first called at Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen. On further enquiry, Mr. Darcy found that your father was still with him, but would leave London the next morning. He did not think your father was a person he could consult as properly as your uncle. So he readily put off seeing your uncle until after your father had left. He did not leave his name. Until 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 was 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 think, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real fault in 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. And yet I am sure that your uncle would most gladly have settled the whole thing. (I do not say this to be thanked, so say nothing about it.) They fought it out together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or the lady concerned deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to give in. He was not allowed to be of use to his niece. Instead, he had to put up with only having the credit that people would probably give him for it. This went very much against his wishes. I really believe your letter this morning gave him great pleasure. For it needed an explanation that would take away his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due.

“But, Lizzy, this must go no further than you, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid, and I believe they come to a good deal more than a thousand pounds. Another thousand is to be settled on *her*, in addition to her own money. And his commission is to be bought. The reason why all this was to be done by Mr. Darcy alone is the one I have given above. It was his fault, because of his reserve and his lack of proper thought, that Wickham’s character had been so misunderstood. And so Wickham had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in *this*. But I doubt whether *his* reserve, or *anybody’s* reserve, can be responsible for what happened. But in spite of all this fine talk, my dear Lizzy, you may be perfectly sure of one thing. Your uncle would never have given in, if we had not believed that Mr. Darcy had *another interest* in the affair.

“When all this was decided, he went back 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. All the money matters were then to be finally completed. I believe I have now told you everything. You tell me that this story will surprise you greatly. I hope at least that it will not displease you.

“Lydia came to us, and Wickham was always allowed into the house. *He* was exactly what he had been when I knew him in Hertfordshire. But I learnt from Jane’s letter last Wednesday that Lydia behaved in exactly the same way when she came home. If I had not learnt this, I would not tell you how little I liked *her* behaviour here. So what I tell you now can give you no new pain. I talked to her again and again in the most serious way. I showed 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 angry. But then I remembered my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes I was patient with her.

“Mr. Darcy came back at the time he had promised, and as Lydia told you, he was at the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave London again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this chance to say how much I like him? I was never bold enough to say it before. His behaviour to us has been, in every way, as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His understanding and opinions all please me. He needs nothing but a little more liveliness. And *that*, if he marries *wisely*, his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly; he hardly ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems to be the fashion.

“Please forgive me if I have been too bold. Or at least do not punish me so far as to shut me out of P. I shall never be quite happy until I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me for half an hour. Yours, very sincerely,

“M. Gardiner.”

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of feelings. It was hard to say whether pleasure or pain had the greater share. Uncertainty had given her vague and unsettled suspicions. She had wondered what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to help her sister’s marriage. She had been afraid to encourage these suspicions, because such an act of goodness seemed too great to be likely. At the same time, she had dreaded that they might be true, because of the pain of owing him so much. Now they were proved true, even beyond their greatest extent! He had followed them to London on purpose. He had taken on himself all the trouble and humiliation of such a search. In it, he had had to beg for help from a woman whom he must hate and despise. He had been forced to meet, often meet, reason with, persuade and finally bribe the man he always most wished to avoid. It was a punishment to him even to say that man’s name. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither respect nor think well of. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But this hope was soon checked by other thoughts. She soon felt that even her vanity was not enough for this. She was a woman who had already refused him. Could his love for her overcome a feeling as natural as disgust at being related to Wickham? Even her vanity could not believe it. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must turn away from such a connection.

He had certainly done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, and it did not ask for any great effort of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong. He was generous, and he had the means to act generously. She would not think of herself as his main reason. But she could perhaps believe that some remaining fondness for her might have helped his efforts. After all, her peace of mind was closely concerned in this cause. It was painful, very painful, to know that they owed so much to a person whom they could never repay. They owed him Lydia’s return, her good name, everything. Oh! how deeply she now regretted every unkind feeling she had ever allowed herself. And how she regretted every cheeky speech she had ever made to him! For herself she was humbled, but she was proud of him. She was proud that in a cause of pity and honour, he had been able to conquer himself. She read her aunt’s praise of him again and again. It was hardly enough, but it pleased her. She even felt some pleasure, though mixed with regret, when she saw how firmly both her aunt and uncle had believed that there was love and trust between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The sound of someone coming made her get up from her seat and broke off her thoughts. Before she could turn into another path, Wickham caught up with her.

“I am afraid I am interrupting your lonely walk, my dear sister?” he said, as he joined her.

“You certainly are,” she replied with a smile, “but that does not mean the interruption must be unwelcome.”

“I should be sorry indeed if it were. *We* were always good friends, and now we are better.”

“True. Are the others coming out?”

“I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going to Meryton in the carriage. And so, my dear sister, I hear from our uncle and aunt that you have actually seen Pemberley.”

She said that she had.

“I almost envy you the pleasure. And yet I believe it would be too much for me, or else I could visit it on 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 you had—not turned out well. At such a distance as *that*, you know, things are strangely misrepresented.”

“Certainly,” he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him. But soon afterwards he said,

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

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

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

“Yes; he introduced us to his sister.”

“And do you like her?”

“Very much.”

“I have heard, indeed, that she has improved unusually in the last year or two. When I last saw her, she did not promise much. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well.”

“I dare say she will. She has got past the most difficult age.”

“Did you go through the village of Kympton?”

“I do not remember that we did.”

“I mention it because it is the living which I ought to have had. A most delightful place! An excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited me in every way.”

“How would you have liked writing sermons?”

“Very much indeed. I would have thought of it as part of my duty, and soon the effort would have been nothing. One ought not to complain. But, to be sure, it would have been such a good thing for me! The quiet and the retirement of such a life would have matched all my ideas of happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the matter, when you were in Kent?”

“I *have* heard from a source which I thought *as good*, that it was left to 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 writing sermons was not so much to your taste as it seems to be now. I heard that you actually declared you would never take orders, and that the matter had been settled by an agreement because of this.”

“You did! And it was not completely without truth. You may remember what I told you on that point, when we first talked of it.”

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast to get rid of him. For her sister’s sake, she did not want to make him angry. So she only answered 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 how to look, and they went into the house.

### Glossary

- **impertinence**: rude boldness
- **governess**: a woman who teaches and looks after children in a rich family’s home
- **bribery and corruption**: giving someone money so that they do something dishonest
- **obstinate / obstinacy**: not willing to change your mind; stubbornness
- **borrowed feathers**: praise or credit that really belongs to someone else
- **phaeton**: a light, open carriage pulled by one or two horses
- **flutter**: a state of nervous excitement
- **gallantry**: polite, charming behaviour of a man towards a woman
- **conditionally**: only if certain conditions are met
- **take orders**: to become a clergyman

## Chapter 53

Mr. Wickham was so completely satisfied with this conversation that he never brought up the subject again. So he never troubled himself again, or annoyed his dear sister Elizabeth, with 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. Mrs. Bennet had to accept the separation. Her husband did not agree at all with her plan that they should all go to Newcastle. So the separation was likely to last at least a year.

“Oh! my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when shall we meet again?”

“Oh, lord! I don’t know. Not for two or three years, perhaps.”

“Write to me very often, my dear.”

“As often as I can. But you know, married women never have much time for writing. My sisters may write to *me*. They will have nothing else to do.”

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

“He is as fine a fellow as I ever saw,” said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house. “He smiles in a silly way, and smirks, and flatters every one of us. I am enormously proud of him. I challenge 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,” she said, “that there is nothing as bad as parting with one’s friends. One feels so lost and lonely without them.”

“This is the result of marrying a daughter, you see, Madam,” said Elizabeth. “It must make you more satisfied that your other four are single.”

“It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married. She leaves me only because her husband’s regiment happens to be so far away. If it had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.”

But she did not stay long in the low, lifeless state that this event put her in. Soon her mind opened again to the excitement of hope, because of a piece of news that then began to go around. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for her master. He was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was very restless. She looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head, one after the other.

“Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,” (for Mrs. Philips was the first to bring 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 still, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes. And who knows what *may* happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to say a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?”

“You may be sure of it,” replied the other. “Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night. I saw her passing by, and I went out myself on purpose to learn the truth of it. And she told me that it was certainly 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 some meat for Wednesday. And she has got three pairs of ducks, just ready to be killed.”

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing colour. For many months she had not mentioned his name to Elizabeth. But now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,

“I saw you look at me today, Lizzy, when my aunt told us the news. And I know I looked upset. But don’t imagine it was for any silly reason. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that people *would* look at me. I do assure you that the news gives me neither pleasure nor pain. I am glad of one thing: that he comes alone, because we shall see less of him. Not that I am afraid of *myself*, but I dread other people’s remarks.”

Elizabeth did not know what to think of it. If she had not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have thought he could come there with no other purpose than the one he admitted. But she still thought he was fond of Jane. And she could not decide which was more likely: that he came *with* his friend’s permission, or that he was 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 rented, without causing all this guessing! I *will* leave him to himself.”

Jane said that she felt calm while she waited for his arrival, and she really believed it. But in spite of this, Elizabeth could easily see that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed and more changeable than she had often seen them.

About a year ago, their parents had argued warmly about one subject. Now this subject came up again.

“As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you will call on him, of course.”

“No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised that if I went to see him, he would marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool’s errand again.”

His wife explained to him how absolutely necessary such a polite visit would be from all the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, when Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield.

“It is a rule of good manners that I despise,” said he. “If he wants our company, let him look for it. He knows where we live. I will not spend *my* hours running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again.”

“Well, all I know is that it will be terribly rude if you do not call on him. But still, that shan’t stop me from asking him to dine here. I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at the table for him.”

This decision comforted her, so she could bear her husband’s rudeness better. But it was very painful to know that, because of it, her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley before *they* did. As the day of his arrival came nearer, Jane spoke to her sister.

“I begin to be sorry that he is coming at all,” said Jane. “It would be nothing. I could see him with perfect indifference. But I can hardly bear to hear it talked about all the time like this. My mother means well. But she does not know, no one can know, how much I suffer from what she says. How happy I shall be when his stay at Netherfield is over!”

“I wish I could say anything to comfort you,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is completely out of my power. You must feel it. And I cannot have the usual pleasure of preaching patience to a sufferer, because you always have so much.”

Mr. Bingley arrived. With the help of servants, Mrs. Bennet managed to get the earliest news of it. In this way her time of worry and fussing could last as long as possible. She counted the days that had to pass before they could send their invitation. She had no hope of seeing him before then. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window. He came into the paddock and rode towards the house.

Her daughters were eagerly called to share her joy. Jane firmly kept her place at the table. But Elizabeth, to please her mother, went to the window. She looked—she saw Mr. Darcy with him—and she sat down again by her sister.

“There is a gentleman with him, mamma,” said Kitty. “Who can it be?”

“Some friend or other, my dear, I suppose. I am sure I do not know.”

“La!” replied Kitty. “He looks just like that man who used to be with him before. Mr. what’s-his-name. That tall, proud man.”

“Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!—and so it is, I declare. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome here, of course. But otherwise I must say that I hate the very sight of him.”

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew very little about their meeting in Derbyshire. So she felt for her sister, who must feel awkward seeing him almost for the first time since his letter of explanation. Both sisters were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for herself. Their mother talked on about her dislike of Mr. Darcy. She said she had decided to be polite to him only as Mr. Bingley’s friend. But neither of her daughters heard her. Elizabeth had reasons for unease that Jane could not suspect. She had never yet had the courage to show Jane Mrs. Gardiner’s letter. Nor had she told her how her own feelings towards him had changed. To Jane, he could only be a man whose proposal Elizabeth had refused, and whose good qualities she had valued too little. But Elizabeth knew much more. To her, he was the person to whom the whole family owed the greatest of all favours. And her own interest in him, if not quite so tender as Jane’s feeling for Bingley, was at least as reasonable and just. She was astonished at his coming—at his coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and looking for her again of his own free will. Her astonishment was almost as great as when she first saw his changed behaviour in Derbyshire.

The colour had left her face. Now it came back for half a minute, with an extra glow, and a smile of delight made her eyes shine. For that short time she thought that his love and his wishes must still be unchanged. But she would not let herself feel sure.

“Let me first see how he behaves,” she said. “It will be early enough to hope then.”

She sat busy with her needlework, trying to stay calm. She did not dare to lift up her eyes. But as the servant came towards the door, anxious curiosity made her look at her sister’s face. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but calmer than Elizabeth had expected. When the gentlemen appeared, her colour rose. Yet she received them quite easily. Her behaviour was correct, and showed no sign of resentment and no unnecessary wish to please.

Elizabeth said as little to either of them as politeness allowed. She sat down again to her needlework, with an eagerness that it did not often get from her. She had risked only one look at Darcy. He looked serious, as usual. She thought he looked more as he used to look in Hertfordshire than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But perhaps, in her mother’s presence, he could not be what he had been with her uncle and aunt. It was a painful idea, but not an unlikely one.

She had also seen Bingley for a moment. In that short time she saw that he looked both pleased and embarrassed. Mrs. Bennet received him with so much politeness that her two daughters were ashamed. They felt it especially when they compared it with the cold and formal politeness of her curtsey and her words to his friend.

Elizabeth was especially hurt and upset by this badly placed difference. It gave her great pain. She knew that her mother owed it to Darcy that her favourite daughter had been saved from a disgrace that could never be put right.

Darcy asked her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were. She could not answer this question without confusion. After that he said hardly anything. He was not seated next to her; perhaps that was the reason for his silence. But it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends when he could not talk to her. But now several minutes passed without the sound of his voice. Sometimes she could not resist her curiosity, and she raised her eyes to his face. Each time she found him looking at Jane as often as at herself, and often at nothing but the ground. He clearly showed more thoughtfulness, and less wish to please, than when they last met. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for being disappointed.

“Could I expect it to be any different!” she said. “Yet why did he come?”

She was in no mood for conversation with anyone but him. And to him she hardly had the courage to speak.

She asked about his sister, but could do no more.

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

He readily agreed.

“I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People *did* say that you meant to leave the place completely at Michaelmas. But still, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And so is 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 only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet.’ There was not a word about her father, or the place where she lived, or anything. And it was my brother Gardiner who wrote it out. I wonder how he came to make such a clumsy job of it. Did you see it?”

Bingley replied that he had, and gave his congratulations. Elizabeth did not dare to lift up her eyes. So she could not tell how Mr. Darcy looked.

“It is a delightful thing, of course, to have a daughter well married,” her mother went on. “But at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a long way from me. They have gone down to Newcastle, a place quite far to the north, it seems. And there they are to stay, I do not know how long. His regiment is there. I suppose you have heard that he has left the ——shire, and gone into the regulars. Thank Heaven! He has *some* friends, though perhaps not as many as he deserves.”

Elizabeth knew that this was aimed at Mr. Darcy. She felt such misery and shame that she could hardly stay in her seat. But it made her speak, and nothing else had done that so well before. She asked Bingley whether he meant to stay in the country for some time now. A few weeks, he believed.

“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,” said her mother, “I beg you to come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet’s land. I am sure he will be very happy to do you the favour. He will save all the best of the coveys for you.”

Elizabeth’s misery grew at such unnecessary, such pushy attention! A year ago they had been flattered by the same bright hopes. If those hopes appeared again now, she was sure that everything would hurry towards the same annoying end. At that moment she felt that years of happiness could not make up to Jane or to herself for moments of such painful embarrassment.

“The first wish of my heart,” she said to herself, “is never to be in company with either of them again. Their company can give no pleasure that will make up for misery like this! Let me never see either of them again!”

Yet years of happiness could offer no repayment for this misery. And still it was soon greatly relieved. She saw how much her sister’s beauty was waking again the admiration of her former lover. When he first came in, he had spoken to Jane only a little. But every five minutes he seemed to give her more of his attention. He found her as beautiful as she had been last year, as good-natured and as natural, though not quite so talkative. Jane was anxious that nobody should notice any difference in her at all. And she really believed that she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busy that she did not always know when she was silent.

When the gentlemen stood up to go, Mrs. Bennet remembered the politeness she had planned. They were invited to dine at Longbourn in a few days’ time, and they accepted.

“You owe me a visit, Mr. Bingley,” she added. “When you went to town last winter, you promised to have a family dinner with us as soon as you returned. I have not forgotten, you see. And I assure you, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your promise.”

Bingley looked a little silly at this remark. He said something about his regret at having been kept away by business. Then they went away.

Mrs. Bennet had wanted very much to ask them to stay and dine there that day. She always kept a very good table. But she did not think that anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom she had such anxious plans. Nor could less satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a year.

### Glossary

- **smirks**: smiles in a proud or silly way that is not nice.
- **flatters**: says nice things to someone that are not really true, to please them.
- **coveys**: small groups of birds, like partridges, that people shoot for sport.
- **fool’s errand**: a job or trip that is useless and has no result.
- **paddock**: a small field near a house, where horses are kept.
- **curtsey**: a small bow that a woman makes by bending her knees.
- **the regulars**: the regular army, not the militia.
- **Esq.**: short for “Esquire”, a polite word written after a gentleman’s name.
- **two courses**: two separate parts of a meal, each with many dishes.

## Chapter 54

As soon as they had gone, Elizabeth walked out to get back her good spirits. Or, in other words, she went out to think without interruption about the very things that must make her spirits even lower. Mr. Darcy’s behaviour astonished and annoyed her.

“Why did he come at all,” she said, “if he came only to be silent, serious and indifferent?”

She could find no answer to it that gave her pleasure.

“He could still be friendly, still pleasant, to my uncle and aunt when he was in town. So why not to me? If he is afraid of me, why come here? If he no longer cares for me, why is he silent? Teasing, teasing man! I will think no more about him.”

For a short time she kept this decision without meaning to, because her sister came towards her. Jane joined her with a cheerful look. It showed that she was more satisfied with their visitors than Elizabeth was.

“Now that this first meeting is over,” she said, “I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed by his coming again. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. Then everyone will see that, on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintances.”

“Yes, very indifferent indeed,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “Oh, Jane, take care.”

“My dear Lizzy, you cannot think I am so weak as to be in danger now.”

“I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever.”

They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday. In the meantime, Mrs. Bennet gave herself up to all her happy plans. Bingley’s good humour and ordinary politeness, in a visit of half an hour, had brought them all back to life.

On Tuesday a large party met at Longbourn. The two guests who were most anxiously expected came in very good time. This did credit to their punctuality as sportsmen. When everyone went into the dining-room, Elizabeth watched eagerly. Would Bingley take the place by her sister which had been his at all their earlier parties? Her careful mother had the same thoughts, so she did not invite him to sit by herself. As he came into the room, he seemed to hesitate. But Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was decided. He sat down by her.

