In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been

too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance

before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The

faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible

in either, except that the loss of her{354} favourite sister, or the anger

which she had herself incurred in the business, had given something more

of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was

mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance

of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table,—
“This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.

But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of

each other the balm of sisterly consolation.”
Then perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,

“Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful

lesson:—that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable, that one

false step involves her in endless ruin, that her reputation is no less

brittle than it is beautiful, and that she cannot be too much guarded in

her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.”
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to

make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such

kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an

hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the

opportunity of making any inquiries which Jane was equally eager to

satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel

of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss

Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued

the subject by saying, “But tell me all and everything about it which I