prompt:
Chapter: Two days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking
together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper
coming towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their
mother, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons,
when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, "I beg your pardon,
madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some
good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask."

"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town."

"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, "don't you know
there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here
this half hour, and master has had a letter."

Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They
ran through the vestibule into the breakfast room; from thence to the
library;--their father was in neither; and they were on the point of
seeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the
butler, who said,

"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards the
little copse."

Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more,
and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately
pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.

Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as
Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath,
came up with him, and eagerly cried out,

"Oh, Papa, what news? what news? have you heard from my uncle?"

"Yes, I have had a letter from him by express."

"Well, and what news does it bring? good or bad?"

"What is there of good to be expected?" said he, taking the letter from
his pocket; "but perhaps you would like to read it."

Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.

"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardly know myself what it is
about."

     "Gracechurch-street, Monday,

     August 2.

     "MY DEAR BROTHER,

     "At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such
     as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after
     you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what
     part of London they were. The particulars, I reserve till we meet.
     It is enough to know they are discovered, I have seen them
     both----"

"Then it is, as I always hoped," cried Jane; "they are married!"

     Elizabeth read on; "I have seen them both. They are not married,
     nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are
     willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on
     your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is
     required of you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her
     equal share of the five thousand pounds, secured among your
     children after the decease of yourself and my sister; and,
     moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your
     life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions, which,
     considering every thing, I had no hesitation in complying with, as
     far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by
     express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You
     will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham's
     circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to
     be. The world has been deceived in that respect; and I am happy to
     say, there will be some little money, even when all his debts are
     discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune.
     If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act
     in your name, throughout the whole of this business, I will
     immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper
     settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming
     to town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on
     my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can,
     and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best, that my
     niece should be married from this house, of which I hope you will
     approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as any
     thing more is determined on. Your's, &c.

     "EDW. GARDINER."

"Is it possible!" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. "Can it be
possible that he will marry her?"

"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him;" said her
sister. "My dear father, I congratulate you."

"And have you answered the letter?" said Elizabeth.

"No; but it must be done soon."

Most earnestly did she then intreat him to lose no more time before he
wrote.

"Oh! my dear father," she cried, "come back, and write immediately.
Consider how important every moment is, in such a case."

"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislike the trouble
yourself."

"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it must be done."

And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.

"And may I ask?" said Elizabeth, "but the terms, I suppose, must be
complied with."

"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little."

"And they _must_ marry! Yet he is _such_ a man!"

"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there
are two things that I want very much to know:--one is, how much money
your uncle has laid down, to bring it about; and the other, how I am
ever to pay him."

"Money! my uncle!" cried Jane, "what do you mean, Sir?"

"I mean, that no man in his senses, would marry Lydia on so slight a
temptation as one hundred a-year during my life, and fifty after I am
gone."

"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not occurred to me
before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh!
it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has
distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this."

"No," said her father, "Wickham's a fool, if he takes her with a
farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so
ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship."

"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be
repaid?"

Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued
silent till they reached the house. Their father then went to the
library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

"And they are really to be married!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as they
were by themselves. "How strange this is! And for _this_ we are to be
thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness,
and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!"

"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane, "that he certainly would
not marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind
uncle has done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten
thousand pounds, or any thing like it, has been advanced. He has
children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten
thousand pounds?"

"If we are ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been," said
Elizabeth, "and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall
exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has
not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be
requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their personal
protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage, as
years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is
actually with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now,
she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she
first sees my aunt!"

"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side," said
Jane: "I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry
her is a proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of
thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself
they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in
time make their past imprudence forgotten."

"Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, "as neither you, nor
I, nor any body, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it."

It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood
perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library,
therefore, and asked their father, whether he would not wish them to
make it known to her. He was writing, and, without raising his head,
coolly replied,

"Just as you please."

"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?"

"Take whatever you like, and get away."

Elizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they went up
stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one
communication would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation
for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly
contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's
being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence
added to its exuberance. She was now in an irritation as violent from
delight, as she had ever been fidgetty from alarm and vexation. To know
that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no
fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.

"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried: "This is delightful indeed!--She will
be married!--I shall see her again!--She will be married at sixteen!--My
good, kind brother!--I knew how it would be--I knew he would manage
every thing. How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the
clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about
them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how
much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell,
Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear
Lydia!--How merry we shall be together when we meet!"

Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of
these transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr.
Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.

"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, "in a great
measure, to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself
to assist Mr. Wickham with money."

"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do it but
her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children
must have had all his money you know, and it is the first time we have
ever had any thing from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy.
In a short time, I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well
it sounds. And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in
such a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you
write for me. We will settle with your father about the money
afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately."

She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and
cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had
not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait, till her
father was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay she observed,
would be of small importance; and her mother was too happy, to be quite
so obstinate as usual. Other schemes too came into her head.

"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed, and tell the
good, good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call on
Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An
airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any
thing for you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you
heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and you shall
all have a bowl of punch, to make merry at her wedding."

Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her
congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took
refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.

Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was no
worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in
looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity,
could be justly expected for her sister; in looking back to what they
had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they
had gained.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Lydia and Wickham are found and, as expected, they are not married. Wickham, however, has agreed to marry her on the stipulation that his debts are cleared and he is given a stipend of one hundred pounds a year. Mr. Bennet agrees to the offer, but suspects that a much greater amount must have been passed on by Mr. Gardiner to maneuver Wickham to yield. Mrs. Bennet, upon hearing that Lydia is to be married, forgets the disgraceful state of affairs under which the marriage is coming to a pass. She enthusiastically proceeds to make arrangements for a wedding and to convey the glad tidings in the neighborhood.


prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that,
instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for
the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived
him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that
respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle, for whatever of
honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of
prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be
her husband, might then have rested in its proper place.

He was seriously concerned, that a cause of so little advantage to any
one, should be forwarded at the sole expence of his brother-in-law, and
he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his
assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.

When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly
useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join
in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow
and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters
successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs.
Bennet, for many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he
would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too
late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her
husband's love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their
income.

Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and
the children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the
latter, depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with
regard to Lydia at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet
could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In
terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though
expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect
approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the
engagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed
that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be
done with so little inconvenience to himself, as by the present
arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a-year the loser, by the
hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket
allowance, and the continual presents in money, which passed to her,
through her mother's hands, Lydia's expences had been very little within
that sum.

That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was
another very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present, was to
have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first
transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were
over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was
soon dispatched; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he was
quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he
was indebted to his brother; but was too angry with Lydia, to send any
message to her.

The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate
speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent
philosophy. To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of
conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the
happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farm
house. But there was much to be talked of, in marrying her; and the
good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before, from
all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit
in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her
misery was considered certain.

It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs, but on this
happy day, she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in
spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her
triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of
her wishes, since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of
accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those
attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and
servants. She was busily searching through the neighbourhood for a
proper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering
what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and
importance.

"Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would quit it, or the
great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is
too far off! I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for
Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful."

Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption, while the
servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "Mrs.
Bennet, before you take any, or all of these houses, for your son and
daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into _one_ house in this
neighbourhood, they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage
the impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn."

A long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet was firm: it
soon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror,
that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his
daughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of
affection whatever, on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend
it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable
resentment, as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without which her
marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all that she could believe
possible. She was more alive to the disgrace, which the want of new
clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense of
shame at her eloping and living with Wickham, a fortnight before they
took place.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of
the moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for
her sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give the proper
termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its
unfavourable beginning, from all those who were not immediately on the
spot.

She had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means. There were
few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;
but at the same time, there was no one, whose knowledge of a sister's
frailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of
disadvantage from it, individually to herself; for at any rate, there
seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been
concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that
Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family, where to every other
objection would now be added, an alliance and relationship of the
nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.

From such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink. The
wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his
feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a
blow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she
hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no
longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there
seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that
she could have been happy with him; when it was no longer likely they
should meet.

What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the
proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now
have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she
doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal,
there must be a triumph.

She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who, in
disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and
temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It
was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease
and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved,
and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must
have received benefit of greater importance.

But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what
connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and
precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their
family.

How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence,
she could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could
belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions
were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's
acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances of his eagerness to
promote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with intreaties
that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The principal
purport of his letter was to inform them, that Mr. Wickham had resolved
on quitting the Militia.