With a feeling of triumph, Elizabeth looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference. She would have imagined that Bingley had received his permission to be happy, if she had not seen Bingley’s eyes also turn towards Mr. Darcy. They had a look of half-laughing alarm.

During dinner, Bingley’s behaviour to her sister showed that he admired her. He was more careful about it than before. But it persuaded Elizabeth that if he were left completely to himself, Jane’s happiness and his own would soon be made certain. She did not dare to depend on the result. Yet she still took pleasure in watching his behaviour. It gave her all the liveliness that her spirits could manage, because she was not in a cheerful mood. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her as the table allowed. He sat on one side of her mother. She knew how little either of them would enjoy this, and how little it would show either of them in a good light. She was not near enough to hear any of their talk. But she could see how seldom they spoke to each other. And whenever they did, their manner was formal and cold. Her mother’s rudeness made Elizabeth feel even more painfully what they owed him. At times she would have given anything for the right to tell him one thing. She wanted to tell him that the whole family knew of his kindness, and felt it.

She hoped that the evening would give them some chance to come together. She hoped the whole visit would not pass without some real conversation between them. She wanted more than the formal greeting when he came in. She felt anxious and uneasy. So the time in the drawing-room before the gentlemen came was so tiring and dull that it almost made her rude. She looked forward to the moment when they came in. All her chance of pleasure for the evening depended on that moment.

“If he does not come to me *then*,” she said, “I shall give him up for ever.”

The gentlemen came. She thought he looked as if he would answer her hopes. But, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth was pouring out the coffee. They sat in such a close group that there was not a single space near her for a chair. And as the gentlemen came near, 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 don’t want any of them, do we?”

Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with her eyes, and envied everyone he spoke to. She hardly had patience enough to give anybody coffee. And then she was furious with herself for being so silly!

“A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect his love to come back? Is there one man in the world who would not protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no shame that men hate more!”

She felt a little better, however, when he brought back his coffee cup himself. She took the chance to say,

“Is your sister still at Pemberley?”

“Yes, she will stay there till Christmas.”

“And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?”

“Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others went on to Scarborough three weeks ago.”

She could think of nothing more to say. But if he wished to talk with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for some minutes, in silence. At last the young lady whispered to Elizabeth again, and he walked away.

The tea things were taken away and the card tables were set out. The ladies all stood up, and Elizabeth was hoping that he would soon join her. But all her hopes were ruined. She saw him fall a victim to her mother’s greed for whist players. A few moments later he was seated with the rest of the party. She now lost every hope of pleasure. They were kept at different tables for the whole evening. She had nothing to hope for, except one thing. She hoped his eyes turned so often towards her side of the room that he played as badly as she did.

Mrs. Bennet had planned to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to supper. But unluckily their carriage was ordered before any of the others, and she had no chance to keep them.

“Well, girls,” she said, as soon as they were left to themselves, “what do you say to the day? I think everything went uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well cooked as any I ever saw. The venison was roasted perfectly, and everybody said they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucases’ last week. And even Mr. Darcy admitted that the partridges were remarkably well done. And I suppose he has two or three French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look more beautiful. Mrs. Long said so too, because 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 nicely behaved girls, and not at all handsome. I like them enormously.”

In short, Mrs. Bennet was in very high spirits. She had seen enough of Bingley’s behaviour to Jane to be sure that Jane would get him at last. When she was in a happy mood, her hopes of advantage for her family went far beyond reason. So she was quite disappointed not to see him there again the next day, to make his proposal.

“It has been a very pleasant day,” said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. “The party seemed so well chosen, so well suited to each other. I hope we may often meet again.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“Lizzy, you must not do that. You must not suspect me. It hurts me. I assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as a pleasant and sensible young man. I do not wish for anything more. From the way he behaves now, I am perfectly sure that he never had any plan to win my love. It is only that he has sweeter manners, and a stronger wish to please everyone, than any other man.”

“You are very cruel,” said her sister. “You will not let me smile, and yet you make me want to smile every moment.”

“How hard it is in some cases to be believed!”

“And how impossible in others!”

“But why should you want to persuade me that I feel more than I admit?”

“That is a question 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 insist on being indifferent, do not make *me* your confidante.”

### Glossary

- **indifferent**: not interested; having no special feelings for someone.
- **punctuality**: the habit of arriving at the right time.
- **sportsmen**: men who hunt and shoot birds or animals for pleasure.
- **triumph**: a happy feeling of having won.
- **alas**: an old word that shows you are sad or sorry about something.
- **whist**: a card game for four players.
- **venison**: the meat of a deer.
- **haunch**: the back leg and hip of an animal, cooked as meat.
- **partridges**: small brown birds that people shoot and eat.
- **confidante**: a person you tell your secrets and private feelings to.

## Chapter 55

A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but would return in ten days’ time. He sat with them for more than an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them. But, with many expressions of regret, he admitted that he had promised to dine somewhere else.

“Next time you call,” she said, “I hope we shall be luckier.”

He would be especially happy at any time, and so on, and so on. And if she would allow him, he would take an early chance to call on them.

“Can you come tomorrow?”

Yes, he had no engagement at all for tomorrow. And he accepted her invitation very eagerly.

He came, and so early that none of the ladies were dressed. Mrs. Bennet ran into her daughter’s room in her dressing gown, with her hair half done, crying out,

“My dear Jane, be quick and hurry down. He has come—Mr. Bingley has come. He has, indeed. Be quick, be quick. Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her dress. Never mind Miss Lizzy’s hair.”

“We will be down as soon as we can,” said Jane. “But I dare say Kitty is further on than either of us, because she went upstairs half an hour ago.”

“Oh! hang Kitty! What has she got to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! Where is your sash, my dear?”

But when her mother had gone, Jane could not be persuaded to go down without one of her sisters.

In the evening, the same anxious wish to get the two of them alone was clear again. After tea, Mr. Bennet went to the library, as he always did, and Mary went upstairs to her instrument. So two of the five obstacles were out of the way. Mrs. Bennet then sat looking and winking at Elizabeth and Catherine for quite a long time, but they did not react. Elizabeth would not notice her. When at last Kitty did, she said very innocently, “What is the matter, mamma? Why do you keep winking at me? What am I to do?”

“Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.” She then sat still for five minutes longer. But she could not waste such a precious chance. She suddenly got up and said to Kitty,

“Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,” and she took her out of the room. Jane at once gave Elizabeth a look. It showed her distress at such a planned trick, and her request that *she* would not go along with it. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,

“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.”

Elizabeth had to go.

“We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,” said her mother, as soon as Elizabeth was in the hall. “Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.”

Elizabeth did not try to reason with her mother. She stayed quietly in the hall till her mother and Kitty were out of sight. Then she went back into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Bennet’s plans for this day did not work. Bingley was everything that was charming, except the declared lover of her daughter. His easy and cheerful manner made him a most pleasant addition to their evening party. He put up with the mother’s badly judged interference. He listened to all her silly remarks with patience and a calm face. The daughter was especially grateful for this.

He hardly needed an invitation to stay for supper. And before he went away, it was arranged that he would come the next morning to shoot with her husband. This was arranged mainly by himself and Mrs. Bennet.

After this day, Jane said no more about her indifference. Not a word about Bingley passed between the sisters. But Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that everything must soon be settled, unless Mr. Darcy came back before the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt fairly sure that all this must have happened with that gentleman’s agreement.

Bingley was punctual for his appointment. He and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as they had agreed. Mr. Bennet was much more pleasant than Bingley had expected. There was nothing proud or foolish in Bingley that could make Mr. Bennet laugh at him, or disgust him into silence. And Mr. Bennet was more talkative and less strange than Bingley had ever seen him. Of course Bingley came back with him to dinner. In the evening Mrs. Bennet was again inventing ways to get everybody away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth had a letter to write, so she went into the breakfast room soon after tea to write it. The others were all going to sit down to cards, so she was not needed to work against her mother’s plans.

When her letter was finished, she went back to the drawing-room. There, to her very great surprise, she saw that there was reason to fear her mother had been too clever for her. On opening the door, she saw her sister and Bingley standing together by the fireplace, as if they were having a serious conversation. If this had not made her suspicious, their faces would have told her everything. They both turned round quickly and moved away from each other. *Their* situation was awkward enough. But she thought that *hers* was even worse. Neither of them said a word. Elizabeth was about to go away again, when Bingley suddenly stood up. Like Jane, he had sat down. He whispered a few words to her sister and ran out of the room.

Jane could keep no secrets from Elizabeth when sharing them would give pleasure. She hugged her at once. With the liveliest emotion, she told her 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 isn’t everybody as happy?”

Elizabeth congratulated her with a sincerity, a warmth and a delight which words could only poorly express. Every kind sentence was a new source of happiness to Jane. But for the moment she would not let herself stay with her sister, or say half of what was still to be said.

“I must go to my mother at once,” she cried. “I would not for anything make light of her loving care for me. And I would not let her hear it from anyone but myself. He has gone to my father already. Oh! Lizzy, to know that my news will give such pleasure to all my dear family! How shall I bear so much happiness!”

She then hurried away to her mother. Mrs. Bennet had broken up the card party on purpose, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth was left by herself. She now smiled at how quickly and easily the matter had finally been settled. It had given them so many months of uncertainty and annoyance before.

“And this,” she said, “is the end of all his friend’s anxious caution! of all his sister’s lies and tricks! the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!”

In a few minutes Bingley joined her. His talk with her father had been short and to the point.

