TableofContents

FromthePagesofPrideandPrejudiceTitlePageCopyrightPageJaneAustenThe World of Jane AustenandPrideandPrejudiceIntroduction

VolumetheFirst

Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14

Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23

VolumetheSecondChapter1

Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15

Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19

VolumetheThirdChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6

Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19

EndnotesInspired by Pride andPrejudiceComments&QuestionsForFurtherReading

FromthePagesofPrideandPrejudice

It is a truth universallyacknowledged, that a singleman in possession of a goodfortunemust be inwant of awife.(page5)

“Youmistakeme,mydear. Ihave a high respect for yournerves. They are my old

friends. I have heard youmention them withconsideration these twentyyearsatleast.”(page7)

“Pride relates more to ouropinion of ourselves; vanitytowhatwewouldhaveothersthinkofus.”(page21)

“Happiness in marriage isentirely a matter of chance.”(page24)

“I wonder who firstdiscovered the efficacy ofpoetryindrivingawaylove!”(page45)

“To find a man agreeablewhom one is determined tohate!Donotwishmesuchanevil.”(page91)

“Thosewhodonotcomplainareneverpitied.”(page113)

Without thinking highlyeither of men or ofmatrimony, marriage hadalwaysbeenherobject:itwastheonlyhonourableprovisionfor well-educated youngwomenofsmallfortune,and,however uncertain of givinghappiness, must be theirpleasantest preservative fromwant.(page122)

“Stupidmenaretheonlyonesworth knowing, after all.”(page154)

They parted at last withmutualcivility,andpossiblyamutual desire of nevermeetingagain.(page229)

She found, what has beensometimes found before, thatan event to which she hadlooked forward with

impatient desire, did not, intaking place, bring all thesatisfactionshehadpromisedherself. It was consequentlynecessarytonamesomeotherperiodforthecommencementof actual felicity; to havesome other point on whichher wishes and hopes mightbe fixed, and by againenjoying the pleasure ofanticipation, console herselffor the present, and preparefor another disappointment.

(page232)

“Howstrangethisis!Andforthis we are to be thankful.Thattheyshouldmarry,smallas is their chance ofhappiness,andwretchedasishischaracter,weareforcedtorejoice!”(page294)

She was convinced that shecould have been happy withhim, when it was no longer

likelytheyshouldmeet.(page301)

“Youmust learnsomeofmyphilosophy.Thinkonlyofthepastasitsremembrancegivesyoupleasure.”(page356)

“Iamthehappiestcreatureinthe world. Perhaps otherpeople have said so before,butnoonewithsuchjustice.Iam happier even than Jane;

she only smiles, I laugh.”(page369)

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JaneAusten

The English novelist JaneAusten was born December16,1775,theseventhofeightchildren, in the ParsonageHouse of Steventon,Hampshire, where she spenther first twenty-five years.During her brief lifetime

Austen witnessed politicalunrest, revolution, war, andindustrialization, yet thesemomentouseventsarenotthecentral subjects of her finelyfocused novels. Rather,Austen wrote of herimmediate experience: themicrocosm of the countrygentryanditsclass-consciousinsularity. Jane’s father, theReverend George Austen,wastheeruditecountryrectorofSteventon,andhermother,

Cassandra (née Leigh), wasdescended from anaristocratic line of learnedclergymen. By no meanswealthy, the Austensnonetheless enjoyed acomfortable, sociallyrespectable life, and greatlyprized their children’seducation.Janeandherbelovedelder

(and only) sister, Cassandra,were schooled in

SouthamptonandReadingfora short period, but most oftheir education took place athome. Private theatricalperformances in the barn atSteventon complementedJane’s studies of French,Italian, history, music, andeighteenth-centuryfiction.Anavid reader from earliestchildhood,Janebeganwritingat age twelve, no doubtencouraged by her culturedand affectionate family.

Indeed, family and writingwere her great loves; despitea fleeting engagement in1802, Austen never married.Her first two novels, “Elinorand Marianne” and “FirstImpressions,” were writtenwhile at Steventon but neverpublished in their originalform.Following her father’s

retirement, Jane moved in1801 with her parents and

sister to Bath. That popularwatering hole, removed fromthe country life Janepreferred, presented thesociable young novelist witha wealth of observations andexperience that would lateremerge inhernovels.Austenmoved to Southampton withhermotherandsisterafterthedeath of her father in 1805.Several years later the threewomen settled in ChawtonCottage inHampshire,where

Austen resided until the endof her life. She relished herreturntothecountrysideand,with it, a renewed artisticvigor that led to the revisionofherearlynovels.SenseandSensibility, a reworking of“Elinor and Marianne,” waspublished in 1811, followedby Pride and Prejudice, areworking of “FirstImpressions,”twoyearslater.Austen completed four

morenovels(MansfieldPark,Emma, Northanger Abbey,and Persuasion) in theChawton sitting room.Productive and discreet, sheinsistedthatherworkbekeptsecret from anyone outsidethe family.All of her novelswerepublishedanonymously,including the posthumousrelease, thanks to her brotherHenry, ofNorthanger AbbeyandPersuasion.

The last years of Austen’slifewere relatively quiet andcomfortable. Her final,unfinished work, Sanditon,wasputasideinthespringof1817,whenherhealthsharplydeclinedandshewastakentoWinchester for medicaltreatment of what appears tohave been Addison’s diseaseoraformoflymphoma.JaneAustendiedthereonJuly18,1817, and is buried inWinchesterCathedral.

TheWorldofJaneAustenandPrideand

Prejudice

TheAmericanRevolutionbeginsinApril.JaneAustenisbornonDecember16

1775 intheParsonageHouseinSteventon,Hampshire,England,theseventhofeightchildren(twogirlsandsixboys).

1778

Frances(Fanny)BurneypublishesEvelina,aseminal

workinthedevelopmentofthenovelofmanners.

Germanphilosopher

1781 ImmanuelKantpublisheshisCritiqueofPureReason.

1782

TheAmericanRevolutionends.

FannyBurney’snovelCeciliaispublished.

1783

CassandraandJaneAustenbegintheirformaleducationinSouthampton,

followedbystudyin

Reading.

1788

KingGeorgeIIIofEnglandsuffershisfirstboutofmentalillness,leavingthecountryinastateofuncertaintyandanxiety.George

Gordon,LordByron,isborn.

GeorgeIIIrecuperates.TheFrenchRevolution

1789 begins.WilliamBlake’sSongsofInnocenceispublished.

1791

AmericanpoliticalphilosopherThomasPainepublishesthefirstpartofTheRightsofMan.

1792

PercyByssheShelleyisborn.MaryWollstonecraft

publishesAVindicationoftheRightsofWoman.

1793

AshockwavepassesthoughEuropewiththeexecutionofKingLouisXVIofFranceand,somemonths

later,hiswife,Marie-Antoinette;theReignofTerrorbegins.

EnglanddeclareswaronFrance.Twoof

Austen’sbrothers,Francis(1774-1865)andCharles(1779-1852),serveintheRoyalNavy,butlifeinthecountrysideofSteventonremainsrelativelytranquil.Austenbeginsherfirstnovel,“ElinorandMarianne,”

writtenasletters(thefragmentsofthis

1795 earlyworkarenowlost);shewilllaterrevisethematerialtobecomethenovel

SenseandSensibility.JohnKeatsisborn.

1796-1797

Austenauthorsasecondnovel,“FirstImpressions,”whichwasneverpublished;itwilllaterbecomePrideandPrejudice.PoetsSamuelTaylor

1798 ColeridgeandWilliamWordsworthpublishTheLyrical

Ballads.Jane’sfather,theReverendGeorgeAusten,retires,andwiththeNapoleonicWarsloominginthebackgroundofBritishconsciousness,heandhiswifeandtwodaughtersleavethe

1801 quietcountrylifeofSteventonforthe

bustling,fashionabletownofBath.ManyofthecharactersanddepictionsofsocietyinJaneAusten’s

subsequentnovelsareshapedbyher

experiencesinBath.

Austenreceivesherfirstpublicationofferforhernovel“Susan,”

1803

butthemanuscriptissubsequentlyreturnedbythepublisher;itwilllaterberevisedandreleasedas

NorthangerAbbey.TheUnitedStatesbuysLouisianafromFrance.RalphWaldoEmersonisborn.

1804

NapoleoncrownshimselfemperorofFrance.Spain

declareswaronBritain.

1805

Jane’sfatherdies.Janeandhermother

andsistersubsequentlymovetoSouthampton.SirWalterScott

publisheshisLayoftheLastMinstrel.

Afterseveralyearsoftravelingandshort-termstaysinvarious

1809

towns,theAustenwomensettlein

ChawtonCottageinHampshire;intheparlorofthishouseAustenquietly

composeshermostfamousworks.

CharlesDarwinandAlfred,Lord

Tennyson,areborn.

AustenbeginsMansfieldParkin

1811

February.InNovemberSenseandSensibility,the

romanticmisadventuresoftwosisters,ispublishedwiththenotation“By

aLady”;allofAusten’ssubsequent

novelsarealsobroughtout

anonymously.GeorgeIIIisdeclaredinsane,

andthemorally

corruptPrinceofWales(thefutureKingGeorgeIV)becomesregent.

1812

FairyTalesbytheBrothersGrimmandthefirstpartsofLord

Byron’sChildeHaroldarepublished.TheUnitedStates

declareswaronGreatBritain.

1813

PrideandPrejudiceispublished;it

describestheconflictbetweenthehigh-

spiriteddaughterofacountrygentlemanandawealthy

landowner.NapoleonisexiledtoElba,andtheBourbonsarerestoredtopower.

MansfieldParkispublished;itisthe

1814storyofthedifficultthoughultimatelyrewardedlifeofapoorrelationwholivesinthehouseofherwealthyuncle.

1815

Austen’scomicnovelEmmaispublished,centeringonthe

heroine’smisguidedattemptsat

matchmaking.Napoleonisdefeated

atWaterloo.CharlotteBrontëisborn.

1817

AustenbeginsthesatiricnovelSanditon,but

abandonsitbecauseofdeclininghealth.ShediesonJuly18inWinchesterandis

buriedinWinchesterCathedral.

NorthangerAbbey,asocialsatirewith

1818

overtonesof(parodied)terror,andPersuasion,aboutareawakenedlove,arepublishedunderAusten’sbrother

Henry’ssupervision.

Introduction

Long before Austenmaniaovertook America andEngland in the mid-1990s,when major films andtelevision miniseries wereproduced of Jane Austen’smost popular novel, Pride

and Prejudice, and threeotherofthesixnovelsAustencompleted as an adult, fansreportedaprivate,proprietarysenseof“Jane,”asthoughthegreatEnglishnovelistwereaclose acquaintance. RudyardKipling exploited thisphenomenon in his shortstory “The Janeites,” whichdescribesseveralmembersofa secret JaneAusten society,a group of soldiers in thetrenchesofWorldWarI,well

versed in Austen trivia andgallant defenders of “Jane”and the world she created.Both the jealously guardedprivatefantasyandtherecentpopular cultural phenomenonmay be attributed in part tothe enduring power ofAusten’s genius as a writer:her ability to create singularcharacterswholingerinone’simagination, her unparalleledsense of irony and wit, herbrilliant dialogue, and her

carefullywovenplots.At thesame time,Austen delivers asatisfying romance, more soin Pride and Prejudice thanin her other novels, and thesheer happiness of her maincharacters at the novel’s endhasitsownappeal.Above all though, and in

Pride and Prejudiceespecially,Austen appeals tomodernreaders’nostalgia foraworldof social,moral, and

economic stability, but onewhere characters are free tomake their own choices andpursue their hearts’ desires.The formal civility, thecarefullyprescribedmanners,and sexual and socialrestraint, set against abackdrop of villagecommunity, stately manorhouses, and an Englishlandscapedevoidofindustrialturmoiland thebriskpaceofmodern technology—these

are a welcome escape fortoday’s reader. So, too, theheroine Elizabeth Bennet’sbold independence andinsistence on placingindividual preference aboveeconomicmotive inmarriagesatisfies our desire for a plotshapedthroughthepursuitofpersonal fulfillment. Aconvention of morality talesof Austen’s time is thatindividuals’ personalfreedoms and aspirations

cannot be easily reconciledwith their responsibilities tofamily and community.Austen overcomes thisdifficulty by employing theclassic comic form: Whenwedding bells are about toringatthestory’sconclusion,weknow that the twosetsofmain characters have mademarriages of affection(Elizabeth’s sister Jane andMr.Bingley)orevenpassion(Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy)

and that these happy unionsactually enhance the stabilityof society. That it appears tothe reader reasonable thatElizabeth follows her heartand ends up fabulouslywealthy attests to Austen’spowers of crafting a story inwhich early hostilities andinappropriate desires aredeftly reconciled, and farmore realistically so than incomedies by Shakespeare,wherehappyresolutionsmust

be effected either by wildlyimprobable coincidences orsupernaturalforces.It is sometimes said that

Austen’s gift was to be ashrewd observer of hernarrow, genteel social circle,that her experience andknowledgeoftheworldwerelimitedandherlifesheltered,and that her novelsrealistically reflect thepeaceful late-eighteenth-and

early-nineteenth centuryvillage community andEnglish countryside sheinhabited.ThatAustenwasacareful observer of humanmotivation and socialinteraction is certainly true.One should not assume,though, that her choice towrite novels of mannersmeans that she was unawareof or unaffected by thepolitical and social upheavalofherday.The idea that she

centers her novels on thesocialclasseswithwhichshewas most familiar is notentirelythecase,althoughshehad occasion to observemembers of the gentry andaristocracy whosecircumstances resembledthose of some of thecharacters who populate hernovels.Whetherherown lifewas perfectly serene isquestionable: Most lives, nomatter how uneventful in

retrospect, have theirvicissitudes.At the very least, Austen

andherfamilymusthavehadconcernsover the tumultuoushistorical events thatunsettled the British nationduringtheirlifetime.Shewasborn in 1775, the year thatmarked the beginning of theAmerican Revolution.Several decades later, shewould read newspaper

accounts of another Britishconflict with the newAmerican nation in the Warof 1812,which began as shefinished revising Pride andPrejudice. What must haveplayed significantly inAusten’s imagination, as inthemindofeveryBriton,wasthe ongoing war withNapoleon’s forces, whichmarked the culmination of acentury of conflicts betweenBritainandFrance,andwhich

ended, with the Battle ofWaterloo in June 1815, sixmonths before her fortiethbirthday. The British fear ofinvasionbyNapoleon,whichendured until 1805, causedconcern even in the townsand villages that seemedsafest. Austen would havebeenawareofthebilletingofBritish militia troops in theEnglish countryside, and shecertainly followed the careerof her brother Henry, who

had joined theOxfordmilitiain1793,whenBritain’slatestwar with France erupted inthe aftermath of the FrenchRevolution. She must alsohavetakenapersonalinterestin the campaigns of theBritish navy, which countedher brothers Francis andCharles among its officers.To what extent she caredaboutdailypoliticaleventsisdifficult to discern, for herletters are marked by

characteristic irony. Of anewspaper report of an 1811battle of the PeninsularWar,when Napoleon invadedSpain and Portugal in anefforttocloseportstoBritishcommerce, Austen declared,“Howhorribleitistohavesomany people killed!—Andwhatablessingthatonecaresfornoneof them!” (LeFaye,JaneAusten’sLetters,p.191;see“ForFurtherReading”).

If history and politics ingeneral, and the war withFranceinparticular,seemfarremoved from the affairs ofAusten’s novels, it is worthremembering that the militiaand army provide romanticdistraction in the form ofdashingyoungofficersforthetwo youngest Bennet sisters,KittyandLydia,inPrideandPrejudice, while her finalnovel,Persuasion,centersonthe romantic interests of

British naval officers. Afeature of Austen’s comicmode is that the events thatproduce the greatestinstability within the Britishnation are tamed into thematerial of harmless socialdisarray that furthers theromantic plot. We find thesameprocessatworkinotherof her novels. Severalscholars have noted that theBertram family estate ofMansfield Park must be

supportedbytheWestIndianslave economy and that SirThomas Bertram’s absencefromhishome inEngland inorder to protect his interestsin Antigua provides theoccasion for the Bertramchildren and their friends toengage in the mildlyimproper behavior thatpromotescomicdisorder.Weare also reminded of localinstability when HarrietSmith, ofEmma, is accosted

by a band of gypsies andmust be rescued by FrankChurchill; the incident playson commonly held fears ofthe vagrants and highway-men who traveled the roadsofEngland.Austen’s firsthand

experiences of theworld andits momentous events seemlimitedifweconsiderherlifein terms of the travels thatmight have spurred her

writer’s imagination. Unlikemany of her contemporarieswhose literary work wasenriched by journeys toScotland, Ireland, and theEuropean continent, Austenspent most of her relativelyshort life—she died in 1817at age forty-one, possibly ofAddison’s disease or of aform of lymphoma—in thesmall villages and towns andcountryside of the county ofHampshire, in the south of

England. Despite severalvisits to London, vacationtours throughout southernEngland, and several years’residence in the spa city ofBath and in the port town ofSouthampton, Austen canhardly be calledcosmopolitan, and, in anycase, she would havepreferred to think of herselfas provincial, a descriptionthat better suits her sense ofhersubjectmatterasawriter.

In a letter to her nieceAnnaAusten, an aspiring novelist,she dispensed the nowfamous advice that “3 or 4FamiliesinaCountryVillageis thevery thing toworkon”(Letters,p.275).Austen’s life appears to

have been relativelyuntroubled, although theremust have been painfulepisodes. The daughter of arespectable Anglican

clergyman, she was theseventh of eight children inwhat appears to have been ahappy, stable family. Therewere, however, financialtroubles, and the ReverendGeorge Austen was obligedto add to his income byestablishing a boardingschoolforboysintheAustenhome and by borrowingmoneyfromhissisterandherhusband.Further,asAusten’sbiographer Claire Tomalin

points out, even though thefamily was close, several ofthe children spent aconsiderable amount of timeliving away from home,which,thoughnotunusualforthe gentry and professionalclasses at this time, wasprobably disorienting forAusten andher siblings.Oneof her six brothers, George,was disabled—possibly adeaf-mute—and was sentfrom home for most of his

long life. Jane, too,was sentfrom home, first to a villagenurse and later to twoboarding schools that, if theyresembled the typical girls’schools of that era, werecharacterized by bad food,dull teachers, and anatmosphere ripe for oneepidemic or another. Alongwith her older sister,Cassandra,theseven-year-oldJane spent only two seasonsat the first institution, where

she nearly died from acontagious fever that spreadthrough the school. At agenine,shewassenttoasecondschool, which, if notdamaging,wasnotbeneficialeither. Although her parentschosetoterminateherformaleducation when she was ten,her father gave her access tohis library of some fivehundred volumes, and heencouraged his daughter’sliteraryinterests.Itwashe,in

fact, who first tried,unsuccessfully, in 1797, tohaveanearlyversionofPrideandPrejudicepublished.Austen’s immediate family

was solidly professional,unlike that of her heroineElizabeth Bennet, whosefather is a member of thegentry, which is to say thathis wealth is inherited andtiedtolandownership,ratherthan earned through work or

commerce. Austen’s eldestbrother, James, followed hisfatherintotheministry,whileHenry, the brother whoservedforseveralyearsinthemilitia, turned next tobanking, and then, when hisbank failed, followed hisfather and elder brother intothe ministry. The two navalofficers,Francis andCharles,both rose to the rank ofadmiral. Austen’s father andbrothers were hardworking,

responsible, family-orientedmen,soitmakessensethatinPride and Prejudice Austensatirizes snobbish andfrivolous members of thoseclassesabovehers,thegentryand the aristocracy, whowould have looked downupon her own immediatefamily, just as she paints anunsympathetic portrait of thehaughty social climberCaroline Bingley, whofancies herself a member of

the gentry, even though herfamily’swealthwasmade“intrade,”or throughcommerce.Nor, ifwe considerAusten’sown unaffected outlook, is itsurprising that the mostsensible characters in thenovel,Mr.andMrs.Gardiner,notonlymaketheirmoneyintrade but are apparently notembarrassedtoliveneartheirwarehouse. Elizabeth Bennetherself descends from lowergentry, on her father’s side,

while her maternalgrandfatherwasanattorney.Despite her allegiance to

professionals andbusinessmen, Austen clearlyhad respect for what shewould have regarded as thenobler values of the landedgentry and aristocracy,particularly the sense ofsocial responsibility anddecorum that are implicitlyendorsed by the narrator and

main characters of thenovel.Although these values arefostered through thepreservation of a strict socialhierarchy,theydonothappento thwart the aspirations ofthe fictional ElizabethBennet, and thus modernreaders need never confrontthe injustices of an Englishsocietythatremainedwaryofthe new democratic valuesespoused in America andFrance and among English

radicals. Moreover, even ifAusten’s own immediatefamily fell socially andeconomically a degree belowthat of her central fictionalcharacters, her familyconnections made the upperordersnotwhollyunknowntoher. Austen’s mother,CassandraLeighAusten,wasdescended from adistinguished family andwasrelated to the duke ofChandos. Austen’s first

cousin, Eliza Hancock, wasgoddaughter to WarrenHastings, the eminentstatesman and governor ofBritish India, and wife to amember of the Frenchnobility,CountJeanFrançoisCapot de Feuillide, whowasguillotined during the Reignof Terror. Austen’s brotherEdwardwas literally adoptedinto the British gentry whenThomas and CatherineKnight,secondcousinsofthe

Austens, took an interest inhim, obtained permission toraise him, and, findingthemselves childless,ultimately made him heir totheir splendid estate ofGodmershamParkinKent.Austen’sownsituationina

family of well-connectedprofessionals was somewhatprecarious, for she remainedunmarried in an age whenwomen depended largely on

male relatives for support.Her father and brothers,however, with their strongsenseoffamilyresponsibility,musthavemadeherfeelmoresecure than the typical“spinster” would have felt.SheandhersisterCassandra,whoalsoremainedunmarriedandwas Jane’sclosest friendandconfidante,were initiallydependentontheirfather,andthen, after his death in 1805,onasmallannuityandonthe

generosity of their brothers.JaneAustenhadalwayslivedin her father’s house; uponhisdeath, she, her sister, andtheirmothertookuplodgingsand visited extensively withrelativesandfriendsforthreeyears.Thewomeneventuallysettled in the Hampshirevillage of Chawton, in ahousemadeavailabletothembyEdward.Austen spent thefinaleightyearsofherlifeatChawton,anditwasfromthis

house that she published hernovels.Given how centered her

novels are on the marriageplot and how family-orientedher immediatesocietywas, itis worth commenting onAusten’s choice to remainsingle. In 1802, she receivedandacceptedaproposalfromHarris Bigg-Wither, apleasant young man, Oxfordeducated and heir to the

impressive Manydown estatein Hampshire, close toAusten’s family home atSteventon. She quicklychanged her mind, however,and rejected the proposal theday after having accepted it.ItseemsthatwhileJanelikedHarris, she was not in lovewith him, and this wasenoughtogiveherpause.Herdecision was remarkable, foreven though romantic lovehad increasingly become an

acceptable incentive formarriage, Austen was adutifuldaughterwho lived inan age when friendship,economicmotive,familyties,and religious duty were atleast as compelling aspersonal choice. In decliningHarris Bigg-Wither’sproposal, Austen made achoicenotnearlysodramaticin its disregard for economicconsiderations as that of herfictional heroine Elizabeth

Bennet in declining Mr.Darcy, but one that wassimilarly impractical. It ishard to say whether Austensimply flew in the face ofconvention and unwisely puther economic future at risk,orwhethersheknewthatwithso many successful anddutiful brothers someonewould maintain hersomehow.Claire Tomalin suggests

that Austen compared HarrisBigg-Wither unfavorably toTom Lefroy, to whom shehad had a romanticattachment several yearsearlier, one severed by hisrelatives, who wereconcerned about theimprudence of such a match—Austen was, after all, noheiress. Now that she washeadingintoherlatetwentiesandhadgrownaccustomedtolife as a spinster aunt, it is

alsopossiblethatAustentooka long, hard look atmotherhood and decided thatits joys were not worth thegrief. Throughout theeighteenth century and longafterward, themortality ratesfor newborns and womenduring childbirth was high.ThetrendinBritishsocietytoencourage frequent andnumerous pregnancies putwomen at even greater risk.In 1808 Austen’s brother

Edward’s wife, Elizabeth,died giving birth to hereleventh child. Her brotherCharles’s wife, Fanny, diedduring childbirth in 1814, atage twenty-four, with herfourth child, who also diedseveral weeks later. In 1823,a few years after Austen’sown death, her brotherFrancis’s wife, Mary, diedgiving birth to her eleventhchild. Understandably,Austen’slettersdemonstratea

mixed attitude towardmarriageandmotherhood.Toher niece Fanny Knight,Austen wrote shortly beforeher own death that “SingleWomen have a dreadfulpropensity for being poor—which is one very strongargument in favour ofMatrimony.” On the otherhand,shecontinuedwithsageadvice,“Donotbeinahurry;dependuponit,therightManwill come at last. . . . And

then, by not beginning thebusiness of Mothering quiteso early in life, you will beyounginConstitution,spirits,figure & countenance.”Earlier she had cautionedFannyagainst entering intoamarriage of convenience byremarking, “When I consider. . .howcapableyouare . . .of being really in love . . . Icannot wish you to befettered” (Letters, pp. 332,286).

While it was not unheardofforawomantohavebothafamilyandawritingcareerintheeighteenthcentury, itwasundoubtedly the case thatAusten’s marital status madeher writing life much easier.There is, however, noevidence to suggest that shedeliberately chose to forsakemarriage in order to writebooks about it. In fact, theextent to which Austenactually saw herself as a

writer, as someone whoseidentity was shaped throughher writing and who mighthave been interested inearning money or fame bydoing so, is a matter ofdebate. She may havedescribed herself, withalternating irony andseriousness, as someonewhotook up the pen in her idlehours,thewayonemighttakeupfancyneedleworkorchinapainting.Yet she clearly had

a lifelongpassion forwriting—sheauthoredanimpressivecollectionofjuveniliaaswellas mature novels—and itseemsdifficulttobelievethatsheregardedherartasamerehobby, even if she did notflaunt her gifts publicly. Ifshedidnotclaim thekindofpsychological and materialentitlement,theroomofone’sown that in the earlytwentieth century VirginiaWoolf would identify as

essential for women writers,she did come to depend onthemoneyhernovelsearned.She became, whether shewished it or not, aprofessional writer in an agewhenthemarketinnovelsbywomen and for women wasalready well established.Pride and Prejudice waspublished anonymously, aswere the works of manywomen writers to whompublicity seemed indelicate,

and while Austen did notcourt fame, she neverthelesscreated a stir with her firstpublication, Sense andSensibility(1811).Austen’s second published

novel, Pride and Prejudice,appeared at the beginning of1813, after having beenrevised the previous year. Afirstversionof thenovel, themanuscript of which is nowlost, had been written many

years earlier, betweenOctober 1796 and August1797.Austencalledthatearlyversion“FirstImpressions,”asuggestive title that drawsupon stock associations withconduct books to point amoral lesson: One’s firstimpressions of charactershould be mistrusted or atleast managed with caution;opinion and judgment mustbe formed through carefulreflection and consultation.

Althoughrootedinadidacticmessage about firstimpressions, Austen’sexplorationof thesubsequentthemesofprideandprejudiceis farmore textured thananysuperficial association withconduct manuals wouldsuggest. The phrase “prideand prejudice” held currencyin eighteenth-centuryliterature,but,astheeditorR.W. Chapman has shown,Austen appears to have

borroweditmostimmediatelyfrom the closing pages ofFrances Burney’s novelCecilia. (In addition toreading the Bible andShakespeare, Austeninherited a formidabletradition of eighteenth-centuryworks,andthenovelsof Burney and SamuelRichardson appear to haveinfluenced her considerably;she also turned to populardidactic tales and moral

essays for her subject matterand was especially fond ofthewritingsofDr.Johnson.)Withgoodreason,scholars

have typically viewed prideand prejudice in Austen’snovel as distinctlyunfavorable qualities, forwhen the narrator andprincipal characters evoke“pride” and “prejudice,” theterms have primarilyunfavorable connotations, as

theydoin theworldat large.To be sure, Austen assailsfamily pride and socialprejudice through themerciless portraits of self-centered individuals. Byexposing Mrs. Bennet’stribalism and LadyCatherine’s snobbery, sheoffers an amusing indictmentof polite society. It shouldgive us pause, however, thatElizabeth Bennet’s overlybookish sister, Mary,

pontificates against pride byimitating the tritemoralityofconduct manuals. (What ashamethatMr.Collinshadn’tthought to marry her.) Thatis,ifAustencallsundueprideand prejudice into question,she also regards shallowpieties about those qualitieswithirony.Moreover, for an author

whosecomicclosuredependsupon an affirmation of the

values of the gentry andaristocracy, pride is notsimply arrogance. Rather, itmarks a legitimate sense thatone’s exalted position insociety makes oneaccountable to uphold thosevalues and to behave in amannerworthyofone’srank.Under a gentleman’s code ofhonor, the vestiges of whichstill existed in Austen’s day,prideiscloselyaffiliatedwithvalor and strength of

character.Prejudice,too,doesnotalwayssignifyatendencyto make careless, hasty, orharmful judgments. Writingin 1790 on the revolution inFrance he so deplored,Edmund Burke regardedprejudice as a protection oftime-honored custom and theconsensus of generations ofwise and nobleminds, whiletherevolutionary individual’sso-called reason, by contrast,is prone to error and narrow

self-interest. “Prejudice,”Burke wrote, “renders aman’s virtue his habit. . . .Through just prejudice, hisduty becomes part of hisnature” (Reflections on theRevolution inFrance, p. 76).Burke’s appeal to virtue,duty, and tradition wouldhaveresonatedwithAusten’ssocietyintheearlynineteenthcentury, when therevolutionary language ofBritain’s radical thinkers of

the previous generation,considered seditious in the1790s,wasstillregardedwithsuspicion. The notion ofaffirmingprideandprejudice,even in moderation, may bedifficultfortoday’sreaderstoaccept, but Austen did notlive in a democratic society,where pride and prejudicesurely thrive but where theyare not usually regarded asnecessary components ofpolitical and social

organization. In Austen’sworld, these qualities ofdiscrimination helped topreserve the correct socialalliancesandwereintegral tothe stability of the order ofthings, even whenexhilarating—or menacing—new possibilities for socialmobility began to impingeupon the consciousness andwritings of EnglishprovincialssuchasAusten.

