“If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,” replied Jane, “your

representation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the

foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving

anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is, that she is deceived

herself.”
“That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you

will not take comfort in mine: believe her to be deceived, by all means.

You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer.”
“But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in

accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry

elsewhere?”
“You must decide for yourself,” said Elizabeth; “and if, upon mature

deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is

more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you,

by all means, to refuse him.”
“How can you talk so?” said Jane, faintly smiling; “you must know, that,

though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could

not hesitate.{153}”
“I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot consider

your situation with much compassion.”
“But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be

required. A thousand things may arise in six months.”
The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost

contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline’s

interested wishes; and she could not for a moment suppose that those

wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man

so totally independent of everyone.
She represented to her sister, as forcibly as possible, what she felt on

the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect.

Jane’s temper was not desponding; and she was gradually led to hope,

though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that

Bingley would return to Netherfield, and answer every wish of her heart.