ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is—you

must not let your fancy run away with you. You{182} have sense, and we all

expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and

good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.”
“My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.”
“Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.”
“Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of

myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I

can prevent it.”
“Elizabeth, you are not serious now.”
“I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with

Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison,

the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if he becomes really attached to

me—I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence

of it. Oh, that abominable Mr. Darcy! My father’s opinion of me does

me the greatest honour; and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My

father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I

should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but

since we see, every day, that where there is affection young people are

seldom withheld, by immediate want of fortune, from entering into

engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many

of my fellow-creatures, if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that

it would be wiser to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is

not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his

first object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In

short, I will do my best.”
“Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his coming here so very

often. At least you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”
“As I did the other day,” said Elizabeth, with a con{183}scious smile; “very

true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine