character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so

excessively deceived in him? Oh no.”
“I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley’s being imposed on than that

Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last

night; names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not

so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks.”
“It is difficult, indeed—it is distressing. One does not know what to

think.”
“I beg your pardon;—one knows exactly what to think.”
But Jane could think with certainty on only one point,—that Mr.

Bingley, if he had been imposed on,{110} would have much to suffer when

the affair became public.
The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this

conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom

they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their

personal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield, which was

fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see

their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and

repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their

separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention;

avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth,

and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from

their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and

hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet’s civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every

female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in

compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by

receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a

ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the

society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and