of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy’s

objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his

interference in the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia’s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she

received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the

regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a

very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good-humour

and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of

their three months’ acquaintance they had been intimate two.{287}
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster,

the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely

to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister’s feelings, Lydia flew

about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone’s

congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever;

whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate

in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.
“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia,”

said she, “though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much

right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make

her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from

exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she

considered it as the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense

for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her, were it

known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her

go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia’s general

behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of

such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more