The exploration of prideand prejudice throughAusten’sprincipalcharacters,Elizabeth and Darcy, isinstructional but alsomultifaceted. The heroine’searly prejudices againstDarcy and in favor ofWickham—an inappropriateset of judgments formed byElizabeth’s having put toomuch weight on firstimpressions andcircumstantial evidence—are

madepossiblebyanexcessofpride in her own ability toread character. Darcy’s prideofplace,hisdisdainforsocialinferiors who lack a propersense of their ownprovincialism, leads to ablanket prejudice againstnearly every local at theassembly roomball.And yetthere is something defensiblein these weaknesses:Elizabeth proves herself athoughtful judge of character

in most instances, whileDarcyisnotentirelyamissinhis estimation of a party oflowergentrywhoareeagertoape themanners of the greatbut who lack the true socialrefinement that he himselfpossesses. In this novel ofemotional growth, pride andprejudice are not flaws forElizabeth and Darcy toovercome but character traitsthat require minoradjustmentsbeforethecouple

can recognize each other’smerits and live happilytogether.Even when pride and

prejudice impair judgment,Elizabeth and Darcy remainprincipled, perceptive, andadmirably strong-minded. AsDarcyputs it, inacritiqueofhis friend Mr. Bingley’scomplaisance, “To yieldwithout conviction is nocompliment to [one’s]

understanding” (p.50),whileElizabeth declares of herselfthat “There is a stubbornnessaboutme thatnevercanbeartobefrightenedatthewillofothers. My courage alwaysrises with every attempt tointimidateme”(p.173).Thisstrength of personality—shecalls it her “impertinence”andhe“thelivelinessofyourmind” (p. 367)—draws aninitially unimpressed Darcyto Elizabeth. Further, when

evidence presents itself,Elizabeth is able to turn herkeen powers of perceptioninward. Through Darcy’sletter to her, she quicklyrecognizes her errors, whichability sets her apart fromsomeone like her ownundiscerning mother.Although the scene ofhumiliation and painful self-recognition—“Till thismoment, I never knewmyself” (p. 205)—that

followsElizabeth’sreadingofthe letter ismore the stuffofGreek tragedy than of thenovel of manners, itspresence in the narrativedemonstrates that Elizabethhas the capacity forintrospection.Pride and prejudice seem

analmostindispensablesetofcharacter traits, or qualitiesworth cultivating, when wedetect the effects of their

virtual absence from thepersonalities of Jane andMr.Bingley, both of whose easymanners and thoroughfailures to discriminate put anearlypermanentendtotheirrelationship. Early in thenovel, Elizabeth finds Janetoo self-effacing, too good-natured, and not criticalenough:“Youareagreatdealtoo apt, you know, to likepeople in general.Youneversee a fault in any body. All

the world are good andagreeable in your eyes. Ineverheardyouspeakillofahuman being in my life” (p.16).Thisassessmentmaysayas much about Elizabeth’sown forcefulness ofpersonality as it does aboutJane’s easygoing manners,but Elizabeth has a point. Inthis instance, Elizabeth isteasing, but she also meanswhat she says, especiallywhen it becomes apparent

that Jane wrongly considersthe Bingley sisters asagreeable as she does theirbrother. It is this particularfault that nearly undoesJane’sromancewithBingley,for the Bingley sisters, herprofessed friends, havesnubbed her long before sherealizesit;onceshedoes,hermild manners prevent herfrom asserting her owninterests with their brother.Bingley, too, shows a “want

of resolution” (p. 136) toprotecthisownaffairsof theheart. When Darcymisconstrues Jane’s quietamiability as lack ofsufficient interest inBingley,he easily manipulates hisfriend into leavingNetherfield and Jane’spresence.One could argue that the

presence of professional andcommercial men and women

in the novel should militateagainst the easy acceptancenot only of pride andprejudice but of othercharacteristics of the gentry.Even though members ofprofessional and commercialsociety appear in the novel,however, they aspire to thelifestyle of the gentry andadopt its values and habits.We do not find Austen’scharacters embracing thosequalities that were well

established as virtues andself-consciously adoptedamong middle-classreformers in her day—efficiency, frugality,punctuality,self-reliance,andthework ethic—and that sheherself may have prized. Infact, when we look at theworld of the novel, we seehardly any work being doneor business being transacted.Certainly, when a team ofhorses is unavailable to be

harnessed to thecarriage thatmightconveyJaneBennet toNetherfield, we becomevaguely aware that Mr.Bennetisagentlemanfarmerwhooverseesaworkingfarm.But Austen chooses not tointroduce us to farmhands atwork, as novelists of socialrealism would do ageneration after hers.Wearealso verymuch aware of thepresence of soldiers whopresumably engage in

training exercises if not inactual warfare, but we seethem only as dancers at theball and as romanticdistractions for idle youngladies. We becomeacquainted with the man ofcommerceMr.Gardineronlywhenheisonaholidaytour,andweneveractuallybeholdMr.Collinsministeringtohisparishioners. In fact, Mr.Collins’s identity as aclergymanisconstruedsolely

in terms of the house andproperty the living bringshim. Nor do we hear ofcommerce in action, exceptfor the occasional ironicreference, as when LydiaBennet, livingout the absurdlogic of England’s relativelynewconsumerculture,buysahatsheknows isuglysimplyfor the sake of spendingmoney.What Austen foregrounds

throughout the novel is aculture of leisure. In an agewhenthevaluesofthegentryandaristocracystillprevailed,leisure was understood notonly as a respite from labor,as it would have been forthosewho had towork for aliving, but as a way of lifethat had its own virtues andfailings. As in the worlds ofclassicalGreeceandRomesoadmired by the eighteenth-century society into which

Austen was born, a life ofleisure at one’s country seat—construed as “retirement”from the daily concerns ofcommerce and petty politicaland financial intrigue inLondon—was consideredessential for any gentlemanwho would take on theresponsibilities ofdisinterested participation inpolitics and theadministration of empire.Especially in the early

eighteenth-century ofAusten’s grandparents,known in poetry as theAugustan Age for itsneoclassical values, thosewho depended on incomefrom sources other than land—that is, commercial orprofessional interests—wouldhaveseemedcompromisedintheir ability to rise above theconcern for personal gain toserve the public good. Thecountry gentry, however,

whosevalueswerearticulatedby Lord Bolingbroke andAugustan poets such asAlexander Pope, regardedthemselvesasbeingatleisurefor virtuous study andreflection, and as having thepower to rise above thecorruption, favoritism, andfactional-ism that dominatedLondonpolitics.In Pride and Prejudice,

Mr.Darcyprovidesthemodel

for the virtuous countrygentleman, even though hekeeps a house and hasacquaintances in London.While we never see Mr.Darcyinhisroleaskeeperofthe public interest, ormanaging his estate, we feelassured thathe is thekindofmanwhoinhabitshiscountryestate responsibly. WhenDarcy negotiates the Lydia-Wickham elopement crisiswith authority and

competence,wesensethathemanages all his life’s affairswith similar capability. Thathe husbands his estate wellbecomes clear when thetouring party of ElizabethBennet and the Gardinersarrives at Pemberley to findgrounds that, in accordancewith the standards foreighteenth-century Britishtaste in landscape design,seem natural andunpretentious. Such simple

elegance was understood toreflect the values andtemperamentoftheowner,asPope had made clear in hispoem on house and groundsaesthetics, the “Epistle toRichard Boyle, Earl ofBurlington,” in which heargued against frivolous andimpractical estates butapplauded the taste in designand architecture of men ofsense. It is also quicklyapparentthatDarcyisagood

estate manager because hecommands theallegianceandrespect of his servants, asElizabeth and the Gardinerssoon learn during theirinterview with thehousekeeper. When, inresponse to her sister Jane’squestionconcerningwhenshefirst started to love Darcy,Elizabeth quips that “Ibelieve I must date it frommy first seeing his beautifulgrounds at Pemberley” (p.

361), she is being ironic, butthere is a part of her thatsurely must have beenswayed by seeing propertythat is not only magnificentbut graceful. If, in Darcy’spresence, shecannot seepastwhat she takes to be hisinexcusable pride, she mustrecognize during her visit tohiswell-orderedestatethatheis a man of principles andgenerosity.

While country retirementmay have been essential tothe life of the worthygentleman,Austenalsooffersus a glimpse of the corruptside of leisure and itssymptoms of moraldissolution—luxury andindolence. Despite his goodnature, Sir William Lucasdemonstrates the affectationof thenewly titled inpartbyabandoning his commercialinterests,thesuccessofwhich

had resulted in his publicprominence and hisknighthood. He is raising ayoung heir who promises tobecome as debauched as hisfather’s fortune will allow,dreaming, as hedoes alreadyat this tenderage,ofkeepingfoxhounds and drinking adaily bottle of wine, shouldhe ever find himself aswealthyasMr.Darcy.Austenturns her gentle wit on thepretensions of parvenu

gentry, but she frownssomewhat more severelyupon theshortcomingsof thearistocraticmatron.Althoughwell established in her rank,Lady Catherine is too easilyflattered byMr. Collins, andher behavior makes it clearthat she lacks the genuinegoodbreedingandstrengthofcharacterofhernephew,Mr.Darcy.Unliketheunderstatedelegance of Darcy’sPemberley, Lady Catherine’s

solemn residence is designedto inspire a discomfitingsense of awe among hervisitors. That one of thedrawing rooms boasts a“chimney-piece [that] alonehad cost eight hundredpounds”(p.76)servesbothtoexemplify the ostentation ofRosings Park and to makeMr. Collins’s behavior seemallthemorepreposterous,forit is he who basks in thereflectedgloryofhispatron’s

estate by savoring its everysumptuous detail, includingthisone.If leisured society can be

extravagant, it can also belazy. For example, Mr.Bingley’sbrother-in-law,Mr.Hurst, “a man of morefashion thanfortune”(p.18),seems entirely incapable ofany exertion except eatingandplaying cards, a fact thatAusten humorously

establishesasevidenceofhisperfect lethargy. AtNetherfield, when ElizabethBennet chooses reading overa game of loo, he isnonplussed. Lacking anyinterior life himself, Mr.Hurst cannot imagine howonecouldtakepleasureinanactivity that is solitary andthat might require reflection.Austen’s character sketchreaches its ironic limitwhen,upon finding the rest of his

partyunwillingtoplaycards,Mr. Hurst “had, therefore,nothing to do, but to stretchhimself on one of the sofasand go to sleep” (p. 54). Infact, the sorts of leisureactivitiescharactersengagein—card playing, dancing,singing, piano playing,walking, conversation, letterwriting, reading—may betaken in particular instancesto indicate their moral fiberand social inclinations.

Generally speaking, theexemplary character is onewhoseleisureactivitiesimplya willingness to balanceprivate reflection againstcommunity-mindedsociability. At fault are suchcharacters as Mr. Hurst,whose leisure suggests helacks a capacity forautonomous thought oraction, but alsoMary,whoseexcessive attention to booksand piano playing marks an

untowardself-absorption.In contrast, Elizabeth and

Darcy are both introspectiveand fully socialized, even ifDarcy refuses to be pleasantto those whom he considershis social inferiors. Both areadept conversationalists, andtheir verbal sallies displaytheir intelligence, wit, andpowers of perception.Elizabeth isalsoacompetentpianist—good enough to

entertaincompanybutnot soexceptionalas to takeherselfseriously as an artist. BothElizabeth and Darcy enjoyreading, which shouldpredisposeAusten’saudiencetolikethem.ButElizabethisquick to disown anypretension to being anintellectual,whichistheflawof her sister Mary. Bycontrast, the unsympatheticCaroline Bingley seemsincapable of focusing on a

book, and she pretends toenjoy reading onlywhen shebelieves it will help toimpress Mr. Darcy. Mr.Bingley, forwhomwe feel ameasureofaffection,doesnotreadeither, andwemay takethis fact as a sign that helacks the depth of his friendDarcy. Or course, Bingleymust be worthy of theheroine’s kind sister andcannot, therefore, belaughableor insipid, likeMr.

Hurst; rather, Bingley lackssubstance in an amiable,happy-go-lucky way. Thecharacters’ discussion ofinclinations toward readingalso leads theNetherfield setto render opinions onlibraries.Mr.Darcyseesitasan obligation to augment hisfamily’slibrarycollection“insuch days as these” (p. 39),an allusion, presumably, tothe cultural decay of Britainwrought by the rise of a

philistine commercial societythatforsakestheliberalartsinfavor of market culture.CarolineBingley,bycontrast,sees family libraries as somuch grand furniture. Nodoubt finding thebookcovermorevaluable than thebook,she esteems Mr. Darcy’slibraryforitsenhancementoftheprestigeofthehousehold.Walkingistheotherleisure

activity that clearly

distinguishes ElizabethBennet from CarolineBingley, whose idea ofexercise is to gossip as shetakesaturnaboutthedrawingroom or the shrubbery, andwhose exertion is entirelymotivated by her romanticinterest in Mr. Darcy.Elizabeth enjoys solitaryrambles that allow her timefor reflection, so it is nohardship when she takes abriskthree-milewalkthrough

fields and over puddles tovisit her sister Jane atNetherfieldduringthelatter’sillness. Elizabeth’s fortitudeinwalking, aconsequenceofher concern for her sister’shealth, has the unintendedeffect of invigorating thetorpid company atNetherfield, if only becauseher activity seems so brazento them. Her animationcaptivates Mr. Darcy andrankles Caroline Bingley,

who takes Elizabeth’s briefadventure “to show anabominable sort of conceitedindependence, a mostcountry-town indifference todecorum” (p. 37). Still,Elizabeth is no romanticheroineofthesortwhowouldbe fashioned by CharlotteBrontë several decades later.The sphere of action inAusten’snovelofmanners iscircumscribedenough so thatit would be shocking indeed

wereElizabeth, likeBrontë’sJane Eyre, to wanderdespondently about theEnglish countryside,exhausted and starving.Elizabeth’s own burst ofromantic enthusiasm—“Whatare men to rocks andmountains?” (p. 154)—subsidesquicklyenough.IfAusten’sattentiontothe

culture of leisure serves tocall into question the values

of the landed elite even as itreinforces them, themarriageplot complicates the outlookofthenovelfurtherstill.Withrespect to social class, thehero and heroine are worldsapart—or so they appear inDarcy’s estimation. AtNetherfield, Darcy finds thatElizabeth has “attracted himmore than he liked” (p. 60),and he thus resolves toregulate his feelings towardher.Elizabeth’sstationinlife

and the “total want ofpropriety”(p.196)amongherfamily members make thematch ill-advised, if notuntenable,asDarcycallouslypoints out in proposingmarriage to her against hisbetter judgment. He isastounded not only thatElizabethrejectshim—inthatrespect he is no better thanMr. Collins, whose earlierproposal is made with equalconfidence in her acceptance

—but that his explanation ofhis initial reluctance hascaused offense. That Darcyfails to consider thatElizabeth might actually beoffended by a proposal thatopens with the suitor’sexpression of his disdain forher inferior socialconnectionsandhiseffortstoovercome his love for hersuggests that the insuperablegulf he perceives betweenthem seems to him perfectly

natural. For her part,Elizabethknowsfullwell thesubtledistinctions thatdefinerank in her society, and it ismorehistactlessnessthanhispointing out an obvious factof social hierarchy thatinfuriatesher.It is also the case that

Elizabethhasahealthysenseof her own entitlement. Asshe proudly remarks to LadyCatherine, Mr. Darcy “is a

gentleman; I am agentleman’s daughter; so farwe are equal” (p. 331). AtRosings, when Sir WilliamLucasandhisdaughterMariaaredauntedbytheprospectoftheir encounter with theredoubtable Lady Catherine,we find that Elizabeth, bycontrast, “had heard nothingofLadyCatherine that spokeher awful from anyextraordinary talents ormiraculous virtue, and the

mere stateliness of moneyand rank she thought shecould witness withouttrepidation” (p. 161). In thesociety of this novel, talentand manners—that is, trulygood breeding, rather thanaffectation—ultimately trumpbirth and social connections.EvenMr.Darcyendorsesthisview, as Elizabeth observes.Indeed, when the loversfinally reconcile theirdifferences, Elizabeth teases

Darcythather“impertinence”appeals to him because he is“sickofcivility,ofdeference,of officious attention” (p.367). Darcy’s ennui,however,shouldbetakennotas a tacit authorization of anew democratic outlook butrather of a meritocratic one.That is, the values of thegentryandthearistocracyarereinforced even as theirmembershipbecomes infusedwith the blood of the

professional classes, whichwouldseemtounderminetherestrictiveclaimsuponwhichthe upper classes predicatetheir existence. Thepossibility that Mr. Darcymightmarry his frail cousin,Miss Anne de Bourgh, inorder to consolidate theirestates is presented as anoutmoded aristocratic notion,not to be taken seriously bythenewgeneration.

What makes the lovers’attitudes possible is that thereal consequences of socialrank are diminished by theconventions of romanticcomedy.A typical feature ofthe comic novel is thatpowerful social distinctionsupheld in everyday life tendto be suspended in an efforttofurthertheplot.Withinthesafe space of the novel, suchcomic upheavals createexciting possibilities for

minor social transgressions;at the same time, in thenovel’s conclusion, theexisting order becomesreaffirmed. In this case, thereaffirmation happens asElizabeth becomes absorbedinto Darcy’s world. It isstandard comic fare that thepotentially formidablemember of the ruling classwho might prevent thebudding romance— here,LadyCatherine—turnsout to

be a relatively powerlessbusybody who depends onweak-minded followers toreinforce her sense of herown importance. LadyCatherine, in fact, resemblesthe stock type of agingwoman tenaciously clingingto her diminished power, afamiliar character found inRestoration comic drama, aswellasinthemid-eighteenth-century novels of HenryFielding and Samuel

Richardson.Whatever its social and

comic implications, themarriage plot is the chiefconcernthroughoutthenovel,and there is a sense ofurgency about forging theright unions that motivatesthe actionof the entirebook.The ironic opening gambit—“It is a truth universallyacknowledged, that a singleman in possession of a good

fortunemust be inwant of awife”—rehearses theepigrammatic wisdom of agossip-driven communitycomprising women likeMrs.Bennet, who is herself eagertoenhancetheprestigeofherfamily by marrying herdaughters well. Prestige andsocial connection, however,are not the only motivatingforcesinthisneighborhoodorwithin theBennethousehold.In the idealistic world of the

romantic comedy, Mrs.Bennet’s ambition to see herdaughters nicely settledappears a simple matter ofcrude one-upmanship withLadyLucas.Thus,whenMr.Bennet teases hiswife ratherunkindly over herpreoccupation with findingeligible suitors, the reader isamused. We forget, though,that Mr. Bennet’s own firstquestion about the newlyarrivedMr.Bingleyconcerns

his marital status, whichsuggests either that Mr.Bennet is baiting his wife orthat his apparent indifferenceon thematter is feigned.Mr.Bennet, of course, should beconcernedaboutthemarriagequestion. As the narratorinforms us later, he regretshaving spent all hisdisposableincome,insteadofreserving a portion of it toprotect his daughters’financial future. It hardly

excuses him that he hadassumedhewouldhaveasonwhose coming-of-age wouldnullify the “entail”—that is,the legal document thatplaces restrictions on whomayinherithisestate.(Intheabsenceofmaleheirs,womencould typically inherit anestate but not if an entailexisted barring them fromdoing so.) As endearing acharacterasMr.Bennetis,hehas not behaved responsibly

as a father, a fact thatbecomes all the moreapparent when Lydia, whohashadverylittle in thewayofsensibleparentalguidance,elopes with Wickham,thereby, as Lady Catherineobserves, jeopardizing themarriage prospects of herfour sisters in a world thatstill cares about the taint offamilyreputation:“NotLydiaonly, but all were concernedinit”(p.272).

Mrs.Bennetdoesnotseemsuch a buffoon when weconsider that her daughtersreally will be in dire straitsshould they not marry. Theentail of theBennet estate toMr. Collins guarantees notonly that the house andgrounds will no longer beavailable to the Bennetwomen but that their yearlyincome will be considerablyreduced. In fact, without onesister well established in

marriage before the death ofMr. Bennet, it would bedifficultforanyofthefivetomaintain the condition of agentlewoman at all. Havingone sister comfortablymarried, however, couldcreate ameasure of financialsecurity for the others andmighthelp,throughthesocialconnections established, toensure a succession ofrespectable marriages in thefamily. The possibility that,

in lieu of marriage, theseyoungwomenmight becomegovernesses and therebypreserveatenuousconnectionto the gentry is simply not aviable option in this novel,where working for a living,even in relatively genteelcircumstances,isafateworsethanmarriage toMr.Collins.If we put aside the romanticidealofthenovelandlookatthe material reality, Mrs.Bennet’s frustration with

Elizabeth for declining Mr.Collins’s proposal is entirelyreasonable: Had Elizabethaccepted her distant cousin’shand, she could havepreserved her father’s estatefor herself and for herunmarriedsisters.Nor, for that matter, does

the other ostensibly foolishcharacter of the novel, Mr.Collins himself, seem sooblivious in refusing to

acknowledge Elizabeth’srejection of his proposal. Hemay be pompous, but he isalso practical, and he knowsminutely the details ofElizabeth’s meager futureinheritance.Theideathatshemight turn him down issimply inconceivable to him,for, as he rightly points out,given her familycircumstances,shemayneverreceive another offer. ThatshedeclinesMr.Darcy’sfirst

proposal, is, in practicalterms,evenmoreastonishing.Remaining single after herparents’ deaths might meanan annual income of £40 (4percent annual interest, asMr.Collinsestimates it,ona£1,000 share of hermother’slegacy), a portion of whichwould go toward renting aroom somewhere in thevillage. Marriage to Mr.Darcy, by stark contrast,would mean having at her

disposal a reputed £10,000annually, plus the amenitiesof Pemberley, the house inLondon, the carriages, theservants, and so forth. It isdifficult to convert thesesums into themodernBritishpoundorAmericandollar, inpart thanks to inflation butmostly because thenineteenth-century economyand culture are so verydifferent from ours, butsuffice it to say that

Elizabeth, in declining Mr.Darcy, has rejected fantasticwealthfor thelikelihoodofaquite modest existence, farbeneaththattowhichshehasbecomeaccustomed.The conventions of

romantic comedy, however,do not allow us to focus onthe folly of Elizabeth’sdecision to follow her heartandherprinciplesortodwellfor very long on the grim

financial future of these fiveunwed women. The narrator,in fact, offers no sustainedcommentary on how limitedtheoptionsare forwomen inthis society. The only realdefenses of women’s moraland legal entitlement toinherit property fall from thelips of the two caricaturalaging women: Mrs. Bennet,who refuses to recognize thelegalityof theentail thatwilldisinherit herself and her

daughters, and LadyCatherine,whoopines,“Iseeno occasion for entailingestates from the female line”(p. 164). The romanticnarrative would also lead usto believe that Elizabethshould indeed be true toherself,forthereissomethingterribly dull about thefinancially “prudent”marriage, and somethingdisgraceful about the“mercenary” one, although

the two motives amount tothe same thing, as Elizabethexplains toMrs.Gardiner (p.153). The prospect ofrepudiating the desire forromance and settling for “acomfortable home,” asCharlotte Lucas has done (p.125), is represented to be afairlydismalchoice,whichisone reason why the novellooks so very different fromthe conservative moralitytalesthatwerepopularinthis

period. Austen’s narratortends to see the world fromElizabeth Bennet’sperspective,andso,therefore,do we, and the plotreconciliation confirms thelegitimacyofthisview.Whenthe two elder Bennet sistersfinally become engaged, weknow that Elizabeth’s matchis better than Jane’s, notbecause Darcy is the masterof Pemberley and has twicetheannualincomeofBingley,

but because, as Elizabethcompares the two sisters’relative happiness, “she onlysmiles,Ilaugh”(p.369).Thatthisresolutionglosses

over Elizabeth’s earlyattractiontoWickham,whoisnow married to herthoughtless sister Lydia, andher prior antipathy towardDarcy—a dislike sopronounced that Jane canhardly accept her sister’s

subsequentavowalofloveforhim—is not altogetherjustifiedbyElizabeth’srecentmaturity or by the evidencethat comes to light aboutWickham’s and Darcy’srespective characters. At theveryleast,Elizabeth’schangeof heart suggests that she isfarmore rational in romanticmatters than onemight thinkthe passionate and idealisticside of her nature wouldallow.Butitistheroleofthe

comic ending to obscureinappropriate desires andinconvenient hostilities inorder to establish thealliances that will secure astable and joyous future.What distinguishes theconclusion of Austen’s greatnovel from that of lessercomicfare is that,asweturnthe final pages, the newcommunity established atPemberley and at the nearbyBingley estate, by the

characters we have come toknow so well, seems to usbothplausibleandreassuring.

CarolHowardhaspublishedessays on early British andcontemporary African-Americanwomenwritersandhas coedited two books onBritish writers (1996, 1997).Chair of the EnglishDepartmentatWarrenWilsonCollege, her current book

project traces the tensionbetween the desire forfreedom and for stability inBritish women’s writingsabout slavery and empire,from 1688 to 1805. Shewaseducated at SUNY Purchaseand Columbia University,whereshereceivedherPh.D.in1999,andshenowlivesinBlack Mountain, NorthCarolina, with her husbandandtwodaughters.

VolumetheFirst

Chapter1

It is a truth universallyacknowledged, that a singleman in possession of a goodfortunemust be inwant of awife. However little knownthe feelingsorviewsof sucha man may be on his firstentering a neighbourhood,

this truth is so well fixed inthemindsof the surroundingfamilies,thatheisconsideredas the rightful property ofsome one or other of theirdaughters.“My dear Mr. Bennet,”

saidhis lady tohimoneday,“have you heard thatNetherfield Park is let atlast?”Mr.Bennet replied that he

hadnot.

“But it is,” returned she;“forMrs.Longhas just beenhere, and she told me allaboutit.”Mr. Bennet made no

answer.“Donotyouwant toknow

who has taken it?” cried hiswife,impatiently.“Youwanttotellme,andI

have no objection to hearingit.”This was invitation

enough.“Why, my dear, you must

know, Mrs. Long says thatNetherfield is taken by ayoung man of large fortunefrom the north of England;that he came down onMondayinachaiseandfourato see the place, and was somuchdelightedwithitthatheagreed with Mr. Morrisimmediately;thatheistotakepossession before

Michaelmas,bandsomeofhisservantsaretobeinthehousebytheendofnextweek.”“Whatishisname?”“Bingley.”“Ishemarriedorsingle?”“Oh,single,mydear,tobe

sure! A single man of largefortune;fourorfivethousandayear.1Whatafinethingforourgirls!”“Howso?howcanitaffect

them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,”replied his wife, “how canyou be so tiresome? YoumustknowthatIamthinkingofhismarryingoneofthem.”“Is that his design in

settlinghere?”“Design! nonsense, how

canyoutalkso!Butitisverylikelythathemayfallinlovewith one of them, andtherefore you must visit himassoonashecomes.”

“Iseenooccasionforthat.Youand thegirlsmaygo,oryou may send them bythemselves, which perhapswillbestillbetter,forasyouare as handsome as any ofthem,Mr.Bingleymightlikeyouthebestoftheparty.”“Mydear,youflatterme.I

certainly have my share ofbeauty,butIdonotpretendtobe any thing extraordinarynow.Whenawomanhasfive

grown up daughters, sheoughttogiveoverthinkingofherownbeauty.”“In such cases, a woman

hasnotoftenmuchbeauty tothinkof.”“But, my dear, you must

indeed go and see Mr.Bingley when he comes intotheneighbourhood.”“It is more than I engage

for,Iassureyou.”“But consider your

daughters.Onlythinkwhatanestablishment itwouldbeforoneofthem.SirWilliamandLadyLucasaredeterminedtogo, merely on that account;foringeneral,youknow,theyvisit no new comers. Indeedyou must go, for it will beimpossibleforustovisithim,ifyoudonot.”“You are over scrupulous,

surely.IdaresayMr.Bingleywill beveryglad to seeyou;

andIwillsendafewlinesbyyou to assure him of myhearty consent to hismarrying whichever hechoosesof thegirls; thoughImust throw in a good wordformylittleLizzy.”“I desire you will do no

such thing.Lizzy isnot abitbetter than the others; and Iam sure she is not half sohandsomeasJane,norhalfsogood-humouredasLydia.But

youarealwaysgivingherthepreference.”“They have none of them

much to recommend them,”replied he: “they are all sillyand ignorant like other girls;but Lizzy has somethingmore of quickness than hersisters.”“Mr.Bennet,howcanyou

abuse your own children insuchaway?Youtakedelightin vexing me. You have no

compassion on my poornerves.”“Youmistakeme,mydear.

Ihaveahighrespectforyournerves. They are my oldfriends. I have heard youmention them withconsideration these twentyyearsatleast.”“Ah, you do not know

whatIsuffer.”“But I hope you will get

over it, and live to seemany

youngmenoffourthousandayear come into theneighbourhood.”“Itwill be no use to us, if

twenty such should come,sinceyouwillnotvisitthem.”“Dependupon it,mydear,

thatwhen there are twenty, Iwillvisitthemall.”Mr. Bennet was so odd a

mixture of quick parts,csarcastic humour, reserve,and caprice, that the

experience of three-and-twenty years had beeninsufficient tomake his wifeunderstandhischaracter.Hermind was less difficult todevelope. She was a womanof mean understanding, littleinformation, and uncertaintemper. When she wasdiscontented, she fanciedherselfnervous.Thebusinessof her life was to get herdaughters married; its solacewasvisitingandnews.

Chapter2

Mr. Bennet was among theearliest of those who waitedon Mr. Bingley. He hadalways intended to visit him,though to the last alwaysassuring his wife that heshould not go; and till theevening after the visit was

paidshehadnoknowledgeofit.Itwasthendisclosedinthefollowingmanner.Observinghis second daughteremployed in trimming a hat,he suddenly addressed herwith,—“I hope Mr. Bingley will

likeit,Lizzy.”“We are not in a way to

know what Mr. Bingleylikes,” said her mother,resentfully,“sincewearenot

tovisit.”“But you forget,mamma,”

saidElizabeth, “thatweshallmeet him at the assemblies,and that Mrs. Long haspromisedtointroducehim.”“I do not believe Mrs.

Longwill do any such thing.She has two nieces of herown. She is a selfish,hypocritical woman, and Ihavenoopinionofher.”“NomorehaveI,”saidMr.

Bennet; “and I am glad tofind that you do not dependonherservingyou.”Mrs.Bennetdeignednotto

make any reply; but, unableto contain herself, beganscoldingoneofherdaughters.“Don’t keep coughing so,

Kitty, for heaven’s sake!Have a little compassion onmy nerves.You tear them topieces.”“Kitty has no discretion in

her coughs,” said her father;“shetimesthemill.”“I do not cough for my

own amusement,” repliedKitty, fretfully. “When isyournextballtobe,Lizzy?”2“To-morrowfortnight.”“Ay, so it is,” cried her

mother,“andMrs.Longdoesnot come back till the daybefore; so, it will beimpossible for her tointroduce him, for she will

notknowhimherself.”“Then, my dear, you may

have the advantage of yourfriend, and introduce Mr.Bingleytoher.”“Impossible, Mr. Bennet,

impossible, when I am notacquainted with him myself;howcanyoubesoteasing?”“I honour your

circumspection.A fortnight’sacquaintanceiscertainlyverylittle.One cannot knowwhat

amanreallyisbytheendofafortnight. But if we do notventure, somebody else will;and after all, Mrs. Long andher nieces must stand theirchance;and,therefore,asshewill think it an act ofkindness, if you decline theoffice, I will take it onmyself.”The girls stared at their

father.Mrs.Bennetsaidonly,“Nonsense,nonsense!”

