suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with

admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly

fine,—with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the

furniture of Rosings.
“And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress! With

these rooms I might have now been familiarly acquainted! Instead of

viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and

welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. But, no,” recollecting

herself, “that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to

me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.”
This was a lucky recollection—it saved her from something like regret.
She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master were really

absent, but had not courage for it. At length, however, the question was

asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds

replied, that he was; adding, “But we expect him to-morrow, with a large

party of friends.” How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had

not by any circumstance been delayed a day!
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached, and saw

the likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst several other

miniatures, over the mantel-piece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how

she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was the

picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward, who

had been brought up by him at his own expense. “He is now gone into the

army,” she added; “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.{304}”
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not

return it.
“And that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures,

“is my master—and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the

other—about eight years ago.”
“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,” said Mrs. Gardiner,