had been compromised accordingly.”
“You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember

what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.”
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast

to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister’s sake, to provoke him,

she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,—
“Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us

quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one

mind.”
She held out her hand: he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though

he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.{404}

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“Mr Darcey with him.”


CHAPTER LIII.

MR. WICKHAM was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation, that he

never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,

by introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she

had said enough to keep him quiet.{405}
The day of his and Lydia’s departure soon came; and Mrs. Bennet was

forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means

entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to

continue at least a twelvemonth.
“Oh, my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when shall we meet again?”
“Oh, Lord! I don’t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”
“Write to me very often, my dear.”
“As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for

writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to

do.”
Mr. Wickham’s adieus were much more affectionate than his wife’s. He

smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.
“He is as fine a fellow,” said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of

the house, “as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us

all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas

himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law.”
The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.