“Whatcanbe themeaningof that emphaticexclamation?” cried he. “Doyou consider the forms ofintroduction, and the stressthat is laid on them, asnonsense? I cannot quiteagree with you there. Whatsayyou,Mary?foryouareayoungladyofdeepreflection,Iknowandreadgreatbooks,andmakeextracts.”d

Mary wished to say

something very sensible, butknewnothow.“While Mary is adjusting

her ideas,”hecontinued, “letusreturntoMr.Bingley.”“IamsickofMr.Bingley,”

criedhiswife.“I am sorry to hear that;

but why did not you tell mesobefore? If Ihadknownasmuch this morning, Icertainly would not havecalled on him. It is very

unlucky; but as I haveactually paid the visit, wecannot escape theacquaintancenow.”The astonishment of the

ladies was just what hewished; that of Mrs. Bennetperhaps surpassing the rest;though when the first tumultofjoywasover,shebegantodeclare that it was what shehadexpectedallthewhile.“How good it was in you,

my dear Mr. Bennet. But Iknew I should persuade youat last. I was sure you lovedyourgirls toowell toneglectsuch an acquaintance. Well,how pleased I am! and it issuch a good joke, too, thatyou should have gone thismorning, and never said awordaboutittillnow.”“Now, Kitty, you may

cough as much as youchoose,” said Mr. Bennet;

and, as he spoke, he left theroom, fatigued with therapturesofhiswife.“What an excellent father

you have, girls,” said she,whenthedoorwasshut.“Idonot know how you will evermake him amends for hiskindness; or me either, forthat matter. At our time oflife,itisnotsopleasant,Icantell you, to be making newacquaintance every day; but

for your sakes,wewould doany thing. Lydia, my love,thoughyouare theyoungest,I dare say Mr. Bingley willdance with you at the nextball.”“Oh,” said Lydia, stoutly,

“Iamnotafraid;forthoughIam the youngest, I’m thetallest.”Therestoftheeveningwas

spent in conjecturing howsoon he would return Mr.

Bennet’s visit, anddetermining when theyshouldaskhimtodinner.

Chapter3

Not all that Mrs. Bennet,however, with the assistanceof her five daughters, couldask on the subject, wassufficient to draw from herhusband any satisfactorydescription of Mr. Bingley.

Theyattackedhiminvariousways; with barefacedquestions, ingenioussuppositions, and distantsurmises; but he eluded theskill of them all; and theywereat lastobligedtoacceptthe second-hand intelligenceof their neighbour, LadyLucas.Her reportwashighlyfavourable. Sir William hadbeen delighted with him. Hewasquiteyoung,wonderfullyhandsome, extremely

agreeable, and, to crown thewhole, hemeant to be at thenext assembly with a largeparty.Nothingcouldbemoredelightful! To be fond ofdancing was a certain steptowards falling in love; andvery lively hopes of Mr.Bingley’s heart wereentertained.“IfIcanbutseeoneofmy

daughters happily settled atNetherfield,” said Mrs.

Bennet to her husband, “andall the others equally wellmarried, I shall have nothingtowishfor.”In a fewdaysMr.Bingley

returned Mr. Bennet’s visit,and sat about ten minuteswith him in his library. Hehad entertained hopes ofbeing admitted to a sight ofthe young ladies, of whosebeauty he had heard much;but he saw only the father.

The ladies were somewhatmore fortunate, for they hadtheadvantageofascertaining,from an upper window, thatheworeabluecoatandrodeablackhorse.Aninvitationtodinnerwas

soon afterwards despatched;and already hadMrs.Bennetplannedthecoursesthatwereto do credit to herhousekeeping, when ananswer arrived which

deferred it all. Mr. Bingleywasobligedtobeintownthefollowing day, andconsequentlyunabletoacceptthehonouroftheirinvitation,&c. Mrs. Bennet was quitedisconcerted. She could notimagine what business hecould have in town so soonafter his arrival inHertfordshire; and she beganto fear that he might bealwaysflyingaboutfromoneplace to another, and never

settled at Netherfield as heought to be. Lady Lucasquieted her fears a little bystarting the idea of his beinggonetoLondononlytogetalargepartyfortheball;andareportsoonfollowedthatMr.Bingley was to bring twelveladies and seven gentlemenwith him to the assembly.Thegirlsgrievedoversuchanumber of ladies; but werecomforted the day before theball by hearing, that instead

of twelve, he had broughtonly six with him fromLondon,hisfivesistersandacousin. And when the partyenteredtheassembly-room,itconsisted of only five alltogether; Mr. Bingley, histwo sisters, the husband oftheeldest,andanotheryoungman.Mr. Bingley was good-

looking and gentlemanlike:he had a pleasant

countenance, and easy,unaffected manners. Hissisterswerefinewomen,withanairofdecidedfashion.Hisbrother-in-law, Mr. Hurst,merelylookedthegentleman;but his friend, Mr. Darcy,soondrewtheattentionoftheroombyhis fine, tallperson,handsome features, noblemien, and the report, whichwas in general circulationwithin five minutes after hisentrance, of his having ten

thousand a-year. Thegentlemenpronouncedhimtobeafinefigureofaman,theladies declared he wasmuchhandsomer thanMr.Bingley,and he was looked at withgreat admiration for abouthalf the evening, till hismannersgaveadisgustwhichturned the tide of hispopularity; for he wasdiscoveredtobeproud, tobeabove his company, andabovebeingpleased;andnot

all his large estate inDerbyshire could then savehim from having a mostforbidding, disagreeablecountenance, and beingunworthy to be comparedwithhisfriend.Mr. Bingley had soon

madehimselfacquaintedwithalltheprincipalpeopleintheroom: he was lively andunreserved, danced everydance,wasangrythattheball

closedsoearly,andtalkedofgiving one himself atNetherfield. Such amiablequalities must speak forthemselves. What a contrastbetween him and his friend!Mr. Darcy danced only oncewith Mrs. Hurst and oncewith Miss Bingley, declinedbeingintroducedtoanyotherlady,andspenttherestoftheevening inwalkingabout theroom, speaking occasionallyto one of his own party. His

character was decided. Hewas the proudest, mostdisagreeable man in theworld,andeverybodyhopedthat he would never comethere again. Amongst themostviolentagainsthimwasMrs.Bennet,whosedislikeofhis general behaviour wassharpened into particularresentment, by his havingslightedoneofherdaughters.ElizabethBennet had been

obliged, by the scarcity ofgentlemen, to sit down fortwo dances; and during partof that time, Mr. Darcy hadbeen standing near enoughfor her to overhear aconversation between himand Mr. Bingley, who camefrom the dance for a fewminutes topresshis friend tojoinit.“Come,Darcy,”saidhe,“I

must have you dance. I hate

to see you standing about byyourself in this stupidmanner.Youhadmuchbetterdance.”“I certainly shall not. You

knowhowIdetestit,unlessIam particularly acquaintedwith my partner. At such anassembly as this, itwouldbeinsupportable. Your sistersare engaged, and there is notanother woman in the roomwhom it would not be a

punishmenttometostandupwith.”“I would not be so

fastidious as you are,” criedBingley, “for a kingdom!Uponmyhonour,InevermetwithsomanypleasantgirlsinmylifeasIhavethisevening;andthereareseveralofthem,yousee,uncommonlypretty.”“You are dancing with the

only handsome girl in theroom,” said Mr. Darcy,

looking at the eldest MissBennet.“Oh, she is the most

beautiful creature I everbeheld! But there is one ofher sisters sitting down justbehind you, who is verypretty, and I dare say veryagreeable.Do letme askmypartnertointroduceyou.”“Which do you mean?”

and turning round, he lookedfor a moment at Elizabeth,

till, catching her eye, hewithdrewhisown,andcoldlysaid,“Sheistolerable;butnothandsome enough to temptme;andIaminnohumouratpresent to give consequenceto young ladies who areslighted by other men. Youhad better return to yourpartner and enjoyher smiles,foryouarewastingyourtimewithme.”Mr. Bingley followed his

advice. Mr. Darcy walkedoff; and Elizabeth remainedwith no very cordial feelingstowards him. She told thestory, however, with greatspirit among her friends; forshe had a lively, playfuldisposition, which delightedinanythingridiculous.The evening altogether

passed off pleasantly to thewhole family. Mrs. Bennethad seen her eldest daughter

much admired by theNetherfield party. Mr.Bingley had dancedwith hertwice, and she had beendistinguished by his sisters.Janewasasmuchgratifiedbythis as her mother could be,though in a quieter way.ElizabethfeltJane’spleasure.Mary had heard herselfmentionedtoMissBingleyasthemostaccomplishedgirlinthe neighbourhood; andCatherineandLydiahadbeen

fortunate enough to be neverwithout partners, which wasall that theyhadyet learnt tocare for at a ball. Theyreturned, therefore, in goodspirits to Longbourn, thevillagewhere they lived, andof which they were theprincipal inhabitants. Theyfound Mr. Bennet still up.With a book, he wasregardlessoftime;andonthepresent occasion he had agood deal of curiosity as to

theeventofaneveningwhichhad raised such splendidexpectations. He had ratherhoped that all his wife’sviews on the stranger wouldbe disappointed; but he soonfound that he had a verydifferentstorytohear.“Oh,mydearMr.Bennet,”

as sheentered the room,“wehave had a most delightfulevening, a most excellentball. I wish you had been

there. Jane was so admired,nothing could be like it.Everybodysaidhowwellshelooked; and Mr. Bingleythought her quite beautiful,and danced with her twice.Only think of that, my dear:he actually danced with hertwice; and she was the onlycreature in the room that heasked a second time.First ofall, he asked Miss Lucas. Iwassovexedtoseehimstandupwithher;but,however,he

did not admire her at all;indeed, nobody can, youknow; and he seemed quitestruck with Jane as she wasgoingdownthedance.Soheenquired who she was, andgotintroduced,andaskedherfor the two next. Then, thetwo third he danced withMissKing,andthetwofourthwith Maria Lucas, and thetwofifthwithJaneagain,andthetwosixthwithLizzy,and

theBoulangere—”“If he had had any

compassionforme,”criedherhusband, impatiently, “hewould not have danced halfsomuch!ForGod’ssake,sayno more of his partners. Ohthathehadsprainedhisankleinthefirstdance!”“Oh, my dear,” continued

Mrs. Bennet, “I am quitedelightedwith him. He is soexcessively handsome! and

his sisters are charmingwomen. I never in my lifesaw any thing more elegantthan their dresses. I dare saythe lace upon Mrs. Hurst’sgown—”Here she was interrupted

again. Mr. Bennet protestedagainst any description offinery. She was thereforeobliged to seek anotherbranch of the subject, andrelated, with much bitterness

of spirit and someexaggeration, the shockingrudenessofMr.Darcy.“ButIcanassureyou,”she

added, “that Lizzy does notlose much by not suiting hisfancy; for he is a mostdisagreeable, horridman, notatallworthpleasing.Sohighand so conceited, that therewas no enduring him! Hewalked here, and he walkedthere, fancying himself so

very great! Not handsomeenoughtodancewith!Iwishyouhadbeen there,mydear,tohavegivenhimoneofyourset-downs. I quite detest theman.”

Chapter4

When Jane and Elizabethwere alone, the former, whohad been cautious in herpraiseofMr.Bingleybefore,expressed to her sister howverymuchsheadmiredhim.“He is just what a young

man ought to be,” said she,

“sensible, good-humoured,lively; and I never saw suchhappy manners! so muchease, with such perfect goodbreeding!”“He is also handsome,”

replied Elizabeth, “which ayoungmanought likewise tobe if he possibly can. Hischaracter is therebycomplete.”“Iwasverymuchflattered

by his asking me to dance a

second time. Ididnotexpectsuchacompliment.”“Did not you? I did for

you. But that is one greatdifference between us.Complimentsalwaystakeyouby surprise, and me never.What could be more naturalthanhisaskingyouagain?Hecouldnothelpseeingthatyouwere about five times aspretty as every other womanintheroom.Nothankstohis

gallantry for that. Well, hecertainly is very agreeable,and I give you leave to likehim.You have likedmany astupiderperson.”“DearLizzy!”“Oh, you are a great deal

too apt, you know, to likepeople in general.Youneversee a fault in any body. Allthe world are good andagreeable in your eyes. Ineverheardyouspeakillofa

humanbeinginmylife.”“I would wish not to be

hasty in censuring any one;but I always speak what Ithink.”“I know you do; and it is

thatwhichmakesthewonder.With your good sense, to besohonestlyblindtothefolliesand nonsense of others!Affection of candour iscommon enough; one meetswith it every where. But, to

becandidwithoutostentationor design,—to take the goodofeverybody’scharacterandmake it still better, and saynothing of the bad,—belongstoyoualone.Andso,youlikethis man’s sisters, too, doyou? Their manners are notequaltohis.”“Certainlynot, at first; but

theyareverypleasingwomenwhen you converse withthem.MissBingley is to live

withherbrotherandkeephishouse; and I am muchmistaken ifwe shall not findaverycharmingneighbourinher.”Elizabeth listened in

silence, but was notconvinced: their behaviour atthe assembly had not beencalculated to please ingeneral; and with morequickness of observation andless pliancy of temper than

her sister, and with ajudgment, too, unassailed byany attention to herself, shewas very little disposed toapprove them. Theywere, infact, very fine ladies; notdeficient in good-humourwhen they were pleased, norin the power of beingagreeable where they choseit; but proud and conceited.They were rather handsome;had been educated in one ofthefirstprivateseminaries in

town;hadafortuneoftwentythousandpounds;wereinthehabit of spending more thantheyought,andofassociatingwith people of rank; andwere, therefore, in everyrespect entitled to think wellofthemselves,andmeanlyofothers. They were of arespectable family in thenorth of England; acircumstance more deeplyimpressed on their memoriesthan that their brother’s

fortune and their own hadbeenacquiredbytrade.Mr. Bingley inherited

property to the amount ofnearly a hundred thousandpounds from his father, whohad intended to purchase anestate, but did not live to doit. Mr. Bingley intended itlikewise, and sometimesmade choice of his county;but, as hewas now providedwith a good house and the

liberty of a manor,f it wasdoubtful to many of thosewhobestknewtheeasinessofhis temper,whetherhemightnot spend the remainder ofhis days at Netherfield, andleave the next generation topurchase.His sisters were very

anxious for his having anestateofhisown;but thoughhe was now established onlyasatenant,MissBingleywas

by no means unwilling topreside at his table; nor wasMrs.Hurst,whohadmarrieda man of more fashion thanfortune, less disposed toconsider his house as herhomewhen it suitedher.Mr.Bingley had not been of agetwo years when he wastempted, by an accidentalrecommendation, to look atNetherfield House. He didlookatit,andintoit,forhalfanhour;waspleasedwiththe

situation and the principalrooms,satisfiedwithwhattheowner said in its praise, andtookitimmediately.Between him and Darcy

there was a very steadyfriendship, in spiteof agreatopposition of character.Bingley was endeared toDarcy by the easiness,openness,andductilityofhistemper,thoughnodispositioncould offer a greater contrast

to his own, and though withhis own he never appeareddissatisfied. On the strengthof Darcy’s regard, Bingleyhad the firmest reliance, andof his judgment the highestopinion. In understanding,Darcy was the superior.Bingley was by no meansdeficient; but Darcy wasclever. He was at the sametime haughty, reserved, andfastidious; and his manners,though well bred, were not

inviting. In that respect hisfriend had greatly theadvantage. Bingley was sureof being liked wherever heappeared; Darcy wascontinuallygivingoffence.Themanner inwhich they

spoke of the Merytonassembly was sufficientlycharacteristic. Bingley hadnever met with pleasanterpeople or prettier girls in hislife; every body had been

most kind and attentive tohim; there had been noformality,nostiffness;hehadsoon felt acquainted with allthe room; and as to MissBennet,hecouldnotconceivean angel more beautiful.Darcy, on the contrary, hadseenacollectionofpeopleinwhom therewas little beautyand no fashion, for none ofwhomhehadfeltthesmallestinterest, and from nonereceived either attention or

pleasure. Miss Bennet heacknowledged to be pretty;butshesmiledtoomuch.Mrs. Hurst and her sister

allowed it to be so; but stillthey admired her and likedher,andpronouncedhertobea sweet girl, and one whomthey should not object toknow more of. Miss Bennetwasthereforeestablishedasasweet girl; and their brotherfelt authorised by such

commendationtothinkofherashechose.

Chapter5

Within a short walk ofLongbourn lived a familywithwhomtheBennetswereparticularly intimate. SirWilliam Lucas had beenformerlyintradeinMeryton,where he had made atolerablefortune,andrisento

the honour of knighthood byanaddress to thekingduringhis mayoralty.3 Thedistinctionhad,perhaps,beenfelttoostrongly.Ithadgivenhim a disgust to his businessandtohisresidenceinasmallmarket town; and, quittingthem both, he had removedwith his family to a houseabout a mile from Meryton,denominatedfromthatperiodLucasLodge;wherehecould

think with pleasure of hisown importance, and,unshackled by business,occupy himself solely inbeing civil to all the world.Forthoughelatedbyhisrank,it did not render himsupercilious; on the contrary,he was all attention toeverybody. By natureinoffensive, friendly, andobliging, his presentation atSt. James’s had made himcourteous.

Lady Lucas was a verygoodkindofwoman,not tooclever to be a valuableneighbour to Mrs. Bennet.They had several children.The eldest of them, asensible, intelligent youngwoman, about twenty-seven,was Elizabeth’s intimatefriend.That theMissLucasesand

theMissBennetsshouldmeetto talk over a ball was

absolutely necessary; and themorning after the assemblybrought the former toLongbourn to hear and tocommunicate.“You began the evening

well, Charlotte,” said Mrs.Bennet, with civil self-command, to Miss Lucas.“YouwereMr.Bingley’sfirstchoice.”“Yes;butheseemedtolike

hissecondbetter.”

“Oh, you mean Jane, Isuppose, because he dancedwith her twice. To be surethatdidseemasifheadmiredher—indeed,Iratherbelievehe did—I heard somethingabout it—but I hardly knowwhat—something about Mr.Robinson.”“Perhaps youmeanwhat I

overheard between him andMr. Robinson: did not Imention it to you? Mr.

Robinson’s asking him howhe liked our Merytonassemblies, and whether hedid not think there were agreat many pretty women inthe room, and which hethought the prettiest? and hisansweringimmediatelytothelast question, Oh, the eldestMissBennet,beyondadoubt:there cannot be two opinionsonthatpoint.”“Uponmyword!Well,that

was very decided, indeed—that does seem as if—but,however, it may all come tonothing,youknow.”“My overhearings were

more to the purpose thanyours, Eliza,” said Charlotte.“Mr. Darcy is not so wellworth listening to as hisfriend, is he? Poor Eliza! tobeonlyjusttolerable.”“I beg you will not put it

intoLizzy’sheadtobevexed

by his ill-treatment, for he issuch a disagreeableman thatitwouldbequiteamisfortunetobelikedbyhim.Mrs.Longtoldme last night that he satclose to her for half an hourwithout once opening hislips.”“Are you quite sure,

ma’am? Is not there a littlemistake?” said Jane. “Icertainly saw Mr. Darcyspeakingtoher.”

“Ay, because she askedhim at last how he likedNetherfield,andhecouldnothelp answering her; but shesaidheseemedveryangryatbeingspoketo.”“Miss Bingley told me,”

said Jane, “that he neverspeaks much unless amonghis intimate acquaintance.With them he is remarkablyagreeable.”“Idonotbelieveawordof

it,mydear.Ifhehadbeensovery agreeable, he wouldhavetalkedtoMrs.Long.ButIcanguesshowitwas;everybody says that he is ate upwithpride, and Idare sayhehadheardsomehowthatMrs.Long does not keep acarriage,andhadcometotheballinahackchaise.”g

“I do not mind his nottalking to Mrs. Long,” saidMiss Lucas, “but I wish he

haddancedwithEliza.”“Anothertime,Lizzy,”said

her mother, “I would notdance with him, if I wereyou.”“I believe, ma’am, I may

safely promise you never todancewithhim.”“His pride,” said Miss

Lucas, “does not offend mesomuch as pride often does,becausethereisanexcuseforit.Onecannotwonderthatso

very fine a young man withfamily,fortune,everythinginhis favour, should thinkhighlyofhimself.IfImaysoexpressit,hehasarighttobeproud.”“Thatisverytrue,”replied

Elizabeth,“andIcouldeasilyforgive his pride, if he hadnotmortifiedmine.”“Pride,” observed Mary,

who piqued herself upon thesolidityofher reflections,“is

a very common failing, Ibelieve. By all that I haveever read, I am convincedthat it is very commonindeed, that human nature isparticularly prone to it, andthat there are very few of uswho do not cherish a feelingof self-complacency on thescore of some quality orother, real or imaginary.Vanityandpridearedifferentthings, though the words areoften used synonymously. A

personmaybeproudwithoutbeingvain.Priderelatesmoreto our opinion of ourselves;vanitytowhatwewouldhaveothersthinkofus.”“If I were as rich as Mr.

Darcy,”criedayoungLucas,whocamewithhis sisters, “Ishould not care how proud Iwas. Iwould keep a pack offoxhounds,anddrinkabottleofwineeveryday.”“Then you would drink a

great deal more than youought,” said Mrs. Bennet;“andifIweretoseeyouatit,I should take away yourbottledirectly.”The boy protested that she

should not; she continued todeclare that she would, andtheargumentendedonlywiththevisit.

Chapter6

TheladiesofLongbournsoonwaited on those ofNetherfield. The visit wasreturned in due form. MissBennet’s pleasing mannersgrewonthegood-willofMrs.Hurst andMiss Bingley; and

thoughthemotherwasfoundto be intolerable, and theyounger sisters not worthspeaking to, a wish of beingbetter acquainted with themwas expressed towards thetwo eldest. By Jane thisattention was received withthe greatest pleasure; butElizabeth still sawsuperciliousness in theirtreatment of every body,hardly excepting even hersister, and could not like

them; though their kindnesstoJane,suchasitwas,hadavalue, as arising, in allprobability, from theinfluence of their brother’sadmiration. It was generallyevident, whenever they met,thathedidadmireher;andtoheritwasequallyevidentthatJane was yielding to thepreference which she hadbegun to entertain for himfrom the first, and was in awaytobeverymuchinlove;

but she considered withpleasurethatitwasnotlikelytobediscoveredbytheworldin general, since Jane unitedwithgreatstrengthoffeeling,acomposureoftemperandanuniform cheerfulness ofmanner, which would guardherfromthesuspicionsoftheimpertinent. She mentionedthistoherfriend,MissLucas.“It may, perhaps, be

pleasant,” replied Charlotte,

“to be able to impose on thepublicinsuchacase;butitissometimes a disadvantage tobe so very guarded. If awomanconcealsheraffectionwith the same skill from theobjectof it, shemay lose theopportunity of fixing him;and it will then be but poorconsolation to believe theworld equally in the dark.Thereissomuchofgratitudeor vanity in almost everyattachment, that it is not safe

toleaveanytoitself.Wecanall begin freely—a slightpreference is natural enough;but there are very few of uswhohaveheartenough tobereally in love withoutencouragement. Inninecasesout of ten, a woman hadbetter show more affectionthan she feels. Bingley likesyour sister undoubtedly; buthe may never do more thanlike her, if she does not helphimon.”

“Butshedoeshelphimon,as much as her nature willallow. If I can perceive herregard for him, hemust be asimpleton, indeed, not todiscoverittoo.”“Remember, Eliza, that he

does not know Jane’sdispositionasyoudo.”“But if awoman is partial

to a man, and does notendeavour to conceal it, hemustfinditout.”

“Perhaps he must, if hesees enough of her. Butthough Bingley and Janemeet tolerably often, it isnever for many hourstogether; and as they alwaysseeeachotherinlargemixedparties, it is impossible thatevery moment should beemployed in conversingtogether. Jane shouldtherefore make the most ofevery half hour inwhich shecan command his attention.

When she is secure of him,there will be leisure forfallinginloveasmuchasshechooses.”“Yourplanisagoodone,”

replied Elizabeth, “wherenothingis inquestionbut thedesire of beingwellmarried;and if I were determined toget a rich husband, or anyhusband, I dare say I shouldadopt it. But these are notJane’s feelings; she is not

acting by design. As yet shecannotevenbecertainof thedegreeofherownregard,norofitsreasonableness.Shehasknown him only a fortnight.She danced four danceswithhimatMeryton;shesawhimone morning at his ownhouse,andhassincedinedincompanywithhimfourtimes.This is not quite enough tomake her understand hischaracter.”

“Not as you represent it.Had she merely dined withhim, she might only havediscovered whether he had agood appetite; but you mustremember that four eveningshavebeenalsospenttogether—andfoureveningsmaydoagreatdeal.”“Yes: these four evenings

have enabled them toascertain that they both likeVingt-un better than

Commerce;h butwith respectto any other leadingcharacteristic, I do notimagine that much has beenunfolded.”“Well,” said Charlotte, “I

wishJanesuccesswithallmyheart;andifsheweremarriedto him to-morrow, I shouldthink she had as good achanceofhappinessas ifshewere to be studying hischaracter for a twelvemonth.

Happiness in marriage isentirelyamatterofchance.Ifthedispositionsofthepartiesare ever so well known toeachother,oreversosimilarbeforehand, it does notadvance their felicity in theleast. They always continueto grow sufficiently unlikeafterwardstohavetheirshareofvexation;anditisbettertoknow as little as possible ofthedefectsofthepersonwithwhom you are to pass your

life.”“You make me laugh,

Charlotte;butitisnotsound.Youknowitisnotsound,andthat you would never act inthiswayyourself.”Occupied inobservingMr.

Bingley’s attentions to hersister,Elizabethwasfarfromsuspecting that she washerselfbecominganobjectofsome interest in the eyes ofhis friend. Mr. Darcy had at

first scarcely allowed her tobe pretty: he had looked atherwithoutadmirationat theball;andwhentheynextmet,he looked at her only tocriticise. But no sooner hadhe made it clear to himselfand his friends that she hadhardly a good feature in herface, thanhebegan to find itwas rendered uncommonlyintelligent by the beautifulexpression of her dark eyes.To this discovery succeeded

some others equallymortifying. Though he haddetected with a critical eyemore than one failure ofperfectsymmetryinherform,he was forced toacknowledgeher figure tobelight and pleasing; and inspiteofhis asserting that hermannerswerenotthoseofthefashionable world, he wascaught by their easyplayfulness. Of this she wasperfectly unaware: to her he

wasonly themanwhomadehimself agreeable nowhere,andwhohadnot thoughtherhandsome enough to dancewith.Hebegan towish toknow

more of her; and, as a steptowards conversing with herhimself, attended to herconversationwithothers.Hisdoing so drew her notice. Itwas at Sir William Lucas’s,where a large party were

assembled.“What does Mr. Darcy

mean,” said she toCharlotte,“by listening to myconversation with ColonelForster?”“That is a question which

Mr.Darcyonlycananswer.”“Butifhedoesitanymore,

IshallcertainlylethimknowthatIseewhatheisabout.Hehasaverysatiricaleye,andifI do not begin by being

impertinent myself, I shallsoongrowafraidofhim.”On his approaching them

soon afterwards, thoughwithout seeming to have anyintention of speaking, MissLucas defied her friend tomention such a subject tohim, which immediatelyprovoking Elizabeth to do it,sheturnedtohimandsaid,—“Did not you think, Mr.

Darcy, that I expressed

myselfuncommonlywelljustnow, when I was teasingColonel Forster to give us aballatMeryton?”“With great energy; but it

is a subject which alwaysmakesaladyenergetic.”“Youaresevereonus.”“Itwillbeherturnsoonto

be teased,” said Miss Lucas.“I am going to open theinstrument, Eliza, and youknowwhatfollows.”

“You are a very strangecreature by way of a friend!—alwayswantingmetoplayandsingbeforeanybodyandeverybody!Ifmyvanityhadtaken a musical turn, youwould have been invaluable;but as it is, I would reallyrather not sit down beforethose who must be in thehabitofhearingtheverybestperformers.” On MissLucas’s persevering,however, she added, “Very

well; if it must be so, itmust.” And gravely glancingatMr.Darcy,“Thereisaveryfine old saying, which everybody here is of coursefamiliar with—‘Keep yourbreath to cool yourporridge,’—and I shall keepminetoswellmysong.”Her performance was

pleasing,thoughbynomeanscapital. After a song or two,andbeforeshecouldreplyto

the entreaties of several thatshewouldsingagain,shewaseagerly succeeded at theinstrumentbyhersisterMary,who having, in consequenceofbeingtheonlyplainoneinthe family, worked hard forknowledge andaccomplishments,wasalwaysimpatientfordisplay.Mary had neither genius

nor taste; and though vanityhad given her application, it

had given her likewise apedantic air and conceitedmanner, which would haveinjured a higher degree ofexcellence than she hadreached. Elizabeth, easy andunaffected, had been listenedto withmuchmore pleasure,though not playing half sowell;andMary,attheendofa long concerto, was glad topurchase praise and gratitudeby Scotch and Irish airs, atthe request of her younger

sisters,who,withsomeoftheLucases, and two or threeofficers, joined eagerly indancing at one end of theroom.Mr.Darcystoodnearthem

insilentindignationatsuchamodeofpassing theevening,to the exclusion of allconversation, and was toomuch engrossed by his ownthoughts to perceive that SirWilliam Lucas was his

neighbour, till Sir Williamthusbegan:—“What a charming

amusement for young peoplethis is, Mr. Darcy! There isnothinglikedancing,afterall.Iconsideritasoneofthefirstrefinements of polishedsocieties.”“Certainly, sir; and it has

theadvantagealsoofbeinginvogue amongst the lesspolished societies of the

world: every savage candance.”Sir William only smiled.

“Your friend performsdelightfully,” he continued,after a pause, on seeingBingleyjointhegroup;“andIdoubt not that you are anadept in the scienceyourself,Mr.Darcy.”“You saw me dance at

Meryton,Ibelieve,sir.”“Yes, indeed, and received

no inconsiderable pleasurefrom the sight.Do you oftendanceatSt.James’s?”“Never,sir.”“Doyounotthinkitwould

beapropercomplimenttotheplace?”“ItisacomplimentwhichI

neverpaytoanyplaceifIcanavoidit.”“You have a house in

town,Iconclude.”Mr.Darcybowed.

“Ihadoncesome thoughtsoffixingintownmyself,forIam fond of superior society;butIdidnotfeelquitecertainthat the air ofLondonwouldagreewithLadyLucas.”He paused in hopes of an

answer: but his companionwas not disposed to makeany; and Elizabeth at thatinstantmovingtowardsthem,hewasstruckwiththenotionofdoingaverygallant thing,

andcalledouttoher,—“MydearMissEliza,why

are not you dancing? Mr.Darcy,youmustallowmetopresentthisyoungladytoyouas a very desirable partner.Youcannotrefusetodance,Iam sure, when so muchbeauty is before you.” And,taking her hand, he wouldhave given it to Mr. Darcy,who, though extremelysurprised, was not unwilling

to receive it, when sheinstantlydrewback, and saidwith some discomposure toSirWilliam,—“Indeed,sir,Ihavenot the

least intention of dancing. Ientreat you not to supposethatImovedthiswayinordertobegforapartner.”Mr. Darcy, with grave

propriety, requested to beallowed the honour of herhand, but in vain. Elizabeth

was determined; nor did SirWilliam at all shake herpurpose by his attempt atpersuasion.“Youexcelsomuchinthe

dance, Miss Eliza, that it iscruel to deny me thehappiness of seeingyou; andthough this gentlemandislikes the amusement ingeneral, he can have noobjection,Iamsure,toobligeusforonehalfhour.”

“Mr. Darcy is allpoliteness,” said Elizabeth,smiling.“He is, indeed: but,

considering the inducement,my dear Miss Eliza, wecannot wonder at hiscomplaisance;forwhowouldobjecttosuchapartner?”Elizabeth looked archly,

and turned away. Herresistancehadnotinjuredherwith the gentleman, and he

was thinking of her withsome complacency, whenthus accosted by MissBingley,—“Icanguess the subjectof

yourreverie.”“Ishouldimaginenot.”“You are considering how

insupportable it would be topass many evenings in thismanner,—in such society;and, indeed, I am quite ofyour opinion. I was never

more annoyed! Theinsipidity, and yet the noise;—the nothingness, and yetthe self-importance of allthese people! What would Igivetohearyourstricturesonthem!”“Your conjecture is totally

wrong,Iassureyou.Mymindwasmoreagreeablyengaged.Ihavebeenmeditatingonthevery great pleasure which apairoffineeyesinthefaceof

aprettywomancanbestow.”Miss Bingley immediately

fixed her eyes on his face,anddesiredhewould tellherwhat lady had the credit ofinspiringsuchreflections.Mr.Darcy replied with greatintrepidity,—“MissElizabethBennet.”“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

repeatedMissBingley.“Iamall astonishment. How longhas she been such a

favourite?andpraywhenamItowishyoujoy?”“That is exactly the

question which I expectedyou to ask. A lady’simagination is very rapid; itjumps from admiration tolove,fromlovetomatrimony,in a moment. I knew youwouldbewishingmejoy.”“Nay,ifyouaresoserious

about it, I shall consider thematter as absolutely settled.

You will have a charmingmother-in-law,indeed,andofcourse she will be always atPemberleywithyou.”He listened to her with

perfect indifference, whileshechose toentertainherselfin this manner; and as hiscomposureconvincedherthatall was safe, her wit flowedlong.

Chapter7

Mr. Bennet’s propertyconsisted almost entirely inan estate of two thousand ayear,which,unfortunatelyforhisdaughters,wasentailed,indefault of heirs male, on adistant relation;4 and theirmother’s fortune, though

ampleforhersituationinlife,could but ill supply thedeficiency of his. Her fatherhad been an attorney inMeryton, and had left herfourthousandpounds.Shehadasistermarriedto

aMr.Philips,whohadbeenaclerk to their father, andsucceeded him in thebusiness,andabrothersettledin London in a respectablelineoftrade.

The village of Longbournwas only one mile fromMeryton; a most convenientdistancefortheyoungladies,who were usually temptedthither three or four times aweek, to pay their duty totheiraunt,andtoamilliner’sshopi just over the way. Thetwo youngest of the family,Catherine and Lydia, wereparticularly frequent in theseattentions: their minds were

more vacant than theirsisters’, and when nothingbetter offered, a walk toMeryton was necessary toamuse their morning hoursand furnish conversation forthe evening; and, howeverbare of news the country ingeneralmightbe,theyalwayscontrived to learn some fromtheiraunt.Atpresent,indeed,theywerewell supplied bothwith news and happiness by

therecentarrivalofamilitiajregiment in theneighbourhood; it was toremain thewholewinter,andMeryton was the head-quarters.Theirvisits toMrs.Philips

were now productive of themost interesting intelligence.Every day added somethingto their knowledge of theofficers’ names andconnections. Their lodgings

werenotlongasecret,andatlengththeybegantoknowtheofficers themselves. Mr.Philips visited them all, andthis opened to his nieces asource of felicity unknownbefore. They could talk ofnothingbut officers; andMr.Bingley’s large fortune, themention of which gaveanimation to their mother,was worthless in their eyeswhen opposed to the

regimentalsofanensign.k

After listening onemorning to theireffusionsonthis subject, Mr. Bennetcoollyobserved,—“FromallthatIcancollect

by your manner of talking,youmustbetwoofthesilliestgirls in the country. I havesuspected it some time, but Iamnowconvinced.”Catherine was

disconcerted, and made no

answer; but Lydia, withperfect indifference,continued to express heradmirationofCaptainCarter,andherhopeofseeinghiminthe course of the day, as hewas going the next morningtoLondon.“I am astonished, my

dear,”saidMrs.Bennet,“thatyou should be so ready tothinkyourownchildrensilly.If I wished to think

slightingly of any body’schildren, it should not be ofmyown,however.”“Ifmy children are silly, I

must hope to be alwayssensibleofit.”“Yes; but as it happens,

they are all of them veryclever.”“This is the only point, I

flatter myself, on which wedonotagree.Ihadhopedthatour sentiments coincided in

everyparticular,butImustsofardifferfromyouastothinkour two youngest daughtersuncommonlyfoolish.”“MydearMr.Bennet,you

mustnot expect suchgirls tohave the senseof their fatherandmother.Whentheygettoour age, I dare say theywillnot think about officers anymorethanwedo.Irememberthe time when I liked a redcoat myself very well—and,

indeed, so I do still at myheart; and if a smart youngcolonel, with five or sixthousandayear, shouldwantone of my girls, I shall notsaynaytohim;andIthoughtColonel Forster looked verybecoming the other night atSir William’s in hisregimentals.”“Mamma,” cried Lydia,

“my aunt says that ColonelForsterandCaptainCarterdo

not go so often to MissWatson’s as they did whentheyfirstcame;sheseesthemnow very often standing inClarke’slibrary.”l

Mrs.Bennetwaspreventedreplying by the entrance ofthe footman with a note forMiss Bennet; it came fromNetherfield, and the servantwaited for an answer. Mrs.Bennet’s eyes sparkled withpleasure,andshewaseagerly

calling out, while herdaughterread,—“Well, Jane, who is it

from?Whatisitabout?Whatdoes he say? Well, Jane,makehasteand tellus;makehaste,mylove.”“It is fromMiss Bingley,”

said Jane, and then read italoud.

“MYDEARFRIEND,If you are not so

compassionateastodineto-day with Louisa andme, we shall be indanger of hating eachother for the rest of ourlives; for a whole day’stête-à-tête between twowomen can never endwithout aquarrel.Comeas soon as you can onthe receipt of this. Mybrother and thegentlemen are to dinewith the officers. Yours

ever,CAROLINEBINGLEY.”

“With the officers!” criedLydia:“Iwondermyauntdidnottellusofthat.”“Dining out,” said Mrs.

Bennet; “that is veryunlucky.”“Can Ihave thecarriage?”

saidJane.“No, my dear, you had

better go on horseback,

because it seems likely torain; and then youmust stayallnight.”“That would be a good

scheme,” said Elizabeth, “ifyouweresurethattheywouldnotoffertosendherhome.”“Oh, but the gentlemen

will have Mr. Bingley’schaise togo toMeryton; andtheHursts have no horses totheirs.”“I had much rather go in

thecoach.”“But,my dear, your father

cannotsparethehorses,Iamsure. They arewanted in thefarm, Mr. Bennet, are notthey?”“They are wanted in the

farmmuchoftener thanIcangetthem.”“But if you have got them

to-day,” said Elizabeth, “mymother’s purpose will beanswered.”

Shedid at last extort fromher father anacknowledgment that thehorses were engaged; Janewas therefore obliged to goonhorseback,andhermotherattendedher to thedoorwithmany cheerful prognostics ofa bad day. Her hopes wereanswered; Jane had not beengone long before it rainedhard.Hersisterswereuneasyfor her, but her mother wasdelighted.Theraincontinued

the whole evening withoutintermission; Jane certainlycouldnotcomeback.“This was a lucky idea of

mine, indeed!” said Mrs.Bennet,morethanonce,asifthe credit of making it rainwereallherown.Tillthenextmorning, however, she wasnotawareofallthefelicityofher contrivance. Breakfastwas scarcely over when aservant from Netherfield

brought the following noteforElizabeth:—

“MYDEARESTLIZZY,I find myself very

unwell this morning,which, I suppose, is tobeimputedtomygettingwet through yesterday.Mykindfriendswillnothear of my returninghome till I am better.They insist also on my

seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not bealarmed if you shouldhear of his having beentome—and,exceptingasore-throat andheadache, there is notmuch the matter withme.YOURS,”&C

“Well, my dear,” saidMr.Bennet, when Elizabeth hadread the note aloud, “if your

daughter should have adangerousfitofillness,ifsheshould die, it would be acomfort to know that it wasall inpursuitofMr.Bingley,andunderyourorders.”“Oh, I amnot at all afraid

of her dying. People do notdieoflittletriflingcolds.Shewillbetakengoodcareof.Aslong as she stays there, it isallverywell. Iwouldgoandsee her, if I could have the

carriage.”Elizabeth, feeling really

anxious, was determined togotoher,thoughthecarriagewasnottobehad;andasshewasnohorsewoman,walkingwasher only alternative.Shedeclaredherresolution.“Howcanyoubesosilly,”

criedhermother,“astothinkof such a thing, in all thisdirt!Youwillnotbefittobeseenwhenyougetthere.”

“I shall be very fit to seeJane—whichisallIwant.”“Is this a hint to me,

Lizzy,” said her father, “tosendforthehorses?”“No, indeed. Idonotwish

to avoid the walk. Thedistanceisnothing,whenonehas a motive; only threemiles. I shall be back bydinner.”“I admire the activity of

your benevolence,” observed

Mary, “but every impulse offeeling should be guided byreason; and, in my opinion,exertion should always be inproportion to what isrequired.”“We will go as far as

Meryton with you,” saidCatherine and Lydia.Elizabeth accepted theircompany,andthethreeyoungladiessetofftogether.“If we make haste,” said

Lydia, as theywalked along,“perhaps we may seesomething of Captain Carterbeforehegoes.”InMerytontheyparted:the

two youngest repaired to thelodgings of one of theofficers’wives,andElizabethcontinued her walk alone,crossing field after field at aquick pace, jumping overstiles and springing overpuddles with impatient

activity,andfindingherselfatlastwithinviewofthehouse,with weary ankles, dirtystockings,andafaceglowingwiththewarmthofexercise.She was shown into the

breakfast-parlour, where allbutJanewereassembled,andwhereherappearancecreateda great deal of surprise.Thatsheshouldhavewalkedthreemiles so early in the day, insuch dirty weather, and by

herself,wasalmostincredibleto Mrs. Hurst and MissBingley; and Elizabeth wasconvinced that they held herin contempt for it. She wasreceived, however, verypolitelybythem;andintheirbrother’s manners there wassomething better thanpoliteness; there was good-humour and kindness. Mr.Darcysaidverylittle,andMr.Hurst nothing at all. Theformer was divided between

admiration of the brilliancywhich exercise had given tohercomplexion,anddoubtasto the occasion’s justifyingher coming so far alone.Thelatterwasthinkingonlyofhisbreakfast.Her enquiries after her

sister were not veryfavourably answered. MissBennet had slept ill, andthoughup,wasveryfeverish,andnotwell enough to leave

her room.Elizabethwasgladto be taken to herimmediately; and Jane, whohadonlybeenwithheldbythefear of giving alarm orinconvenience, fromexpressing in her note howmuch she longed for such avisit, was delighted at herentrance. She was not equal,however, to muchconversation; andwhenMissBingley left them together,could attempt little beside

expressions of gratitude forthe extraordinary kindnessshe was treated with.Elizabeth silently attendedher.When breakfast was over,

they were joined by thesisters; and Elizabeth begantolikethemherself,whenshesaw howmuch affection andsolicitude they showed forJane.The apothecarym came;and having examined his

patient, said, as might besupposed,thatshehadcaughta violent cold, and that theymust endeavour to get thebetter of it; advised her toreturn to bed, and promisedher some draughts. Theadvice was followed readily,for the feverish symptomsincreased,andherheadachedacutely.Elizabethdidnotquither room for a moment, norwere the other ladies oftenabsent; the gentlemen being

out, they had in fact nothingtodoelsewhere.When the clock struck

three, Elizabeth felt that shemustgo;andveryunwillinglysaidso.MissBingleyofferedherthecarriage,andsheonlywanted a little pressing toaccept it,when Jane testifiedsuch concern in parting withher, that Miss Bingley wasobligedtoconverttheofferofthechaiseintoaninvitationto

remain at Netherfield for thepresent. Elizabeth mostthankfully consented, and aservant was despatched toLongbourn, to acquaint thefamily with her stay, andbring back a supply ofclothes.

Chapter8

Atfiveo’clockthetwoladiesretired to dress, and at halfpast six Elizabeth wassummoned to dinner. To thecivil enquiries which thenpouredin,andamongstwhichshe had the pleasure of

distinguishing the muchsuperior solicitude of Mr.Bingley’s, she could notmake a very favourableanswer. Jane was by nomeans better. The sisters, onhearingthis,repeatedthreeorfour times how much theyweregrieved,howshockingitwas to have a bad cold, andhowexcessivelytheydislikedbeingillthemselves;andthenthought no more of thematter: and their indifference

towards Jane, when notimmediately before them,restored Elizabeth to theenjoyment of all her originaldislike.Their brother, indeed, was

the only one of the partywhom she could regard withanycomplacency.Hisanxietyfor Janewasevident, andhisattentions to herself mostpleasing; and they preventedherfeelingherselfsomuchan

intruder as she believed shewasconsideredbytheothers.She had very little noticefrom any but him. MissBingley was engrossed byMr.Darcy,hersisterscarcelylessso;andasforMr.Hurst,by whom Elizabeth sat, hewas an indolent man, wholived only to eat, drink, andplay at cards, who, when hefound her prefer a plain dishto a ragout,n had nothing to

saytoher.Whendinnerwasover,she

returneddirectly to Jane, andMiss Bingley began abusingherassoonasshewasoutofthe room. Hermanners werepronounced to be very badindeed,—amixture of prideandimpertinence:shehadnoconversation, no style, notaste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurstthought thesame,andadded,—

“Shehasnothing, in short,to recommend her, but beingan excellent walker. I shallnever forget her appearancethis morning. She reallylookedalmostwild.”“She did indeed, Louisa. I

could hardly keep mycountenance. Verynonsensical to come at all!Whymustshebescamperingabout the country, becausehersisterhadacold?Herhair

sountidy,soblowzy!”“Yes, and her petticoat; I

hope you saw her petticoat,six inchesdeep inmud, Iamabsolutely certain; and thegown which had been letdown to hide it not doing itsoffice.”“Yourpicturemaybevery

exact, Louisa,” said Bingley;“but this was all lost uponme. I thoughtMissElizabethBennet looked remarkably

wellwhen she came into theroom thismorning.Her dirtypetticoat quite escaped mynotice.”“You observed it, Mr.