     "It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, "as soon
     as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me,
     in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both
     on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go
     into the regulars; and, among his former friends, there are still
     some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the
     promise of an ensigncy in General ----'s regiment, now quartered in
     the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of
     the kingdom. He promises fairly, and I hope among different people,
     where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be
     more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of
     our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the
     various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with
     assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And
     will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances
     to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list,
     according to his information. He has given in all his debts; I hope
     at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and
     all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment,
     unless they are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from
     Mrs. Gardiner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all,
     before she leaves the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully
     remembered to you and her mother.--Your's, &c.

     "E. GARDINER."

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal
from the ----shire, as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs.
Bennet, was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the
North, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her
company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in
Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and besides, it was such a
pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted
with every body, and had so many favourites.

"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it will be quite shocking
to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she
likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General ----'s
regiment."

His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being
admitted into her family again, before she set off for the North,
received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who
agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and
consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents,
urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her
and her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was
prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their
mother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she should be able to shew
her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to
the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he
sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon
as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth
was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme,
and, had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him
would have been the last object of her wishes.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. Bennet is ashamed that Mr. Gardiner has paid a sum to money to Wickham to accomplish the marriage; he plans to find out the amount and repay his brother-in-law as soon as possible. He even writes a letter to Gardiner to state his plans. He is also disappointed in Lydias behavior and has resolved not to admit them at Longbourn. In contrast, Mrs. Bennet has no remorse. Once she hears about the marriage, she ends her voluntary exile in her room and takes her seat at the head of the table. She is in high spirits, allowing no shame to dampen her victory. She is ecstatic about her plans for the married couple but her husband has resolved not to admit them at Longbourn. Elizabeth regrets that she has confided in Darcy, for it embarrasses her that he now knows of her familys disgrace. She finally acknowledges her love for Darcy, but she feels the chances of marrying him are now lost forever. She is saddened over the situation, for she thinks that Darcy is just the man to make her a suitable husband; she believes their marriage would be the ideal union, but unfortunately Lydias disgraceful union has marred her chances forever. Mr. Gardiner writes that Wickham intends to quit the militia and enter into a regiment stationed in the north; Lydia wishes to see her family before they depart. Mr. Bennet initially refuses Lydias request, but Jane and Elizabeth convince him to receive her and Wickham. It is arranged that after they are married, the couple will proceed to Longbourn.


prompt:
Chapter: Their sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her
probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet
them at ----, and they were to return in it, by dinner-time. Their
arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially,
who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had _she_
been the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister must
endure.

They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room, to receive
them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to
the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed,
anxious, uneasy.

Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and
she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and
welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to
Wickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an
alacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.

Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite
so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely
opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was
enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was
shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and
fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their
congratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly
round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and
observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been
there.

Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners
were always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been
exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he
claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had
not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down,
resolving within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence
of an impudent man. _She_ blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of
the two who caused their confusion, suffered no variation of colour.

There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither
of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near
Elizabeth, began enquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood,
with a good humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her
replies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the
world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led
voluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not have alluded to for
the world.

"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I went away;
it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things
enough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure
I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! though I
thought it would be very good fun if I was."

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked
expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw any thing of
which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, "Oh! mamma, do the
people here abouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might
not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was
determined he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next to
him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window
frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like
any thing."

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room;
and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to
the dining-parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with
anxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to
her eldest sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go
lower, because I am a married woman."

It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment,
from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good
spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all
their other neighbours, and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham," by
each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew her
ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.

"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast
room, "and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I
am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my
good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get
husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go."

"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don't
at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?"

"Oh, lord! yes;--there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all
things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We
shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some
balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all."

"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.

"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters
behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the
winter is over."

"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not
particularly like your way of getting husbands."

Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham
had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join
his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

No one but Mrs. Bennet, regretted that their stay would be so short; and
she made the most of the time, by visiting about with her daughter, and
having very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to
all; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did
think, than such as did not.

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 every
thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on
the first of September, than any body 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 he would be married in his blue coat.

"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never
be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt
were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe
me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a
fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure London was
rather thin, but however the little Theatre was open. Well, and so just
as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business
to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get
together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not
know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond
the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back
again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However, I
recollected afterwards, that if he _had_ been prevented going, the
wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."

"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.

"Oh, yes!--he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me!
I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised
them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"

"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on the
subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further."

"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; "we will
ask you no questions."

"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you
all, and then Wickham would be angry."

On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her
power, by running away.

But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it
was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her
sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people,
where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.
Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her
brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as
placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She
could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,
wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what
Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been
intended.

"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my curiosity must be to
know how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively
speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such
a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it--unless it is,
for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to
think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with
ignorance."

"Not that I _shall_ though," she added to herself, as she finished the
letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable
manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it
out."

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to
Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of
it;--till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any
satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. and Mrs. Wickham arrive at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet welcomes them warmly, but Mr. Bennet is provoked by the couples easy manner and shameless impudence. Elizabeth is indignant over their behavior, and even the gentle Jane is mortified by their indifferent attitude. Lydia chatters unabashedly about Wickham and seems to be totally in love with him, in spite of the shabby treatment that he has given her. In contrast, Wickham does not seem to be much in love with Lydia. While talking to Elizabeth, Lydia says that Darcy was present at the wedding. Elizabeth is thoroughly intrigued at his presence there and writes to her aunt to find out why.


prompt:
Chapter: Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, as
soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than
hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be
interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be
happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not
contain a denial.

     "Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.

     "MY DEAR NIECE,

     "I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
     morning to answering it, as I foresee that a _little_ writing will
     not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
     surprised by your application; I did not expect it from _you_.
     Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
     that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on _your_
     side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
     impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am--and nothing
     but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
     him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
     ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
     home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
     Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
     over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
     as _your's_ seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
     he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
     he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
     once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
     after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
     for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
     owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
     known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
     to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
     mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
     him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
     was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
     forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
     by himself. If he _had another_ motive, I am sure it would never
     disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
     discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
     more than _we_ had; and the consciousness of this, was another
     reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
     Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
     dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
     he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
     and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
     Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
     went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
     it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
     wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
     and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
     found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
     London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
     would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
     kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ----
     street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
     His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
     her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
     friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
     offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
     absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
     of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
     leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
     other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
     feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
     marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
     easily learnt, had never been _his_ design. He confessed himself
     obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
     which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
     ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
     meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
     situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
     somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
     nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
     sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
     he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
     must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
     this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
     effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
     Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
     against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
     for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
     than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
     Every thing being settled between _them_, Mr. Darcy's next step was
     to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
     Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
     could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
     your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
     morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
     so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
     seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
     leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
     gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
     father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
     had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
     then _I_ saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
     as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
     was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
     defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
     faults at different times; but _this_ is the true one. Nothing was
     to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
     not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
     uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
     together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
     or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
     to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
     was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
     which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
     letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
     explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
     the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
     than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
     what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
     amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
     another thousand in addition to her own settled upon _her_, and his
     commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
     alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
     reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
     had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
     received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
     _this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve, or _anybody's_
     reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
     fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
     your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
     for _another interest_ in the affair. When all this was resolved
     on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
     Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
     when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
     receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
     It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
     hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
     us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. _He_ was
     exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
     would not tell you how little I was satisfied with _her_ behaviour
     while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
     last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
     piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
     fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
     representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
     all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
     it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
     sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
     and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
     punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
     wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
     on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
     Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
     enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
     in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
     His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
     a little more liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_, his
     wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;--he hardly ever
     mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
     me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
     far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
     have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
     pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
     The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
     sincerely,

     "M. GARDINER."

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,
in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the
greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had
produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's
match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too
great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the
pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true!
He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the
trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which
supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and
despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with,
persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to
avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had
done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her
heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope
shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her
vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for
her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a
sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.
Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the
connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how
much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no
extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel
he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising
it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement,
she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might
assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be
materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that
they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a
return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing
to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation
she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed
towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.
Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get
the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him
again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even
sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how
steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and
confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's
approach; and before she could strike into another path, she was
overtaken by Wickham.

"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?" said he,
as he joined her.

"You certainly do," she replied with a smile; "but it does not follow
that the interruption must be unwelcome."

"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. _We_ were always good friends;
and now we are better."

"True. Are the others coming out?"

"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to
Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt, that
you have actually seen Pemberley."

She replied in the affirmative.

"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much
for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the
old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of
me. But of course she did not mention my name to you."

"Yes, she did."

"And what did she say?"

"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had--not turned
out well. At such a distance as _that_, you know, things are strangely
misrepresented."

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had
silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,

"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other
several times. I wonder what he can be doing there."

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said
Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there at this
time of year."

"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I
understood from the Gardiners that you had."

"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."

"And do you like her?"

"Very much."

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year
or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad
you liked her. I hope she will turn out well."

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."

"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"

"I do not recollect that we did."

"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A
most delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited
me in every respect."

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and
the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to
repine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The
quiet, the retirement of such a life, would have answered all my ideas
of happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the
circumstance, when you were in Kent?"

"I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was
left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."

"You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the
first, you may remember."

"I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not so
palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually
declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business
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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: When she responds to Elizabeths letter, Mrs. Gardiner is surprised that Elizabeth does not know the truth about the Wickham marriage. She informs Elizabeth that Darcy had found Lydia and bribed Wickham to marry her. Darcy then made Mr. Gardiner promise that he would conceal this information and take the credit for having paid Wickham. Elizabeth is overwhelmed by Darcys kindness and finds it hard to believe that he has done all this. She assumes that his involvement has sprung from his sense of responsibility for Wickham. Wickham confronts Elizabeth and tries to find out if she knows the truth about his relationship with Darcy. Elizabeth is evasive and cynical in her vague response and succeeds in getting rid of him quickly.


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

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.

"I often think," said she, "that there is nothing so bad as parting with
one's friends. One seems so forlorn without them."

"This is the consequence you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter," said
Elizabeth. "It must make you better satisfied that your other four are
single."

"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married;
but only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If
that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon."

But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into, was
shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by
an article of news, which then began to be in circulation. The
housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the
arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot
there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She
looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.

"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister," (for Mrs.
Philips first brought her the news.) "Well, so much the better. Not that
I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure
_I_ never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to
come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what _may_ happen?
But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to
mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?"

"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs. Nicholls was in
Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose
to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. He
comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was
going to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on
Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks, just fit to be
killed."

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming, without changing
colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to
Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,

"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present
report; and I know I appeared distressed. But don't imagine it was from
any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt
that I _should_ be looked at. I do assure you, that the news does not
affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he
comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid
of _myself_, but I dread other people's remarks."

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in
Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there, with no
other view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial
to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming
there _with_ his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come
without it.

"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man cannot come
to a house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this
speculation! I _will_ leave him to himself."

In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her
feelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily
perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed,
more unequal, than she had often seen them.

The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents,
about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "you
will wait on him of course."

"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised if I
went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in
nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again."

His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention
would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to
Netherfield.

"'Tis an etiquette I despise," said he. "If he wants our society, let
him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend _my_ hours in
running after my neighbours every time they go away, and come back
again."

"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not
wait on him. But, however, that shan't prevent my asking him to dine
here, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon.
That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at
table for him."

Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her
husband's incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her
neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley in consequence of it, before _they_
did. As the day of his arrival drew near,

"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," said Jane to her sister. "It
would be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can
hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well;
but she does not know, no one can know how much I suffer from what she
says. Happy shall I be, when his stay at Netherfield is over!"

"I wish I could say any thing to comfort you," replied Elizabeth; "but
it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual
satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because
you have always so much."

Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants,
contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety
and fretfulness on her side, might be as long as it could. She counted
the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent;
hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his
arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window,
enter the paddock, and ride towards the house.

Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely
kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went
to the window--she looked,--she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down
again by her sister.

"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," said Kitty; "who can it be?"

"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not
know."

"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to be with
him before. Mr. what's his name. That tall, proud man."

"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!--and so it does I vow. Well, any friend of
Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here to be sure; but else I must
say that I hate the very sight of him."

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little
of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness
which must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time
after receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable
enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and their
mother talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be
civil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being heard by either
of them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be
suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs.
Gardiner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him.
To Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and
whose merit she had undervalued; but to her own more extensive
information, he was the person, to whom the whole family were indebted
for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an
interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as
what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming--at his
coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again,
was almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered
behaviour in Derbyshire.

The colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half a
minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to
her eyes, as she thought for that space of time, that his affection and
wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure.

"Let me first see how he behaves," said she; "it will then be early
enough for expectation."

She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to
lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her
sister, as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little
paler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the
gentlemen's appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with
tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any
symptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance.

Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down
again to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She
had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and
she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as
she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her mother's
presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but
not an improbable, conjecture.

Bingley, she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period
saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs.
Bennet with a degree of civility, which made her two daughters ashamed,
especially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of
her curtsey and address to his friend.

Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the
preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was
hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill
applied.

Darcy, after enquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question
which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely any thing.
He was not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of his silence;
but it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her
friends, when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed,
without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable
to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she
as often found him looking at Jane, as at herself, and frequently on no
object but the ground. More thoughtfulness, and less anxiety to please
than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed,
and angry with herself for being so.

"Could I expect it to be otherwise!" said she. "Yet why did he come?"

She was in no humour for conversation with any one but himself; and to
him she had hardly courage to speak.

She enquired after his sister, but could do no more.

"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

"I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People _did_ say,
you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope
it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood,
since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my
own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have
seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know;
though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, 'Lately,
George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a
syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or any thing.
It was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to
make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?"

Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth
dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could
not tell.

"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,"
continued her mother, "but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very
hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to
Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to
stay, I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you
have heard of his leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the
regulars. Thank Heaven! he has _some_ friends, though perhaps not so
many as he deserves."

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery
of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her,
however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually
done before; and she asked Bingley, whether he meant to make any stay in
the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.

"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley," said her mother,
"I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please, on Mr.
Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and
will save all the best of the covies for you."

Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious
attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present, as had
flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be
hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant she felt,
that years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends, for
moments of such painful confusion.

"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself, "is never more to be
in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure,
that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either
one or the other again!"

Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no
compensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from observing
how much the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of her
former lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little;
but every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He
found her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as
unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no
difference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded
that she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged,
that she did not always know when she was silent.

When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her
intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at
Longbourn in a few days time.

"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley," she added, "for when
you went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with
us, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure
you, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep
your engagement."

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of
his concern, at having been prevented by business. They then went away.

Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine
there, that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did
not think any thing less than two courses, could be good enough for a
man, on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and
pride of one who had ten thousand a-year.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mrs. Bennet is crestfallen after the departure of Lydia, her favorite daughter. The only thing that excites her is Mr. Bingleys arrival with Darcy at Netherfield. Elizabeth fears that her mothers incorrigible behavior will surface again to embarrass her further. During the first visit, Mrs. Bennet, as always, talks foolishly, humiliating Elizabeth. She also gushes over Mr. Bingley, while being cold and ceremoniously polite to Darcy. Elizabeth is particularly pained by her mothers icy treatment of Darcy, who has been Lydias savior. Darcys behavior, which is solemn and reserved, aggravates Elizabeths misery further. The only positive thing in the visit is Bingleys marked attention towards Jane, whom he finds as pretty as ever, though not so communicative.


prompt:
Chapter: One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been
formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the
dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the
sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the
lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the
equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses
were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who
preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that
somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid
the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the
shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three
continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown
open, and their visitor entered. It was lady Catherine de Bourgh.

They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their
astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.
Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even
inferior to what Elizabeth felt.

She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no
other reply to Elizabeth's salutation, than a slight inclination of the
head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her
name to her mother, on her ladyship's entrance, though no request of
introduction had been made.

Mrs. Bennet all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such
high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting
for a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to Elizabeth,

"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady I suppose is your mother."

Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.

"And _that_ I suppose is one of your sisters."

"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a lady Catherine.
"She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all, is lately married,
and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man,
who I believe will soon become a part of the family."

"You have a very small park here," returned Lady Catherine after a short
silence.

"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I dare say; but I
assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's."

"This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in
summer; the windows are full west."

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner; and then
added,

"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. and
Mrs. Collins well."

"Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last."

Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from
Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no
letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.

Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some
refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely,
declined eating any thing; and then rising up, said to Elizabeth,

"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness
on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you
will favour me with your company."

"Go, my dear," cried her mother, "and shew her ladyship about the
different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage."

Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol,
attended her noble guest down stairs. As they passed through the hall,
Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and
drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent
looking rooms, walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her
waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk
that led to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for
conversation with a woman, who was now more than usually insolent and
disagreeable.

"How could I ever think her like her nephew?" said she, as she looked in
her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following
manner:--

"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my
journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I
come."

Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able to account
for the honour of seeing you here."

