“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{465} Lizzy! pray apologize 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 her approbation need not be doubted; and

Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,

soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,

her mother followed her.
“My dearest child,” she cried, “I can think of nothing else. Ten

thousand a year, and very likely more! ‘Tis as good as a lord! And a

special 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 to-morrow.”
This was a sad omen of what her mother’s behaviour to the gentleman

himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain

possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations’

consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow

passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood

in such awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak

to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark

her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get

acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising

every hour in his esteem.
“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps,