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.





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.





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.





As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;
or in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that
must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed her.

"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent," said she,
"did he come at all?"

She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.

"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when
he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If
he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teazing, teazing, man! I will
think no more about him."

Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach
of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which shewed her
better satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.

"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly
easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by
his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly
seen, that on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent
acquaintance."

"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said Elizabeth, laughingly. "Oh, Jane,
take care."

"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now."

"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with
you as ever."

       *       *       *       *       *

They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in
the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good
humour, and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had
revived.

On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two,
who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as
sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the
dining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take
the place, which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by
her sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to
invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to
hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was
decided. He placed himself by her.

Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He
bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that
Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes
likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing
alarm.

His behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as shewed an
admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded
Elizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's happiness, and his
own, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the
consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It
gave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in
no cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her, as the table
could divide them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little
such a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to
advantage. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but
she could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and
cold was their manner, whenever they did. Her mother's ungraciousness,
made the sense of what they owed him more painful to Elizabeth's mind;
and she would, at times, have given any thing to be privileged to tell
him, that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of
the family.

She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of
bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away
without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than
the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and
uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the
gentlemen came, was wearisome and dull to a degree, that almost made her
uncivil. She looked forward to their entrance, as the point on which all
her chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.

"If he does not come to me, _then_," said she, "I shall give him up for
ever."

The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have
answered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table,
where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee,
in so close a confederacy, that there was not a single vacancy near her,
which would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching, one of
the girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a whisper,

"The men shan't come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them;
do we?"

Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with
her eyes, envied every one to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience
enough to help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against herself
for being so silly!

"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to
expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not
protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman?
There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!"

She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup
himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,

"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."

"And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?"

"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough,
these three weeks."

She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse
with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for
some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady's whispering
to Elizabeth again, he walked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and the card tables placed, the ladies
all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him, when
all her views were overthrown, by seeing him fall a victim to her
mother's rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after seated
with the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure.
They were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had
nothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side
of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself.

Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to
supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the
others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.

"Well girls," said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, "What
say you to the day? I think every thing has passed off uncommonly well,
I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The
venison was roasted to a turn--and everybody said, they never saw so fat
a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the
Lucas's last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges
were remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three French
cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater
beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And
what do you think she said besides? 'Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her
at Netherfield at last.' She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good
a creature as ever lived--and her nieces are very pretty behaved girls,
and not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously."

Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough of
Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get him at
last; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy
humour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at
not seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.

"It has been a very agreeable day," said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. "The
party seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we
may often meet again."

Elizabeth smiled.

"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I
assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an
agreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish beyond it. I am
perfectly satisfied from what his manners now are, that he never had any
design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with
greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally
pleasing than any other man."

"You are very cruel," said her sister, "you will not let me smile, and
are provoking me to it every moment."

"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!"

"And how impossible in others!"

"But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I
acknowledge?"

"That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to
instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive
me; and if you persist in indifference, do not make _me_ your
confidante."





A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His
friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in
ten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably
good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many
expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.

"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shall be more lucky."

He should be particularly happy at any time, &c. &c.; and if she would
give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them.

"Can you come to-morrow?"

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was
accepted with alacrity.

He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them
dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressing
gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,

"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come--Mr. Bingley is
come.--He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss
Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss
Lizzy's hair."

"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane; "but I dare say Kitty is
forwarder than either of us, for she went up stairs half an hour ago."

"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come be quick, be quick!
where is your sash my dear?"

But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down
without one of her sisters.

The same anxiety to get them by themselves, was visible again in the
evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his
custom, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the
five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at
Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any
impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last
Kitty did, she very innocently said, "What is the matter mamma? What do
you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?"

"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at you." She then sat still five
minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she
suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,

"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you," took her out of the room.
Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth, which spoke her distress at
such premeditation, and her intreaty that _she_ would not give into it.
In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,

"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you."

Elizabeth was forced to go.

"We may as well leave them by themselves you know;" said her mother as
soon as she was in the hall. "Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in
my dressing-room."

Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained
quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned
into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was every
thing that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His
ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their
evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the
mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command
of countenance, particularly grateful to the daughter.

He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went
away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs.
Bennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.

After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed
between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in
the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy
returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably
persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman's
concurrence.

Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the
morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more
agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption
or folly in Bingley, that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him
into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric than the
other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner;
and in the evening Mrs. Bennet's invention was again at work to get
every body away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter
to write, went into the breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea;
for as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be
wanted to counteract her mother's schemes.

But on returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished, she
saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother
had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her
sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in
earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of
both as they hastily turned round, and moved away from each other, would
have told it all. _Their_ situation was awkward enough; but _her's_ she
thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and
Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as
well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering a few
words to her sister, ran out of the room.

Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give
pleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest
emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.

"'Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh!
why is not every body as happy?"

Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a
delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of
kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not
allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be
said, for the present.

"I must go instantly to my mother;" she cried. "I would not on any
account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it
from any one but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh! Lizzy, to
know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear
family! how shall I bear so much happiness!"

She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the
card party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease
with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many
previous months of suspense and vexation.

"And this," said she, "is the end of all his friend's anxious
circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the
happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!"

In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her
father had been short and to the purpose.

"Where is your sister?" said he hastily, as he opened the door.

"With my mother up stairs. She will be down in a moment I dare say."

He then shut the door, and coming up to her, claimed the good wishes and
affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her
delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with
great cordiality; and then till her sister came down, she had to listen
to all he had to say, of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections;
and in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his
expectations of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had for
basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposition of
Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and
himself.

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of
Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as
made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped
her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or
speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,
though she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour; and when
Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly shewed
how really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their
visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he
turned to his daughter and said,

"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his
goodness.

"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I have great pleasure in
thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your
doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are
each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so
easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will
always exceed your income."

"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters, would be
unpardonable in _me_."

"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you
talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a-year, and very likely
more." Then addressing her daughter, "Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so
happy! I am sure I sha'nt get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it
would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not
be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when
he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was
that you should come together. Oh! he is the handsomest young man that
ever was seen!"

Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her
favourite child. At that moment, she cared for no other. Her younger
sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness
which she might in future be able to dispense.

Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty
begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;
coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after
supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough
detested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought
himself obliged to accept.

Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for
while he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on any one else;
but she found herself considerably useful to both of them, in those
hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane,
he always attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of
her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of
relief.

"He has made me so happy," said she, one evening, "by telling me, that
he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not
believed it possible."

"I suspected as much," replied Elizabeth. "But how did he account for
it?"

"It must have been his sister's doing. They were certainly no friends to
his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have
chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,
as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will
learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again; though we
can never be what we once were to each other."

"That is the most unforgiving speech," said Elizabeth, "that I ever
heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again
the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard."

"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November,
he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of _my_ being
indifferent, would have prevented his coming down again!"

"He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit of his
modesty."

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and
the little value he put on his own good qualities.

Elizabeth was pleased to find, that he had not betrayed the interference
of his friend, for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving
heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice
her against him.

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" cried
Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed
above them all! If I could but see _you_ as happy! If there _were_ but
such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as
you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your
happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very
good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time."

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a
secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and
_she_ ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her
neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the
world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,
they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.





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.





The discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw
Elizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many
hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it
appeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings,
for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.
Darcy. It was a rational scheme to be sure! but from what the report of
their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;
till she recollected that _his_ being the intimate friend of Bingley,
and _her_ being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the
expectation of one wedding, made every body eager for another, to supply
the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her
sister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at
Lucas lodge, therefore, (for through their communication with the
Collinses, the report she concluded had reached lady Catherine) had only
set _that_ down, as almost certain and immediate, which _she_ had looked
forward to as possible, at some future time.

In revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help
feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting
in this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to
prevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate
an application to her nephew; and how _he_ might take a similar
representation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared
not pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his
aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose
that he thought much higher of her ladyship than _she_ could do; and it
was certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with _one_,
whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would
address him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would
probably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak
and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.

If he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often
seemed likely, the advice and intreaty of so near a relation might
settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy, as dignity
unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady
Catherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to
Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.

"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should come to
his friend within a few days," she added, "I shall know how to
understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of
his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might
have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him
at all."

       *       *       *       *       *

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had
been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same
kind of supposition, which had appeased Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and
Elizabeth was spared from much teazing on the subject.

The next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was met by her
father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you; come into my room."

She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell
her, was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner
connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might
be from lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the
consequent explanations.

She followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down. He
then said,

"I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me
exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its
contents. I did not know before, that I had _two_ daughters on the brink
of matrimony. Let me congratulate you, on a very important conquest."

The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks in the instantaneous
conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt;
and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained
himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to
herself; when her father continued,

"You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters
as these; but I think I may defy even _your_ sagacity, to discover the
name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins."

"From Mr. Collins! and what can _he_ have to say?"

"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with
congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of
which it seems he has been told, by some of the good-natured, gossiping
Lucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what he says
on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows. "Having thus
offered you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on
this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another:
of which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter
Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after
her elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her fate,
may be reasonably looked up to, as one of the most illustrious
personages in this land."

"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?" "This young
gentleman is blessed in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of
mortal can most desire,--splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive
patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin
Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur, by a precipitate
closure with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course, you will be
inclined to take immediate advantage of."

"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out."

"My motive for cautioning you, is as follows. We have reason to imagine
that his aunt, lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with
a friendly eye."

"_Mr. Darcy_, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I _have_
surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man, within
the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more
effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any
woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at _you_ in
his life! It is admirable!"

Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could only force
one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so
little agreeable to her.

"Are you not diverted?"

"Oh! yes. Pray read on."

"After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship last
night, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she
felt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some
family objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give her
consent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty
to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that she and
her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run
hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned." "Mr.
Collins moreover adds," "I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad
business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their
living together before the marriage took place, should be so generally
known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain
from declaring my amazement, at hearing that you received the young
couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an
encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should
very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as
a christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names
to be mentioned in your hearing." "_That_ is his notion of christian
forgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte's
situation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you
look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be _Missish_, I
hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we
live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our
turn?"

"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is so
strange!"

"Yes--_that_ is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man
it would have been nothing; but _his_ perfect indifference, and _your_
pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate
writing, I would not give up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any
consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving
him the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and
hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine
about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?"

To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had
been asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his
repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her
feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she
would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by
what he said of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing but
wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of
his seeing too _little_, she might have fancied too _much_.





Instead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as
Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy
with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine's
visit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to
tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in
momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed
their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the
habit of walking, Mary could never spare time, but the remaining five
set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to
outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy,
were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was
too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a
desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.

They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon
Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern,
when Kitty left them, she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the
moment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was
high, she immediately said,

"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving
relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding your's. I
can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor
sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to
acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest
of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."

"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise
and emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a
mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs.
Gardiner was so little to be trusted."

"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to
me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could
not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again,
in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced
you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the
sake of discovering them."

"If you _will_ thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone.
That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other
inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your
_family_ owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought
only of _you_."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,
her companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your
feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. _My_
affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence
me on this subject for ever."

Elizabeth feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of
his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not
very fluently, gave him to understand, that her sentiments had undergone
so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make
her receive with gratitude and pleasure, his present assurances. The
happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never
felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as
warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth
been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the
expression of heart-felt delight, diffused over his face, became him;
but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of
feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his
affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to
be thought; and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She
soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding
to the efforts of his aunt, who _did_ call on him in her return through
London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the
substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on
every expression of the latter, which, in her ladyship's apprehension,
peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance, in the belief that
such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from
her nephew, which _she_ had refused to give. But, unluckily for her
ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself
to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that,
had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have
acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough of
my _frankness_ to believe me capable of _that_. After abusing you so
abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all
your relations."

"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your
accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour
to you at the time, had merited the severest reproof. It was
unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."

"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that
evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined,
will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved
in civility."

"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I
then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of
it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your
reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behaved in a
more gentleman-like manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you
can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;--though it was some
time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice."

"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an
impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such
a way."

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper
feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never
forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible
way, that would induce you to accept me."

"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at
all. I assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it."

Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it _soon_ make you
think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its
contents?"

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her
former prejudices had been removed.

"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was
necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part
especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the
power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might
justly make you hate me."

"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the
preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my
opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily
changed as that implies."

"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly
calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a
dreadful bitterness of spirit."

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The
adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings
of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so
widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant
circumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some
of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you
pleasure."

"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. _Your_
retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment
arising from them, is not of philosophy, but what is much better, of
ignorance. But with _me_, it is not so. Painful recollections will
intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a
selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a
child I was taught what was _right_, but I was not taught to correct my
temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride
and conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only _child_)
I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father
particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged,
almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond
my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to
_wish_ at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with
my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might
still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not
owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most
advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a
doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my
pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."

"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"

"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be
wishing, expecting my addresses."

"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally I assure you.
I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong.
How you must have hated me after _that_ evening?"

"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take
a proper direction."

"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me; when we met at
Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"

"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."

"Your surprise could not be greater than _mine_ in being noticed by you.
My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I
confess that I did not expect to receive _more_ than my due."

"My object _then_," replied Darcy, "was to shew you, by every civility
in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped
to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you
see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes
introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an
hour after I had seen you."

He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her
disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to
the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of
following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister, had been formed
before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness
there, had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must
comprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to
each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know
any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that
it was time to be at home.

"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which
introduced the discussion of _their_ affairs. Darcy was delighted with
their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of
it.

"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.

"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."

"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And
though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much
the case.

"On the evening before my going to London," said he "I made a confession
to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of
all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs,
absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the
slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself
mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent
to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was
unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."

Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his
friend.

"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him
that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"

"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits
which I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection."

"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to
him."

"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had
prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but
his reliance on mine, made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess
one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not
allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months
last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was
angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained
in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me
now."

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful
friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked
herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laught at, and it
was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley,
which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the
conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.





"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question
which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and
from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in
reply, that they had wandered about, till she was beyond her own
knowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor any thing
else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.

The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extraordinary. The
acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent.
Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;
and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather _knew_ that she was happy,
than _felt_ herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment,
there were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in
the family when her situation became known; she was aware that no one
liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a
_dislike_ which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.

At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far
from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.

"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be!--engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no,
you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible."

"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and
I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am
in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are
engaged."

Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much
you dislike him."

"You know nothing of the matter. _That_ is all to be forgot. Perhaps I
did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these,
a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever
remember it myself."

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more
seriously assured her of its truth.

"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you," cried
Jane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would--I do congratulate you--but are you
certain? forgive the question--are you quite certain that you can be
happy with him?"

"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that
we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased,
Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?"

"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more
delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you
really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do any thing rather than
marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought
to do?"

"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel _more_ than I ought to do, when I
tell you all."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I must confess, that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am
afraid you will be angry."

"My dearest sister, now _be_ be serious. I want to talk very seriously.
Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell
me how long you have loved him?"

"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.
But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds
at Pemberley."

Another intreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the
desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of
attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing
farther to wish.

"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as happy as myself. I
always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I
must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your
husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But
Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you
tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know
of it, to another, not to you."

Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to
mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made
her equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no longer
conceal from her, his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged,
and half the night spent in conversation.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next
morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with
our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always
coming here? I had no notion but he would go a shooting, or something or
other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him?
Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's
way."

Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet
was really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an
epithet.

As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and
shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information;
and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mr. Bennet, have you no more lanes
hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"

"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk
to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has
never seen the view."

"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am
sure it will be too much for Kitty. Wont it, Kitty?"

Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great
curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently
consented. As she went up stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her,
saying,

"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that
disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is
all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to
him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to
inconvenience."

During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent should be
asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the
application for her mother's. She could not determine how her mother
would take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur
would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she
were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it
was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to
her sense; and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the
first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her
disapprobation.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw
Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was
extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to
be made unhappy, and that it should be through her means, that _she_,
his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be
filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her, was a wretched
reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when,
looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes
he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while
pretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he
wants you in the library." She was gone directly.

Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious.
"Lizzy," said he, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be
accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?"

How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more
reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from
explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give;
but they were now necessary, and she assured him with some confusion, of
her attachment to Mr. Darcy.

"Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be
sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane.
But will they make you happy?"

"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your belief of my
indifference?"

"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but
this would be nothing if you really liked him."

"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "I love him.
Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not
know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in
such terms."

"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind
of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which he
condescended to ask. I now give it to _you_, if you are resolved on
having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your
disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor
respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked
up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the
greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape
discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing
_you_ unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are
about."

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply;
and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the
object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her
estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that
his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many
months suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she
did conquer her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.

"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to
say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with
you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy."

To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy
had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.

"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did every thing;
made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him
his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble
and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and _would_ have
paid him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own
way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about
his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter."

He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading
Mr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her
at last to go--saying, as she quitted the room, "If any young men come
for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure."

Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after
half an hour's quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join
the others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for
gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer any
thing material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity
would come in time.

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her,
and made the important communication. Its effect was most
extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and
unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes, that
she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to
credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the
shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to
fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless
herself.

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would
have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich
and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages
you will have! Jane's is nothing to it--nothing at all. I am so
pleased--so happy. Such a charming man!--so handsome! so tall!--Oh, my
dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I
hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing
that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh,
Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and
Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,
soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,
her mother followed her.

"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten
thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord! And a
special licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But
my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of,
that I may have it to-morrow."

This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman
himself might be; and Elizabeth found, that though in the certain
possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations'
consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow
passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood
in such awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak
to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark
her deference for his opinion.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get
acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising
every hour in his esteem.

"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wickham, perhaps,
is my favourite; but I think I shall like _your_ husband quite as well
as Jane's."





Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.
Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could
you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when
you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first
place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which
laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I
knew that I _had_ begun."

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour
to _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke
to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;
did you admire me for my impertinence?"

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.
The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious
attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking
and looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and
interested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really
amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you
took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and
in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously
courted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;
and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly
reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks
of _that_ when they fall in love."

"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was
ill at Netherfield?"

"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it
by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are
to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me
to find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may
be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling
to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first
called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did
you look as if you did not care about me?"

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."

"A man who had felt less, might."

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that
I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you
_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when
you _would_ have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of
thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. _Too
much_, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort
springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the
subject? This will never do."

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady
Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of
removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to
your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to
wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me
hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing."

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,
for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to
Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?
or had you intended any more serious consequence?"

"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could, whether I
might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to
myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley,
and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."

"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to
befall her?"

"I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to
be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done
directly."

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and
admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But
I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected."

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy
had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's
long letter, but now, having _that_ to communicate which she knew would
be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt
had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as
follows:

     "I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have
     done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but
     to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than
     really existed. But _now_ suppose as much as you chuse; give a
     loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible
     flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me
     actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very
     soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I
     thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I
     be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful.
     We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in
     the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one
     with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I
     laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world, that he can
     spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.

     Your's, &c."

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different style; and
still different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in
reply to his last.

     "DEAR SIR,

     "I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will
     soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as
     you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has
     more to give.

     "Your's sincerely, &c."

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching
marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even
to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her
former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was
affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing
her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was
as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were
insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of
being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations
to Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the
Collinses were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden
removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so
exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that
Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till
the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend
was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their
meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she
saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her
husband. He bore it however with admirable calmness. He could even
listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away
the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all
meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did
shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater tax on his
forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in
too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good
humour encouraged, yet, whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar.
Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all
likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could, to shield
him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him
to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse
without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising
from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it
added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to
the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to
either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at
Pemberley.

 The "happy couple" arrives at Longbourn acting as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. In fact, Lydia is quite smug in having secured a husband in front of all her older sisters. . Wickham seemed less enthusiastic and Elizabeth makes it plain to him that she is aware of his past, but will accept him into the family. Some time later, Lydia lets it slip that Darcy was present at her wedding, and so Elizabeth writes to her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, for more information. It was in fact Darcy that had paid off Wickham's debts and bought him a commission in the army. Mrs. Gardiner tells Elizabeth that his motive for this was his love for Elizabeth. Lydia and Wickham depart and only Mrs. Bennett is sad to see them go. Bingley returns to Netherfield and he calls at Longbourn with Darcy. Although Mrs. Bennett is pleased to see Bingley, she makes Darcy feel uncomfortable. Bingley's relationship with Jane develops once more and he finally proposes. Darcy leaves for London, and soon after, Longbourn receives a surprise visit from Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She has heard a rumor that Darcy and Elizabeth are about to be engaged. Lady Catherine is mindful of Elizabeth's previous impertinence and has come to warn Elizabeth off should Darcy propose. There follows a heated debate, "Miss Bennett, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with '' A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. You are soon to be united with my nephew '' I know it must be a scandalous falsehood." Elizabeth replies, "If you believed it impossible to be true '' I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far." Lady Catherine: "I have come at once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted." Elizabeth responds coolly, "Your coming to Longbourn, to see my and my family will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence." Despite Lady Catherine's demands, Elizabeth refuses to promise that she will not accept a proposal of marriage from Darcy. Fuming, Lady Catherine leaves. Next day, Mr. Bennett receives a letter from Mr. Collins, which no one in the Bennett household can quite believe - that Darcy may propose to Elizabeth. Remember, the Gardiners are the only ones who know about Elizabeth's change of heart. A few days later, Darcy and Bingley arrive at Longbourn. Darcy declares his love for Elizabeth and they agree to be married. Mrs. Bennett is at a total loss concerning this new development. She immediately loses all disdain she had for Darcy, no doubt thinking about the many visits she can have to the Pemberley Estate. She says, "Oh, my dear Lizzie! Pray apologize for my having disliked him so much before. Dear, dear Lizzie! A house in the town! Everything that is charming! Three daughters married! '10,000 a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me? I shall go distracted." Mr. Bennett is relieved that Darcy paid off Wickham for he will be under no obligation to pay the money back. After the two marriages, life progresses happily for the newly-weds. Jane and Bingley move closer to Pemberley, and Kitty visits them on a regular basis, and improves considerably as a consequence. At Longbourn, Mrs. Bennett continues her outrageous behavior, but is suitably distanced from Pemberley. Mary enjoys the situation of having no pretty sisters to compete with her. Wickham and Lydia continue to spend, spend, and spend. Elizabeth becomes very close to Miss Darcy, and the Gardiners become close friends, for they were instrumental in bringing Darcy and Elizabeth together. Lady Catherine is never reconciled with Elizabeth.