"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, "you ought to
know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere _you_ may
choose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been
celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such
moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most
alarming nature, reached me two days ago. I was told, that not only your
sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that
_you_, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon
afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I
_know_ it must be a scandalous falsehood; though I would not injure him
so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on
setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to
you."

"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, colouring
with astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming
so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"

"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted."

"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family," said Elizabeth,
coolly, "will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report
is in existence."

"If! do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been
industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a
report is spread abroad?"

"I never heard that it was."

"And can you likewise declare, that there is no _foundation_ for it?"

"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. _You_
may ask questions, which _I_ shall not choose to answer."

"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has
he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?"

"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."

"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his
reason. But _your_ arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation,
have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You
may have drawn him in."

"If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it."

"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such
language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world,
and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns."

"But you are not entitled to know _mine_; nor will such behaviour as
this, ever induce me to be explicit."

"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the
presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is
engaged to _my daughter_. Now what have you to say?"

"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will
make an offer to me."

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,

"The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy,
they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of
_his_ mother, as well as of her's. While in their cradles, we planned
the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would
be accomplished, in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of
inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to
the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his
tacit engagement with Miss De Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of
propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say, that from his
earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?"

"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no
other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be
kept from it, by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry
Miss De Bourgh. You both did as much as you could, in planning the
marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by
honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make
another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?"

"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss
Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or
friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will
be censured, slighted, and despised, by every one connected with him.
Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned
by any of us."

"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the wife of Mr.
Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily
attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause
to repine."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude
for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that
score?

"Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here
with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be
dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims.
I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment."

"_That_ will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable;
but it will have no effect on _me_."

"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my
nephew are formed for each other. They are descended on the maternal
side, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable,
honourable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their fortune on both
sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of
every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The
upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or
fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you
were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere,
in which you have been brought up."

"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that
sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter; so far we are
equal."

"True. You _are_ a gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who
are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their
condition."

"Whatever my connections may be," said Elizabeth, "if your nephew does
not object to them, they can be nothing to _you_."

"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?"

Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady
Catherine, have answered this question; she could not but say, after a
moment's deliberation,

"I am not."

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?"

"I will make no promise of the kind."

"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more
reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I
will ever recede. I shall not go away, till you have given me the
assurance I require."

"And I certainly _never_ shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into
anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry
your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise, make
_their_ marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to
me, would _my_ refusing to accept his hand, make him wish to bestow it
on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with
which you have supported this extraordinary application, have been as
frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my
character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these.
How far your nephew might approve of your interference in _his_ affairs,
I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in
mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the
subject."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the
objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no
stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous
elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her, was a
patched-up business, at the expence of your father and uncles. And is
_such_ a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is _her_ husband, is the son of
his late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!--of what
are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"

"You can _now_ have nothing farther to say," she resentfully answered.
"You have insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to
the house."

And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned
back. Her ladyship was highly incensed.

"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew!
Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you,
must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?"

"Lady Catherine, I have nothing farther to say. You know my sentiments."

"You are then resolved to have him?"

"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner,
which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without
reference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."

"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the
claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in
the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world."

"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude," replied Elizabeth, "have any
possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either,
would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the
resentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former
_were_ excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's
concern--and the world in general would have too much sense to join in
the scorn."

"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I
shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your
ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you
reasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point."

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of
the carriage, when turning hastily round, she added,

"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your
mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."

Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her
ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She
heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Her mother
impatiently met her at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady
Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.

"She did not choose it," said her daughter, "she would go."

"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously
civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well.
She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so passing through
Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had
nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to
acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Lady Catherine comes charging in at Longbourn "with an air more than usually ungracious". As always, she is cold and haughty; she treats the Bennet family with open contempt, declining all offers of refreshment and remarking about the small size of their property. Lady Catherine asks Elizabeth to walk on the lawn with her. There she tells Elizabeth she has heard a scandalous falsehood that Darcy has become engaged to her. She forces Elizabeth to negate the rumor and wants the assurance that Elizabeth will never consent if Darcy should propose. She declares that her daughter and Darcy have been intended for each other from the cradle. She bitterly derides the lack of class of the Bennets and speaks about Lydias elopement. The self-assured Elizabeth unflinchingly argues that there is no reason why Darcy or she should not make their own choice about marriage. Lady Catherine is incensed and calls Elizabeth a selfish creature who will pollute the shades of Pemberley by her inferior presence.