Wickham’s affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to

find it; not equal to Lydia’s for him. She had scarcely needed her

present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that

their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love rather

than by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently caring

for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain

that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances; and

if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity

of having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every

occasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He did

everything best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more{390} birds

on the first of September than anybody else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two

elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,—
“Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were

not by, when I told mamma, and the others, all about it. Are not you

curious to hear how it was managed?”
“No, really,” replied Elizabeth; “I think there cannot be too little

said on the subject.”
“La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were

married, you know, at St. Clement’s, because Wickham’s lodgings were in

that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven

o’clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others

were to meet us at the church.
“Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid,

you know, that something would happen to put it off, and then I should

have gone quite distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I was

dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a

sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was

thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether