where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.

Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild,{392} hurried into her

brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as

placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She

could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,

wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what

Lydia had dropped, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been

intended.
“You may readily comprehend,” she added, “what my curiosity must be to

know how a person unconnected with any of us, and, comparatively

speaking, a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such

a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it—unless it is,

for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to

think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with

ignorance.”
“Not that I shall, though,” she added to herself, and she finished the

letter; “and, my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable

manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it

out.”
Jane’s delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to

Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of

it:—till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any

satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.{393}

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“I am sure she did not listen.”


CHAPTER LII.

ELIZABETH had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as

soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than

hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be

interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared{394} to be

happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not

contain a denial.
“Gracechurch Street, Sept. 6.


“My dear Niece,

“I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole