him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his

affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had

the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I{456} believed myself

mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent

to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was

unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.”
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his

friend.
“Did you speak from your own observation,” said she, “when you told him

that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?”
“From the former. I had narrowly observed her, during the two visits

which I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection.”
“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to

him.”
“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had

prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but

his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one

thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not

allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months

last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was

angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained

in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me

now.”
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful

friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked

herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and

it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of

Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he

continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they

parted.{457}

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“Unable to utter a syllable.”


CHAPTER LIX.