“Where is your sister?” he said quickly, as he opened the door.

“With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.”

He then shut the door. He came up to her and claimed the good wishes and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and warmly told him how glad she was that they would be related. They shook hands with great friendliness. Then, until her sister came down, she had to listen to all he had to say about his own happiness and Jane’s perfections. He was a lover, of course. But in spite of this, Elizabeth really believed that all his hopes of happiness had a reasonable basis. They were based on Jane’s excellent mind and her even more excellent character. And they were based on a general likeness of feeling and taste between Jane and himself.

It was an evening of uncommon delight for them all. Jane’s happy mind gave her face such a glow of sweet liveliness that she looked more beautiful than ever. Kitty smiled in a silly way, and hoped that her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent or her approval in words warm enough to satisfy her feelings. Yet she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour. And when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner clearly showed how really happy he was.

But he did not say a word about it until their visitor had left for the night. As soon as Bingley had gone, he turned to his daughter and said,

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

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

“You are a good girl,” he replied, “and it gives me great pleasure to think that you will be so happily settled. I have no doubt that you will do very well together. Your characters are not at all unlike. You are each so ready to give way that nothing will ever be decided. You are so easy-going that every servant will cheat you. And you are so generous that you will always spend more than your income.”

“I hope not. Carelessness or thoughtlessness about money would be unforgivable in *me*.”

“Spend more than their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife, “what are you talking about? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely more.” Then she turned to her daughter. “Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I shan’t sleep a wink all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you would come together. Oh! he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!”

Wickham and Lydia were all forgotten. Jane was, without any competition, her favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger sisters soon began to ask Jane for things that would make them happy. In future she might be able to give them these things.

Mary asked for the use of the library at Netherfield. And Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

From this time on, Bingley was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn. He often came before breakfast, and always stayed till after supper. The only exception was when some cruel neighbour, who could never be hated enough, had invited him to dinner, and he thought he had to accept.

Elizabeth now had very little time to talk with her sister. While he was there, Jane had no attention to give to anyone else. But Elizabeth found that she was quite useful to both of them in the hours when they had to be apart. When Jane was away, he always kept close to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking about Jane. And when Bingley was gone, Jane always looked for the same kind of comfort.

“He has made me so happy,” she said one evening, “by telling me that he did not know at all that I was in town last spring! I had not believed it possible.”

“I suspected as much,” replied Elizabeth. “But how did he explain it?”

“It must have been his sister’s doing. They were certainly not in favour of his friendship with me. I cannot wonder at that, since he might have made a much better choice in many ways. But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be content. Then we shall be on good terms again, though we can never be to each other what we once were.”

“That is the most unforgiving speech,” said Elizabeth, “that I ever heard you make. Good girl! It would really annoy me to see you fooled again by Miss Bingley’s pretended friendship.”

“Would you believe it, Lizzy? When he went to town last November, he really loved me. Nothing but the belief that *I* did not care for him would have stopped him from coming back!”

“He made a little mistake, of course. But it does credit to his modesty.”

This naturally led Jane to praise him at length: his lack of confidence in himself, and the little value he put on his own good qualities.

Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not given away his friend’s interference. For though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, Elizabeth knew that this was something that must turn her against him.

“I am certainly the luckiest creature that ever lived!” cried Jane. “Oh! Lizzy, why am I chosen like this from all my family, and blessed more than all of them! If only I could see *you* as happy! If only there *were* another man like him for you!”

“If you gave me forty such men, I could never be as happy as you. Until I have your nature, your goodness, I can never have your happiness. No, no, let me look after myself. And perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet another Mr. Collins in time.”

The state of things in the Longbourn family could not stay a secret for long. Mrs. Bennet was allowed to whisper it to Mrs. Philips. And *she* dared, without any permission, to do the same to all her neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were quickly declared to be the luckiest family in the world. Yet only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away, it had been generally proved that they were marked out for misfortune.

### Glossary

- **hang Kitty!**: an old, rude way of saying “forget Kitty!” or “never mind Kitty!”.
- **sash**: a long, wide piece of cloth worn round the waist of a dress.
- **winking**: closing one eye quickly, as a secret sign to someone.
- **obstacles**: things or people that stop you from doing what you want.
- **interference**: trying to control things that are not your business.
- **punctual**: arriving at exactly the right time.
- **income**: the money that you receive every year.
- **modesty**: not thinking or talking too much about your own good qualities.
- **misfortune**: bad luck.

## Chapter 56

One morning, about a week after Bingley and Jane had become engaged, he and the women of the family were sitting together in the dining-room. Suddenly the sound of a carriage drew their attention to the window. They saw a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors. Besides, the carriage did not match that of any of their neighbours. The horses were post horses. And neither the carriage nor the livery of the servant who rode in front of it was familiar to them. But it was certain that somebody was coming. So Bingley at once persuaded Miss Bennet to avoid being shut in with such a visitor, and to walk away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off. The other three went on guessing, without much success, till the door was thrown open and their visitor came in. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Of course they had all intended to be surprised. But their astonishment was greater than they had expected. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty did not know her at all. Even so, their astonishment was less than what Elizabeth felt.

Lady Catherine came into the room looking even more unfriendly than usual. Her only answer to Elizabeth’s greeting was a slight nod of the head. She sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had told her mother the lady’s name when her ladyship came in, though nobody had asked for an introduction.

Mrs. Bennet was full of amazement. But she was flattered to have a guest of such high importance, and she received her with the greatest politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, Lady Catherine said very stiffly to Elizabeth,

“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother.”

Elizabeth replied very briefly that she was.

“And *that*, I suppose, is one of your sisters.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a Lady Catherine. “She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all was married not long ago. And my eldest is somewhere in 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,” Lady Catherine answered after a short silence.

“It is nothing compared with Rosings, my lady, I dare say. But I assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas’s.”

“This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in summer. The windows face full west.”

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner. And then she 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 her to bring out a letter for her from Charlotte. That seemed the only likely reason for her visit. But no letter appeared, and Elizabeth was completely puzzled.

Mrs. Bennet very politely begged her ladyship to take some refreshment. But Lady Catherine very firmly, and not very politely, refused to eat anything. Then she stood up and 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 the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.”

Elizabeth obeyed. She ran into her own room for her parasol, and then went downstairs with her noble guest. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and the drawing-room. After a short look, she declared them to be decent looking rooms, and walked on.

Her carriage stayed at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her lady’s maid was in it. They walked in silence along the gravel path that led to the copse. Elizabeth was determined to make no effort to talk with a woman who was now even ruder and more unpleasant than usual.

“How could I ever think she was like her nephew?” she said, as she looked in her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began like this:

“You cannot fail to understand, Miss Bennet, the reason for my journey here. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I have come.”

Elizabeth looked at her in real astonishment.

“Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been able at all to explain the honour of seeing you here.”

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship angrily, “you ought to know that I am not a person to be played with. But however insincere *you* may choose to be, you shall not find *me* so. My character has always been famous for its sincerity and frankness. And in a matter as important as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming kind reached me two days ago. I was told that your sister was about to make a very good marriage. And not only that: I was told that *you*, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would in all likelihood soon afterwards be united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. I *know* it must be a scandalous falsehood. I would not insult him so much as to suppose that it could be true. But I decided at once to set off for this place, so that I could make my feelings known to you.”

“If you believed it could not be true,” said Elizabeth, her face red with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What did your ladyship mean to do by it?”

“To insist at once that such a report should be denied by everyone.”

“Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,” said Elizabeth coolly, “will rather confirm it—if, indeed, such a report exists.”

“If! Do you then pretend not to know about it? Has it not been busily spread by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is going around everywhere?”

“I never heard that it was.”

“And can you also declare that there is no *foundation* for it?”

“I do not claim to be as frank as your ladyship. *You* may ask questions which *I* shall not choose to answer.”

“I will not put up with this. Miss Bennet, I insist on getting an answer. 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 still has the use of his reason. But *your* tricks and charms may, in a moment of foolish passion, 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 admit it.”

“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I am not used to language like this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world. I have the right to know all his most private concerns.”

“But you have no right to know *mine*. And behaviour like this will never make me speak openly.”

“Let me be clearly understood. This marriage, which you dare to hope for, 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, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,

“The engagement between them is of a special kind. Since they were babies, they have been meant for each other. It was the favourite wish of *his* mother, as well as of hers. While they were in their cradles, we planned the marriage. And now the wishes of both sisters would be fulfilled by their marriage. And at this very moment, it is to be prevented by a young woman of lower birth! By a young woman of no importance in the world, with no connection to the family at all! Do you pay no attention to the wishes of his friends? To his unspoken engagement with Miss De Bourgh? Have you lost every feeling of what is proper and decent? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was meant for his cousin?”

“Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? Suppose there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew. Then I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss De Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Whether it happened depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is not bound to his cousin by honour or by his own wishes, why should he not make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may I not accept him?”

“Because honour, good manners, good sense, and even interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest, for do not expect his family or friends to take any notice of you, if you act on purpose against the wishes of them all. You will be criticised, slighted and despised by everyone connected with him. Your marriage 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, which come with her position, that she could, on the whole, have no reason to complain.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Do you owe me nothing for that?

“Let us sit down. You must understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here firmly determined to get what I want. And nothing will persuade me to give it up. I am not used to giving in to any person’s wishes. I am not in the habit of accepting disappointment.”

“*That* will make your ladyship’s present situation more pitiable. But it will have no effect on *me*.”

“I will not be interrupted. Listen to me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are made for each other. On their mothers’ side, they come from the same noble family. And on their fathers’ side, they come from respectable, honourable and ancient families, though without titles. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. Every member of both their families says that they are meant for each other. And what is to divide them? The upstart claims of a young woman without family, connections or fortune. Is this to be put up with! But it must not, it shall not be. If you understood what was good for you, you would not wish to leave the circle in which you have been brought up.”

“In marrying your nephew, I should not think of myself as leaving that circle. 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 that I do not know about their position in life.”

“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?”

Elizabeth would not have answered this question just to please Lady Catherine. But after a moment’s thought she could not help saying,

“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 fool yourself into believing that I will ever give way. I shall not go away till you have given me the promise I demand.”

“And I certainly *never* shall give it. I will not be frightened into anything so completely unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter. But if I gave you the promise you wish for, would it make *their* marriage at all more likely? If he were attached to me, would *my* refusal of his hand make him wish to give it to his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that your arguments for this extraordinary request have been as silly as the request was badly judged. You have badly mistaken my character, if you think I can be moved by such persuasions as these. I cannot tell how far your nephew might approve of your interference in *his* affairs. But you certainly have no right to concern yourself in mine. So I must ask you not to trouble me any more on the subject.”

“Not so fast, if you please. I have not finished at all. To all the objections I have already made, I have still another to add. I know all the details of your youngest sister’s shameful elopement. I know it all. I know that the young man’s marrying her was a patched-up business, paid for by your father and uncles. And is *such* a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Is *her* husband, the son of his late father’s steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!—what are you thinking of? Are the shades of Pemberley to be polluted like this?”

“You can *now* have nothing more to say,” Elizabeth answered with resentment. “You have insulted me in every possible way. I must ask to return to the house.”

And she stood up as she spoke. Lady Catherine stood up too, and they turned back. Her ladyship was very angry.

“You have no regard, then, for the honour and good name of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not see that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?”

“Lady Catherine, I have nothing more to say. You know my feelings.”

“You are then resolved to have him?”

“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in the way that will, in my own opinion, make me happy. I will act without any regard for *you*, or for any person so completely unconnected with me.”

“Very well. You refuse, then, to do as I ask. 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 to make him the scorn of the world.”

“Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,” replied Elizabeth, “has any possible claim on me in this case. My marriage to Mr. Darcy would not break any of those principles. And as for the anger of his family, or the indignation of the world: if his family *were* angry because he married me, it would not worry me for one moment. 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 decision! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be satisfied. I came to test you. I hoped to find you reasonable. But you may be sure that I will have my way.”

Lady Catherine talked on like this till they were at the door of the carriage. Then she turned round quickly and 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. She did not try to persuade her ladyship to come back into the house, but walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she went upstairs. Her mother met her impatiently at the door of the dressing-room. She wanted to know why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest.

“She did not choose to,” said her daughter. “She would go.”

“She is a very fine-looking woman! And her calling here was extremely polite! For she only came, I suppose, to tell us that the Collinses were well. She is on her way somewhere, I dare say. So, passing through Meryton, she thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth had to tell a little falsehood here, because it was impossible to admit what their conversation had really been about.

### Glossary

- **chaise and four**: a closed carriage pulled by four horses.
- **livery**: the special uniform worn by the servants of one rich family.
- **shrubbery**: a part of a garden with many bushes and paths.
- **a little wilderness**: a wild-looking part of a garden, with trees and paths.
- **take a turn**: go for a short walk.
- **parasol**: a light umbrella that protects you from the sun.
- **copse**: a small group of trees; a little wood.
- **hermitage**: a small, simple building in a garden, made to look like a hermit’s hut.
- **slighted**: treated as if you are not important.
- **upstart**: a person who has just risen in the world and acts too proudly.
- **the shades of Pemberley**: the old, shady woods and grounds of Pemberley; Lady Catherine means the proud old home of Darcy’s family.
- **falsehood**: a lie.

## Chapter 57

This extraordinary visit left Elizabeth’s mind deeply disturbed, and she could not easily get over it. For many hours she could not stop thinking about it. It seemed that Lady Catherine had really taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings for one single purpose. She had come to break off Elizabeth’s supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a sensible plan, to be sure! But Elizabeth could not imagine where the report of their engagement had come from. Then she remembered that *he* was the close friend of Bingley, and *she* was the sister of Jane. The hope of one wedding made everybody eager for another. At such a time, that was enough to give people the idea. She herself had not forgotten that her sister’s marriage must bring them together more often. She concluded that the report had reached Lady Catherine through the Lucases’ contact with the Collinses. So her neighbours at Lucas Lodge had only taken one thing as almost certain and immediate. *She* herself had looked forward to it as possible at some future time.

But as she thought over Lady Catherine’s words, she could not help feeling some uneasiness. What might happen if Lady Catherine went on with this interference? She had spoken of her determination to prevent their marriage. From this, Elizabeth thought she must be planning to speak to her nephew. And how might *he* take a similar description of the evils of a connection with her? Elizabeth did not dare to say. She did not know exactly how fond he was of his aunt, or how much he depended on her judgment. But it was natural to suppose that he thought much more highly of her ladyship than *she* did. And it was certain that his aunt would speak to him on his weakest side. She would list the miseries of a marriage with *one* whose closest relations were so unequal to his own. With his ideas of dignity, he would probably feel that her arguments contained much good sense and solid reasoning. To Elizabeth they had seemed weak and ridiculous.

It had often seemed likely that he was unsure about what he should do. If he had been unsure before, the advice and pleading of so near a relation might settle every doubt. It might make him decide at once to be as happy as a spotless dignity could make him. In that case he would not come back. Lady Catherine might see him on her way through London. And his promise to Bingley to come again to Netherfield would have to 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 up every hope, every wish, that he will stay true. He might have won my love and my hand. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, I shall soon stop regretting him at all.”

The rest of the family were very surprised when they heard who their visitor had been. But they kindly satisfied their curiosity with the same kind of guess that had satisfied Mrs. Bennet’s. And Elizabeth was spared a lot of teasing about it.

The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she met her father. He came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

“Lizzy,” he said, “I was going to look for you. Come into my room.”

She followed him there. She was curious to know what he had to tell her. Her curiosity grew because she supposed it was somehow connected with the letter in his hand. It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lady Catherine. And she thought with dismay of all the explanations that would follow.

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 very much. As it is mainly about you, you ought to know what it says. I did not know before that I had *two* daughters on the brink of marriage. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”

The colour now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks. She was suddenly sure that the letter was from the nephew, and not from the aunt. She could not decide which she should feel more strongly. Should she be pleased that he had explained himself at all? Or should she be offended that his letter was not written to her? But then her father went on,

“You look as if you know something. Young ladies are very quick to see into such matters as these. But I think I can challenge even *your* cleverness to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins.”

“From Mr. Collins! And what can *he* have to say?”

“Something very much to the point, of course. He begins with congratulations on the coming marriage of my eldest daughter. It seems that some of the good-natured, gossiping Lucases have told him about it. I shall not play with your impatience by reading what he says on that point. The part about you is as follows. ‘I have 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, which we have heard of from the same source. Your eldest daughter will soon give up the name of Bennet. It is supposed that her sister Elizabeth will not carry it for long after her. And the chosen partner of her fate may reasonably be looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in this land.’

“Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this? ‘This young gentleman is blessed in a special way with everything that a human heart can most desire. He has splendid property, noble relations, and wide patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of certain evils. You may bring them on yourselves by a hasty acceptance of this gentleman’s proposals. Of course, you will want to take advantage of them at once.’

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

“‘My reason for warning you is as follows. We have reason to think that his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with a friendly eye.’

“*Mr. Darcy*, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I *have* surprised you. Think of all the people we know. Could he, or the Lucases, have chosen any man whose name would prove their story false more clearly? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman except to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at *you* in his life! It is wonderful!”

Elizabeth tried to join in her father’s joke, but could only force one very unwilling smile. His wit had never been aimed in a way that pleased her so little.

“Are you not amused?”

“Oh! yes. Please read on.”

“‘Last night I mentioned the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship. At once, with her usual condescension, she said what she felt about it. It became clear that she would never give her consent to what she called so disgraceful a match. This was because of some family objections on my cousin’s side. I thought it my duty to tell my cousin of this as quickly as possible. Then she and her noble admirer may know what they are doing. So they will not rush into a marriage which has not been properly approved.’ Mr. Collins also adds, ‘I am truly glad that my cousin Lydia’s sad business has been so well hushed up. I am only sorry that so many people know about their living together before the marriage took place. But I must not neglect the duties of my position. Nor can I keep from declaring my amazement at one thing. I hear that you received the young couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an encouragement of vice. If I had been the rector of Longbourn, I would have opposed it very strongly. You ought certainly to forgive them, as a Christian. But you should never let them come into your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.’ *That* is his idea of Christian forgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte’s condition, and his hope of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be *Missish*, I hope, and pretend to be offended by 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 extremely amused. But it is so strange!”

“Yes—*that* is what makes it amusing. If they had chosen any other man, it would have been nothing. But *his* complete indifference and *your* open dislike make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I hate writing, I would not give up my letters from Mr. Collins for anything. In fact, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help preferring him even to Wickham. And yet I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law very much. And tell me, Lizzy, what did Lady Catherine say about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?”

His daughter answered this question only with a laugh. He had asked it without the least suspicion, so she was not troubled when he repeated it. Elizabeth had never found it so hard to make her feelings seem what they were not. She had to laugh when she would rather have cried. Her father had hurt her most cruelly by what he said about Mr. Darcy’s indifference. She could only wonder at his lack of insight. Or else she could only fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too *little*, she might have imagined too *much*.

### Glossary

- **on the brink of marriage**: very close to getting married.
- **conquest**: here, a person whose love you have won.
- **illustrious personages**: very famous and important people.
- **patronage**: the power to give people jobs, especially jobs in the church.
- **blemish**: a small mark or fault that spoils how something looks.
- **condescension**: kindness from a high-ranked person to a lower one (Mr. Collins uses it as praise).
- **hushed up**: kept secret so that people do not talk about it.
- **olive-branch**: here, a baby; Mr. Collins means the child he and Charlotte are expecting.
- **Missish**: acting like a silly, easily shocked young girl.
- **make sport for**: give other people something to laugh at.
- **impudence**: rude boldness; having no shame.
- **hypocrisy**: pretending to be good when you are not.

## Chapter 58

Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to receive a letter of excuse from his friend. Instead, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn only a few days after Lady Catherine’s visit. The gentlemen arrived early. For a moment Elizabeth sat in fear that her mother would tell Darcy about his aunt’s visit. But before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him, Bingley suggested that they should all go out for a walk. He wanted to be alone with Jane. Everyone agreed. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking, and Mary could never spare the time. But the other five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon let the others get ahead of them. They stayed behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty and Darcy had to entertain each other. Very little was said by any of them. Kitty was too afraid of him to talk. Elizabeth was secretly making a desperate decision. And perhaps he was doing the same.

They walked towards the Lucases’ house, because Kitty wanted to call on Maria. Elizabeth saw no reason why they should all go. So when Kitty left them, she went on boldly with him alone. Now was the moment to carry out her decision. While her courage was high, she said at once,

“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature. I want to give relief to my own feelings, and I do not care how much I may hurt yours. I can no longer stop myself from thanking you for your kindness to my poor sister. Nobody has ever shown such kindness. Ever since I have known about it, I have wanted very much to tell you how grateful I feel. If the rest of my family knew about it, I would not have only my own gratitude to express.”

“I am sorry, very sorry,” replied Darcy, surprised and moved, “that you have ever been told about it. Seen in the wrong light, it may have made you uneasy. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”

“You must not blame my aunt. It was Lydia’s thoughtlessness that first showed me you had been involved in the matter. And, of course, I could not rest until I knew the details. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family. You felt a generous pity for us. It made you take so much trouble and bear so many mortifications in order to find them.”

“If you *will* thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. I wished to give happiness to you. I will not try to deny that this wish may have added force to my other reasons. But your *family* owe me nothing. Although I respect them very much, I believe I thought only of *you*.”

Elizabeth was too embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to play with my feelings. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. *My* love and my wishes have not changed. But one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Elizabeth felt how much more awkward and anxious than usual his position was. She now forced herself to speak. At once, though not very smoothly, she let him understand something. Her feelings had changed a great deal since the time he spoke of. The change was so great that she now received his words with gratitude and pleasure. This reply made him happier than he had probably ever been before. He spoke about it as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be expected to. Deep delight spread over his face. If Elizabeth had been able to meet his eyes, she might have seen how well it suited him. But though she could not look, she could listen. He told her of his feelings. They proved how important she was to him, and made his love more valuable to her every moment.

They walked on, without knowing in which direction. There was too much to think, and feel, and say, to pay attention to anything else. She soon learnt that they owed their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt. Lady Catherine *did* call on him on her way back through London. There she told him about her journey to Longbourn and the reason for it. She also told him the main points of her conversation with Elizabeth. She dwelt strongly on every expression of Elizabeth’s that, in her ladyship’s opinion, showed her stubbornness and boldness most clearly. She believed that this account must help her to get a promise from her nephew. It was the promise which *Elizabeth* had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly the opposite.

“It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had hardly ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew your character well enough to be certain of one thing. If you had been completely and finally decided against me, you would have told Lady Catherine so, frankly and openly.”

Elizabeth blushed and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my *frankness* to believe me capable of *that*. I insulted you so terribly to your face. After that, I would not have hesitated to insult you to all your relations.”

“What did you say of me that I did not deserve? Your accusations had no good ground, because they came from mistaken ideas. But my behaviour to you at that time deserved the strongest reproof. It was unforgivable. I cannot think of it without horror.”

“We will not quarrel about which of us deserves the greater share of blame for that evening,” said Elizabeth. “If we look at it strictly, neither of us behaved without fault. But since then, I hope, we have both improved in politeness.”

“I cannot forgive myself so easily. I remember what I said then, and my behaviour, my manners and my words during the whole of it. That memory is now more painful to me than I can say, and it has been for many months. I shall never forget your reproof, which was so well aimed: ‘had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.’ Those were your words. You do not know, you can hardly imagine, how they have tortured me. But I confess it was some time before I was reasonable enough to admit they were fair.”

“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea that they would ever be felt in such a way.”

“I can easily believe it. You thought then that I had no proper feeling at all; I am sure you did. I shall never forget the look on your face as you spoke. You said that I could not have asked you in any possible way that would make you accept me.”

“Oh! do not repeat what I said then. These memories will not do at all. I promise you that I have long been deeply ashamed of it.”

Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it *soon* make you think better of me? When you read it, did you believe any of what it said?”

She explained what effect it had had on her, and how slowly all her old 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 beginning of it, which I would dread you being able to read again. I can remember some expressions which might rightly make you hate me.”

“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe that is necessary to keep my good opinion. We both have reason to think that my opinions are not completely fixed. But they are not, I hope, as easily changed as that suggests.”

“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself to be perfectly calm and cool. But since then I have become sure that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”

“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The goodbye at the end is kindness itself. But think no more about the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote it are now very different from what they were then. So are the feelings of the person who received it. So every unpleasant thing connected with it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its memory gives you pleasure.”

“I cannot believe that you have any philosophy of that kind. *Your* memories of the past must be completely free from self-blame. So the contentment you get from them does not come from philosophy. It comes from something much better: ignorance. But with *me*, it is not so. Painful memories force their way into my mind. I cannot push them away, and I ought not to. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was *right*, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but I was left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately I was an only son (for many years an only *child*), and my parents spoilt me. They were good people themselves. My father especially was all that was kind and amiable. But they allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing. I learnt from them to care for nobody outside my own family circle. I learnt to have a low opinion of all the rest of the world. At least, I learnt to *wish* to have a low opinion of their sense and worth, compared with my own. That is how I was, from eight to eight and twenty. And that is how I might still be, if it had not been for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson. It was hard indeed at first, but very good for me. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt that you would accept me. You showed me that all my claims were not enough to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

“Had you persuaded yourself then that I would accept you?”

“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed that you were wishing for my proposal, and expecting it.”

“My manners must have been at fault, but not on purpose, I promise you. I never meant to deceive you, but my high 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 go in the right direction.”

“I am almost afraid to ask what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. Did you blame me for coming?”

“No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.”

“Your surprise could not be greater than *mine*, when you took notice of me. My conscience told me that I deserved no special politeness. And I confess that I did not expect to receive *more* than I deserved.”

“My aim *then*,” replied Darcy, “was to show you that I was not so mean as to resent the past. I tried to show it by every politeness in my power. I hoped to win your forgiveness and to soften your bad opinion of me. I wanted you to see that I had paid attention to your reproofs. I can hardly say how soon any other wishes came in. But I believe it was about half an hour after I had seen you.”

He then told her how delighted Georgiana had been to know her. He told her, too, how disappointed Georgiana was when it was suddenly broken off. Naturally this led to the cause of that sudden break. She soon learnt that he had decided to follow her from Derbyshire to look for her sister. He had made this decision before he left the inn. His seriousness and thoughtfulness there had come from no other struggles than the ones such a plan must involve.

She thanked him again, but the subject was too painful for both of them to talk about it any longer.

They walked several miles at an easy pace, too busy to notice how far. At last they looked at their watches, and found that it was time to be at home.

“What could have happened to Mr. Bingley and Jane!” They wondered this, and it started a talk about *their* affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement. His friend had told him the news before anyone else.

“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.” He protested at the word, but she found that this had been very nearly the truth.

“On the evening before I went to London,” said he, “I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him everything that had happened to make my earlier interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. He was very surprised. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I also told him that I believed I had been mistaken. I had supposed that your sister did not care for him. And I could easily see that his love for her was as strong as ever. So I had no doubt that they would be happy together.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling at how easily he directed his friend.

“Did you speak from what you had seen yourself,” said she, “when you told him that my sister loved him? Or only from what I told you last spring?”

“From what I had seen. I had watched her closely during my two recent visits here, and I was sure of her love.”

“And your certainty, I suppose, convinced him at once.”

“It did. Bingley is truly and naturally modest. His shyness had stopped him from trusting his own judgement in such an anxious matter. But he trusted mine, and that made everything easy. I had to confess one thing, which offended him for a time, and not unfairly. I could not allow myself to hide it from him. Your sister had been in town for three months last winter. I had known it, and I had kept it from him on purpose. He was angry. But I am sure his anger lasted only as long as he still had any doubt about your sister’s feelings. He has forgiven me with all his heart now.”

Elizabeth wanted very much to remark that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend. He was so easy to guide that his worth was invaluable. But she stopped herself. She remembered that Darcy had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. He looked forward to Bingley’s happiness, which of course would be less only than his own. He went on talking about it until they reached the house. In the hall they parted.

### Glossary

- **desperate decision**: a brave decision made because you feel you have no other choice.
- **mortifications**: things that hurt your pride and make you feel ashamed.
- **reproof**: words that blame someone for doing wrong.
- **conceit**: too high an opinion of yourself.
- **overbearing**: trying to control other people in a proud, unkind way.
- **humbled**: made to feel less proud and less important.
- **interference**: getting involved in someone else’s affairs when you should not.
- **impertinent**: rude and not respectful; going too far.
- **invaluable**: extremely useful; worth very much.

## Chapter 59

“My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” Jane asked Elizabeth this question as soon as she entered the room. All the others asked it too, when they sat down at the table. She only had to answer that they had wandered about until she no longer knew where she was. She blushed as she spoke. But neither that, nor anything else, made anyone suspect the truth.

The evening passed quietly, with nothing unusual in it. The lovers whom everyone knew about talked and laughed. The lovers whom nobody knew about were silent. Darcy was not the kind of man whose happiness overflows in laughter. And Elizabeth was nervous and confused. She *knew* that she was happy, rather than *felt* herself to be so. Besides the embarrassment of the moment, there were other troubles ahead of her. She thought about what her family would feel when they learnt about it. She knew that no one liked him except Jane. She even feared that the others felt a *dislike* for him. Perhaps not even all his fortune and importance could remove it.

At night she opened her heart to Jane. Jane was usually very far from suspicious. But here she simply could not believe it.

“You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!—engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it is impossible.”

“This is a terrible beginning indeed! You were my only hope. I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet really, I am serious. I am telling nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged.”

Jane looked at her doubtfully. “Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much you dislike him.”

“You know nothing about it. *That* must all be forgotten. Perhaps I did not always love him as much as I do now. But in cases like this, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.”

Jane still looked completely amazed. Elizabeth told her again, and more seriously, that it was true.

“Good Heaven! can it really be so! Yet now I must believe you,” cried Jane. “My dear, dear Lizzy, 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. We have already agreed between us that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Will you like to have such a brother?”

“Very, very much. Nothing could give Bingley or me more delight. But we thought about it, and we talked of it as impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than marry without love. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to feel?”

“Oh, yes! You will only think I feel *more* than I ought to, when I tell you everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I must confess that I love him better than I love Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry.”

“My dearest sister, now *do* be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Tell me everything I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?”

“It has come on so slowly that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from the first time I saw his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.”

Jane begged her again to be serious, and this time it worked. Elizabeth soon satisfied Jane with solemn promises of her love for him. When Jane was sure on that point, she had nothing more to wish for.

“Now I am quite happy,” said she, “for you will be as happy as I am. I always thought well of him. If there were nothing else but his love for you, I would always have respected him. But now, as Bingley’s friend and your husband, only Bingley and you can be dearer to me. But Lizzy, you have been very sly and very secretive with me. How little you told me about what happened at Pemberley and Lambton! Everything I know about it, I owe to somebody else, not to you.”

Elizabeth told her the reasons for her secrecy. She had not wanted to mention Bingley. And because her own feelings were so unsettled, she had avoided his friend’s name too. But now she would no longer hide from Jane his part in Lydia’s marriage. Everything was told, and half the night was spent in talking.

“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next morning. “That disagreeable Mr. Darcy is coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome, and always coming here? I was sure he would go shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, so that he is not in Bingley’s way.”

Elizabeth could hardly stop herself from laughing at such a convenient suggestion. Yet she was really annoyed that her mother always called him by such a name.

As soon as they came in, Bingley looked at her very meaningfully. He shook her hand so warmly that it was clear he knew the news. Soon afterwards he asked aloud, “Mr. Bennet, are there no more lanes near here where Lizzy can get lost again today?”

“I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,” said Mrs. Bennet, “to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view.”

“It may do very well for the others,” replied Mr. Bingley; “but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won’t it, Kitty?”

Kitty admitted that she would rather stay at home. Darcy said he was very curious to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently agreed. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying,

“I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you are forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it. It is all for Jane’s sake, you know. And there is no need to talk to him, except just now and then. So do not put yourself to any trouble.”

During their walk, they decided that Mr. Bennet’s consent should be asked during the evening. Elizabeth kept for herself the task of asking her mother. She could not decide how her mother would take it. Sometimes she doubted if all his wealth and greatness could overcome her mother’s strong dislike of the man. Her mother might be violently against the match, or violently delighted with it. Either way, her manner would do no credit to her good sense. Elizabeth could not bear Mr. Darcy to hear the first raptures of her mother’s joy. She could bear it no more than the first fury of her disapproval.

In the evening Mr. Bennet went to the library. Soon after, she saw Mr. Darcy get up too and follow him. She was extremely nervous when she saw it. She did not fear that her father would oppose it. But he was going to be made unhappy, and it would be because of her. *She*, his favourite child, was distressing him by her choice. She was filling him with fears and regrets about giving her away. This was a miserable thought. She sat in misery until Mr. Darcy came back. When she looked at him, his smile made her feel a little better. In a few minutes he came to the table where she was sitting with Kitty. He pretended to admire her needlework. Then he said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.” She went at once.

Her father was walking about the room, looking serious and anxious. “Lizzy,” said he, “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have you not always hated him?”

How strongly she wished then that her earlier opinions had been more reasonable, and her words more moderate! That would have saved her from explanations and declarations which were very awkward to give. But they were now necessary. A little confused, she assured him of her love for Mr. Darcy.

“Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?”

“Have you any other objection,” said Elizabeth, “than your belief that I do not care for him?”

“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. So please do not pain me by speaking of him like that.”

“Lizzy,” said her father, “I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, whom I would never dare to refuse anything he condescended to ask. I now give it to *you*, if you are determined to have him. But let me advise you to think again. I know your character, Lizzy. I know that you could not be happy or respectable unless you truly respected your husband. You would need to look up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would put you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could hardly escape shame and misery. My child, do not let me have the grief of seeing *you* unable to respect your partner in life. You do not know what you are doing.”

Elizabeth was even more moved, and she answered seriously and solemnly. She assured him again and again that Mr. Darcy was really the man she had chosen. She explained how her opinion of him had changed little by little. She told him she was absolutely certain that his love was not the work of a day. It had stood the test of many months of uncertainty. And she listed all his good qualities with energy. In the end she did overcome her father’s disbelief, and made him accept the match.

“Well, my dear,” said he, when she stopped speaking, “I have no more to say. If this is the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.”

To complete the good impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy had done for Lydia without being asked. He listened to her with astonishment.

“This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so Darcy did everything. He made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow’s debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and saving. If it had been your uncle’s doing, I must and *would* have paid him back. But these violent young lovers have everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow. He will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.”

Then he remembered her embarrassment a few days before, when he read Mr. Collins’s letter. He laughed at her for some time, and at last allowed her to go. As she left the room, he said, “If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure.”

Elizabeth’s mind was now free of a very heavy weight. After half an hour of quiet thinking in her own room, she was able to join the others fairly calmly. Everything was too new for cheerfulness, but the evening passed peacefully. There was no longer anything important to fear. The comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, Elizabeth followed her and told her the important news. Its effect was most extraordinary. When she first heard it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still and could not say a word. It was many, many minutes before she could understand what she had heard. Yet she was not usually slow to believe anything that was good for her family. She was not slow either when it came in the shape of a lover for one of them. At last she began to recover. She moved restlessly in her chair, got up, sat down again, wondered, and blessed herself.

“Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane’s is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such a charming man!—so handsome! so tall!—Oh, my dear Lizzy! please apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. 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 there was no need to doubt her approval. Elizabeth was glad that only she had heard such an outburst, and she soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room, her mother followed her.

“My dearest child,” she cried, “I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! ’Tis as good as a Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it tomorrow.”

This was a bad sign of how her mother might behave to the gentleman himself. Elizabeth was certain of his warmest love, and sure of her family’s consent. Yet she found that there was still something to wish for. But the next day went much better than she expected. Luckily, Mrs. Bennet stood in such awe of her future son-in-law that she did not dare speak to him. She spoke only when she could offer him some attention, or show her respect for his opinion.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father take trouble to get to know him. Mr. Bennet soon assured her that Darcy was rising in his opinion every hour.

“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like *your* husband quite as well as Jane’s.”

### Glossary

- **unpardonable**: so bad that it cannot be forgiven.
- **sly**: clever at keeping secrets or hiding what you do.
- **raptures**: feelings of very great joy, shown loudly.
- **condescended**: agreed to do something, as if doing a favour to someone of lower rank.
- **rant and storm**: talk loudly and angrily for a long time.
- **at leisure**: free; with nothing to do.
- **pin-money**: money a husband gives his wife for her own clothes and small things.
- **go distracted**: go mad with excitement or worry.
- **in awe of**: feeling great respect mixed with a little fear.

## Chapter 60

Elizabeth’s spirits soon rose to playfulness again. She wanted Mr. Darcy to explain how he had ever fallen in love with her. “How could you begin?” said she. “I can understand you going on charmingly, once you had made a beginning. But what could set you off in the first place?”

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the place, 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.”

“You resisted my beauty early on. And as for my manners—my behaviour to *you* was at least always close to rude. I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain. Now be honest; 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, you were sick of politeness, of respect, of too much attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking and thinking only to win *your* approval. I woke you up and interested you, because I was so unlike *them*. If you had not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it. But in spite of the trouble you took to hide it, your feelings were always noble and just. In your heart, you completely despised the people who courted you so eagerly. There—I have saved you the trouble of explaining 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 in your loving care of Jane, while she was ill at Netherfield?”

“Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it, by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you must exaggerate them as much as possible. In return, it is my part to find chances for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as I can. And I shall begin at once by asking you a question. What made you so unwilling to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me when you first called, and later when you dined here? Above all, why did you look, when you called, as if you did not care about me?”

“Because you were serious 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 have a reasonable answer to give, and that I am 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 decision to thank you for your kindness to Lydia certainly had a great effect. *Too much*, I am afraid. For what happens to the moral, if our comfort comes from a broken promise? I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do.”

“You need not worry. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine’s unjustified efforts to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I do not owe my present happiness to your eager wish to express your gratitude. I was not in a mood to wait for you to give me an opening. My aunt’s news had given me hope, and I was determined to know everything at once.”

“Lady Catherine has been extremely useful, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be useful. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it only to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you meant something more serious to come of it?”

“My real purpose was to see *you*. I wanted to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My stated purpose, or what I told myself, was to see whether your sister still cared for Bingley. If she did, I meant to make the confession to him which I have since made.”

“Will you ever have the courage to tell Lady Catherine what is going to happen to her?”

“I am more likely to lack time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done. If you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done at once.”

“And if I did not have a letter to write myself, I might sit by you. I might admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be neglected any longer.”

Elizabeth had not wanted to confess how much people had overrated her closeness with Mr. Darcy. So she had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner’s long letter. But now she had news to tell 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. She immediately wrote as follows:

“I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done. I would have thanked you for your long, kind, satisfying account of all the details. But to tell the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. But *now* suppose as much as you choose. Let your fancy run free. Let your imagination fly as far as the subject allows. Unless you believe me actually married, you cannot be very wrong. You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last letter. 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 none of them with such good reason. 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, &c.”

Mr. Darcy’s letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style. The letter that Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to his last, was different again from both.

“Dear Sir,

“I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Comfort 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, &c.”

Miss Bingley’s congratulations to her brother on his coming marriage were all that was affectionate and insincere. She even wrote to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight and repeat all her old declarations of friendship. Jane was not deceived, but she was moved. She did not trust her. Yet she could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

Miss Darcy’s joy on receiving the same news was as sincere as her brother’s joy in sending it. Four sides of paper were not enough to hold all her delight. They could not hold all her eager wish to be loved by her sister either.

No answer had yet arrived from Mr. Collins, and no congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife. Before they could, the Longbourn family heard that the Collinses had come to Lucas Lodge themselves. The reason for this sudden move was soon clear. Lady Catherine had been made extremely angry by her nephew’s letter. She was so angry that Charlotte wanted to get away until the storm had blown over. Charlotte herself was really glad about the match. At such a moment, her friend’s arrival was a true pleasure to Elizabeth. But during their meetings she sometimes could not help thinking the pleasure dearly paid for. She saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the showy, over-humble politeness of Charlotte’s husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calm. He could even listen to Sir William Lucas with very decent composure. Sir William complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel of the country. He also said he hoped they would all meet often at St. James’s. If Darcy did shrug his shoulders, it was not until Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips’s vulgarity was another test of his patience, and perhaps a greater one. Bingley’s good humour encouraged familiarity. But Mrs. Philips, like her sister, was too much in awe of Darcy to speak to him so familiarly. Yet whenever she *did* speak, she was sure to be vulgar. Her respect for him made her quieter, but it was not at all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to protect him from the frequent attention of either of them. She was always eager to keep him to herself, or with those of her family he could talk to without mortification. All this brought uncomfortable feelings, which took much of the pleasure from the time of their courtship. But it added to her hope for the future. She looked forward with delight to the time when they would leave company so little pleasing to either of them. Then they would have all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley.

### Glossary

- **impertinence**: rude boldness; speaking without proper respect.
- **courted**: tried hard to win someone’s love or good opinion.
- **exaggerate**: to make something seem bigger or better than it really is.
- **moral**: the lesson about right and wrong that a story teaches.
- **&c.**: an old way of writing “etc.”; here it stands for the usual words at the end of a letter.
- **stand by**: to stay loyal to someone and support them.
- **composure**: the state of being calm and in control of your feelings.
- **vulgarity**: rude, loud behaviour that shows bad taste.
- **courtship**: the time when two people who plan to marry get to know each other.

## Chapter 61

Mrs. Bennet’s motherly feelings were happy on the day when she got rid of her two most deserving daughters. You may guess with what delighted pride she later visited Mrs. Bingley and talked of Mrs. Darcy. Her earnest wish had come true: so many of her children were now settled. For the sake of her family, I wish I could say that this had such a happy effect. I wish I could say that it made her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life. But perhaps it was lucky for her husband that she was still nervous at times and always silly. He might not have enjoyed family happiness in such an unusual form.

Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter very much. His love for her took him away from home more often than anything else could. He loved going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.

Mr. Bingley and Jane stayed at Netherfield only a year. Even *his* easy temper and *her* loving heart did not want to be so near her mother and Meryton relations. Then his sisters’ dearest wish came true. He bought an estate in a county next to Derbyshire. So Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.

Kitty, to her very great advantage, spent most of her time with her two elder sisters. In company so much better than she had usually known, she improved greatly. She was not so hard to control as Lydia. She was taken away from the influence of Lydia’s example. With proper attention and guidance, she became less irritable, less ignorant and less dull. Of course, she was carefully kept from the further harm of Lydia’s company. Mrs. Wickham often invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men. But her father would never agree to her going.

Mary was the only daughter who stayed at home. She was necessarily drawn away from the pursuit of accomplishments, because Mrs. Bennet was quite unable to sit alone. Mary had to mix more with the world, but she could still moralize over every morning visit. She was no longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters’ beauty and her own. So her father suspected that she did not mind the change very much.

As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters did not change at all because of her sisters’ marriages. He was philosophical about one thing. Elizabeth must now learn whatever she had not known before about his ingratitude and lies. In spite of everything, he was not entirely without hope that Darcy might still be persuaded to make his fortune. Lydia sent Elizabeth a letter of congratulation on her marriage. It showed Elizabeth that his wife at least, if not he himself, held such a hope. The letter went like this:

“My dear Lizzy,

“I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as I love my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich. 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 enough money to live on 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, &c.”

As it happened, Elizabeth would *much* rather not. So in her answer she tried to put an end to every request and expectation of that kind. However, she often sent them what help she could. She gave it by practising what might be called economy in her own private spending. It had always been clear to her that their income was far too small to support them. It was in the hands of two people so extravagant in their wants, and so careless of the future. Whenever they moved their quarters, Jane or Elizabeth was sure to be asked for a little help with their bills. Their way of living was extremely unsettled. This was true even after peace came and they were sent away to a home. They were always moving from place to place, looking for somewhere cheap, and always spending more than they should. His love for her soon sank into indifference; hers lasted a little longer. In spite of her youth and her manners, she kept all her claims to a good reputation. Her marriage had given her those claims.

Darcy could never receive *him* at Pemberley. Yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, he helped him further in his profession. Lydia sometimes visited there, when her husband had gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath. And they both often stayed so long with the Bingleys that even Bingley’s good humour was overcome. He went so far as to *talk* of giving them a hint to leave.

Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy’s marriage. But she thought it wise to keep the right of visiting at Pemberley, so she dropped all her resentment. She was fonder than ever of Georgiana, and almost as attentive to Darcy as before. And she paid off every debt of politeness that she owed to Elizabeth.

Pemberley was now Georgiana’s home. The love between the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each other, even as well as they had intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth. But at first she often listened to Elizabeth’s lively, playful way of talking to her brother. She listened with an astonishment that was close to alarm. He had always made her feel a respect that almost overcame her love for him. Now she saw him as the object of open joking. Her mind took in knowledge which had never come her way before. Through Elizabeth’s teaching she began to understand something. A woman may take liberties with her husband. But a brother will not always allow such liberties in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant about her nephew’s marriage. In her reply to the letter announcing it, she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character. She sent him such very abusive language, especially about Elizabeth, that for some time all contact between them ended. But at last Elizabeth persuaded him to overlook the offence and to seek a reconciliation. His aunt resisted a little longer. Then her resentment gave way, either to her love for him, or to her curiosity about how his wife behaved. And she condescended to visit them at Pemberley, in spite of the pollution its woods had suffered. That pollution did not come only from the presence of such a mistress. It also came from the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.

With the Gardiners, they were always on the closest terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them. They both always felt the warmest gratitude towards the Gardiners. By bringing her into Derbyshire, the Gardiners had been the means of uniting them.

### Glossary

- **got rid of**: became free of someone or something (said here as a joke).
- **moralize**: to give speeches about what is right and wrong.
- **mortified**: deeply hurt in your pride; very embarrassed.
- **extravagant**: spending too much money on things you do not need.
- **economy**: careful use of money, so that you spend less.
- **quarters**: the place where soldiers and their families live.
- **indifference**: a lack of interest or care.
- **take liberties**: to behave too freely with someone, without the usual respect.
- **indignant**: angry because something seems wrong or unfair.
- **reconciliation**: becoming friends again after a quarrel.