wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his

feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a

blow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she

hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no

longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there

seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced{382} that

she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they

should meet.
What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the

proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago would now

have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she

doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal,

there must be a triumph.
She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in

disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and

temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It

was an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her ease

and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved;

and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must

have received benefit of greater importance.
But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what

connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and

precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their

family.
How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence she

could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could belong to

a couple who were only brought together because their passions were

stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.
Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet’s

acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances of his eagerness to