Darcy, I am sure,” saidMissBingley; “and I am inclinedto think that you would notwish to see your sistermakesuchanexhibition.”“Certainlynot.”“To walk three miles, or

four miles, or five miles, or

whatever it is, above heranklesindirt,andalone,quitealone! what could she meanbyit?Itseemstometoshowan abominable sort ofconceited independence, amost country-townindifferencetodecorum.”“It shows an affection for

her sister that is verypleasing,”saidBingley.“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,”

observed Miss Bingley, in a

half whisper, “that thisadventure has rather affectedyour admiration of her fineeyes.”“Not at all,” he replied:

“theywerebrightenedby theexercise.” A short pausefollowed this speech, andMrs.Hurstbeganagain,—“Ihaveanexcessiveregard

for Jane Bennet,—she isreallyaverysweetgirl,—andIwishwith allmy heart she

were well settled. But withsuchafatherandmother,andsuch low connections, I amafraid there is no chance ofit.”“I think I have heard you

say that their uncle is anattorneyinMeryton.”“Yes; and they have

another, who livessomewherenearCheapside.”o

“Thatiscapital,”addedhersister; and they both laughed

heartily.“Iftheyhadunclesenough

to fill all Cheapside,” criedBingley, “it would not makethemonejotlessagreeable.”“But it must very

materiallylessentheirchanceof marrying men of anyconsideration in the world,”repliedDarcy.To this speech Bingley

made no answer; but hissisters gave it their hearty

assent, and indulged theirmirth for some time at theexpenseoftheirdearfriend’svulgarrelations.With a renewal of

tenderness, however, theyrepaired to her room onleaving the dining-parlour,and sat with her tillsummonedtocoffee.Shewasstill very poorly, andElizabeth would not quit heratall, till late in theevening,

when she had the comfort ofseeingherasleep,andwhenitappeared to her rather rightthan pleasant that she shouldgo down stairs herself. Onentering the drawing-room,she found thewhole party atloo,p and was immediatelyinvited to join them; butsuspectingthemtobeplayinghigh, she declined it, andmakingher sister the excuse,saidshewouldamuseherself,

for the short time she couldstaybelow,with abook.Mr.Hurst looked at her withastonishment.“Do you prefer reading to

cards?”saidhe;“thatisrathersingular.”“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said

Miss Bingley, “despisescards. She is a great reader,and has no pleasure in anythingelse.”“I deserve neither such

praise nor such censure,”cried Elizabeth; “I am not agreat reader, and I havepleasureinmanythings.”“InnursingyoursisterIam

sureyouhavepleasure,”saidBingley; “and I hope it willsoon be increased by seeingherquitewell.”Elizabeth thanked him

from her heart, and thenwalkedtowardsatablewherea few books were lying. He

immediately offered to fetchherothers;all thathis libraryafforded.“And Iwishmycollection

were larger for your benefitandmyowncredit; but I aman idle fellow; and though Ihave not many, I have morethanIeverlookinto.”Elizabeth assured him that

she could suit herselfperfectly with those in theroom.

“I am astonished,” saidMissBingley,“thatmyfathershould have left so small acollection of books. What adelightful libraryyouhaveatPemberley,Mr.Darcy!”“It ought to be good,” he

replied:“ithasbeentheworkofmanygenerations.”“And thenyouhaveadded

so much to it yourself—youarealwaysbuyingbooks.”“I cannot comprehend the

neglectof a family library insuchdaysasthese.”“Neglect! I am sure you

neglect nothing that can addto the beauties of that nobleplace. Charles, when youbuild your house, I wish itmay be half as delightful asPemberley.”“Iwishitmay.”“But Iwould really advise

youtomakeyourpurchaseinthat neighbourhood, and take

Pemberley for a kind ofmodel. There is not a finercounty in England thanDerbyshire.”“With all my heart: I will

buyPemberleyitself,ifDarcywillsellit.”“I am talking of

possibilities,Charles.”“Uponmyword,Caroline,

I should think it morepossible to get Pemberley bypurchasethanbyimitation.”

Elizabeth was so muchcaught bywhat passed, as toleave her very little attentionforherbook;andsoonlayingitwhollyaside,shedrewnearthe card-table, and stationedherself between Mr. Bingleyand his eldest sister, toobservethegame.“Is Miss Darcy much

grownsincethespring?”saidMissBingley:“willshebeastallasIam?”

“I think she will. She isnow about Miss ElizabethBennet’s height, or rathertaller.”“How I long to see her

again! I never met with anybody who delighted me somuch. Such a countenance,such manners, and soextremely accomplished forher age.Her performance onthepiano-forteisexquisite.”“Itisamazingtome,”said

Bingley, “how young ladiescan have patience to be soveryaccomplishedastheyallare.”“All young ladies

accomplished! My dearCharles,whatdoyoumean?”“Yes, all of them, I think.

They all paint tables, coverscreens, and net purses.q Iscarcely know any one whocannot do all this; and I amsure I never heard a young

lady spoken of for the firsttime,withoutbeing informedthat she was veryaccomplished.”“Your list of the common

extent of accomplishments,”said Darcy, “has too muchtruth. Theword is applied tomanyawomanwhodeservesit no otherwise than bynetting a purse or covering ascreen;butIamveryfarfromagreeing with you in your

estimation of ladies ingeneral. I cannot boast ofknowing more than half adozen in the whole range ofmy acquaintance that arereallyaccomplished.”“Nor I, I am sure,” said

MissBingley.“Then,” observed

Elizabeth, “you mustcomprehend a great deal inyourideaofanaccomplishedwoman.”

“Yes; I do comprehend agreatdealinit.”“Oh, certainly,” cried his

faithfulassistant,“noonecanbe really esteemedaccomplished, who does notgreatly surpass what isusually met with. A womanmust have a thoroughknowledgeofmusic,singing,drawing, dancing, and themodernlanguages,todeservethe word; and, besides all

this, she must possess acertain something in her airand manner of walking, thetoneofhervoice,heraddressand expressions, or thewordwillbebuthalfdeserved.”“All this she must

possess,” added Darcy; “andto all this she must yet addsomething more substantial,in the improvement of hermindbyextensivereading.”“I am no longer surprised

at your knowing only sixaccomplished women. Irather wonder now at yourknowingany.”“Are you so severe upon

yourownsex,astodoubtthepossibilityofallthis?”“I never saw such a

woman. I never saw suchcapacity, and taste, andapplication, and elegance, asyoudescribe,united.”Mrs. Hurst and Miss

Bingleybothcriedoutagainstthe injustice of her implieddoubt, and were bothprotesting that they knewmany women who answeredthis description, when Mr.Hurst called them to order,withbittercomplaintsoftheirinattentiontowhatwasgoingforward. As all conversationwas thereby at an end,Elizabethsoonafterwardslefttheroom.

“Eliza Bennet,” said MissBingley, when the door wasclosedonher,“isoneofthoseyoung ladies who seek torecommendthemselvestotheother sex by undervaluingtheir own; and with manymen, I dare say, it succeeds:but, in my opinion, it is apaltry device, a very meanart.”“Undoubtedly,” replied

Darcy, to whom this remark

waschiefly addressed, “thereis meanness in all the artswhich ladies sometimescondescend to employ forcaptivation. Whatever bearsaffinity to cunning isdespicable.”Miss Bingley was not so

entirely satisfied with thisreply as to continue thesubject.Elizabeth joined them

again only to say that her

sisterwasworse,andthatshecould not leave her. BingleyurgedMr. Jones’s being sentfor immediately; while hissisters, convinced that nocountry advice could be ofanyservice,recommendedanexpresstotownforoneofthemost eminent physicians.This she would not hear of;but shewas not so unwillingtocomplywiththeirbrother’sproposal; and it was settledthatMr.Jonesshouldbesent

for early in the morning, ifMiss Bennet were notdecidedlybetter.Bingleywasquite uncomfortable: hissistersdeclaredthattheyweremiserable.Theysolaced theirwretchedness, however, byduets after supper, while hecould find no better relief tohisfeelingsthanbygivinghishousekeeper directions thateverypossibleattentionmightbe paid to the sick lady andhersister.

Chapter9

Elizabeth passed the chief ofthenightinhersister’sroom,and in the morning had thepleasureofbeingabletosenda tolerable answer to theenquiries which she veryearly received from Mr.Bingleybyahousemaid, and

some time afterwards fromthe two elegant ladies whowaitedonhis sisters. In spiteof this amendment, however,she requested to have a notesent to Longbourn, desiringhermother to visit Jane, andformherownjudgmentofhersituation. The note wasimmediately despatched, andits contents as quicklycomplied with. Mrs. Bennet,accompanied by her twoyoungest girls, reached

Netherfield soon after thefamilybreakfast.HadshefoundJane inany

apparentdanger,Mrs.Bennetwould have been verymiserable;butbeing satisfiedon seeing her that her illnesswasnotalarming,shehadnowish of her recoveringimmediately, as herrestoration to health wouldprobably remove her fromNetherfield. She would not

listen, therefore, to herdaughter’s proposal of beingcarried home; neither did theapothecary, who arrivedabout the same time, think itatalladvisable.AftersittingalittlewhilewithJane,onMissBingley’s appearance andinvitation, the mother andthree daughters all attendedherintothebreakfastparlour.Bingleymetthemwithhopesthat Mrs. Bennet had notfound Miss Bennet worse

thansheexpected.“Indeed I have, sir,” was

her answer. “She is a greatdeal too ill tobemoved.Mr.Jonessayswemustnot thinkof moving her. We musttrespassalittlelongeronyourkindness.”“Removed!”criedBingley.

“It must not be thought of.Mysister,Iamsure,willnothearofherremoval.”“Youmaydependupon it,

madam,” said Miss Bingleywith cold civility, “thatMissBennet shall receive everypossible attention while sheremainswithus.”Mrs.Bennetwasprofusein

heracknowledgments.“Iamsure,”sheadded,“if

it was not for such goodfriends, I do not know whatwouldbecomeofher,forsheisveryill indeed,andsuffersa vast deal, though with the

greatestpatienceintheworld,whichisalwaysthewaywithher, for she has, withoutexception, the sweetesttemper I ever met with. Ioften tellmyother girls theyarenothing toher.Youhavea sweet room here, Mr.Bingley, and a charmingprospect over that gravelwalk. I do not know a placeinthecountrythatisequaltoNetherfield. You will notthinkofquittingitinahurry,

Ihope,thoughyouhavebutashortlease.”“WhateverIdoisdoneina

hurry,” replied he; “andtherefore if I should resolveto quit Netherfield, I shouldprobably be off in fiveminutes.Atpresent,however,I consider myself as quitefixedhere.”“That is exactly what I

should have supposed ofyou,”saidElizabeth.

“Youbegintocomprehendme, do you?” cried he,turningtowardsher.“Ohyes—Iunderstandyou

perfectly.”“I wish I might take this

foracompliment;buttobesoeasily seen through, I amafraid,ispitiful.”“That is as it happens. It

does not necessarily followthatadeep,intricatecharacterismoreorlessestimablethan

suchaoneasyours.”“Lizzy,” cried her mother,

“remember where you are,anddonotrunoninthewildmanner that you are sufferedtodoathome.”“I did not know before,”

continued Bingley,immediately,“thatyouwereastudier of character. It mustbeanamusingstudy.”“Yes; but intricate

characters are the most

amusing. They have at leastthatadvantage.”“Thecountry,”saidDarcy,

“can in general supply butfewsubjectsforsuchastudy.In a country neighbourhoodyoumove in avery confinedandunvaryingsociety.”“But people themselves

alter so much, that there issomething new to beobservedinthemforever.”“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs.

Bennet, offended by hismanner of mentioning acountry neighbourhood. “Iassure you there is quite asmuchof that goingon in thecountryasintown.”Every bodywas surprised;

and Darcy, after looking ather for a moment, turnedsilently away. Mrs. Bennet,whofanciedshehadgainedacomplete victory over him,continuedhertriumph,—

“I cannot see that Londonhasanygreat advantageoverthe country, for my part,except the shops and publicplaces. The country is a vastdeal pleasanter, is not it,Mr.Bingley?”“When I am in the

country,”hereplied,“Ineverwish to leave it; and when Iamintown, it isprettymuchthe same. They have eachtheiradvantages,andIcanbe

equallyhappyineither.”“Ay, that is because you

havetherightdisposition.Butthat gentleman,” looking atDarcy, “seemed to think thecountrywasnothingatall.”“Indeed, mamma, you are

mistaken,” said Elizabeth,blushing for her mother.“You quite mistook Mr.Darcy. He only meant thatthere was not such a varietyof people to be met with in

thecountryasintown,whichyoumust acknowledge to betrue.”“Certainly, my dear,

nobody said there were; butas to notmeetingwithmanypeopleinthisneighbourhood,I believe there are fewneighbourhoods larger. Iknowwedinewithfour-and-twentyfamilies.”Nothing but concern for

Elizabeth could enable

Bingley to keep hiscountenance. His sister waslessdelicate,anddirectedhereyetowardsMr.Darcywithavery expressive smile.Elizabeth, for the sake ofsaying something that mightturn her mother’s thoughts,now asked her if CharlotteLucashadbeenatLongbournsincehercomingaway.“Yes, she called yesterday

with her father. What an

agreeablemanSirWilliamis,Mr. Bingley—is not he? somuch themanof fashion! sogenteel and so easy! He hasalways something to say toevery body. That is my ideaof good-breeding; and thosepersons who fancythemselves very importantand never open their mouthsquitemistakethematter.”“Did Charlotte dine with

you?”

“No,shewouldgohome.Ifancy she was wanted aboutthe mince-pies. For my part,Mr. Bingley, I always keepservantsthatcandotheirownwork; my daughters arebrought up differently. Butevery body is to judge forthemselves, and the Lucasesareaverygoodsortofgirls,Iassure you. It is a pity theyarenothandsome!Not that IthinkCharlottesoveryplain;but then she is our particular

friend.”“Sheseemsaverypleasant

youngwoman,”saidBingley.“Oh dear, yes; but you

must own she is very plain.LadyLucas herself has oftensaidso,andenviedmeJane’sbeauty. Idonot like toboastof my own child, but to besure, Jane—one does notoften see any body betterlooking.Itiswhateverybodysays. I do not trust my own

partiality.Whenshewasonlyfifteentherewasagentlemanat my brother Gardiner’s intown so much in love withher,thatmysister-in-lawwassure he would make her anoffer before we came away.But, however, he did not.Perhaps he thought her tooyoung. However, he wrotesomeversesonher,andveryprettytheywere.”“And so ended his

affection,” said Elizabeth,impatiently. “There has beenmany a one, I fancy,overcome in the sameway. Iwonder who first discoveredthe efficacy of poetry indrivingawaylove!”“I have been used to

considerpoetryasthefoodoflove,”5saidDarcy.“Of a fine, stout, healthy

love it may. Every thingnourishes what is strong

already. But if it be only aslight,thinsortofinclination,Iamconvincedthatonegoodsonnet will starve it entirelyaway.”Darcyonlysmiled;andthe

general pause which ensuedmade Elizabeth tremble lesther mother should beexposing herself again. Shelonged to speak, but couldthink of nothing to say; andafter a short silence Mrs.

Bennet began repeating herthankstoMr.Bingleyforhiskindness to Jane, with anapology for troubling himalsowithLizzy.Mr.Bingleywas unaffectedly civil in hisanswer, and forced hisyoungersistertobecivilalso,and say what the occasionrequired. She performed herpart, indeed, without muchgraciousness,butMrs.Bennetwas satisfied, and soonafterwards ordered her

carriage.Uponthissignal,theyoungestofherdaughtersputherselfforward.Thetwogirlshad been whispering to eachother during the whole visit;and the result of it was, thatthe youngest should tax Mr.Bingley with havingpromised on his first comingintothecountrytogiveaballatNetherfield.Lydia was a stout, well-

grown girl of fifteen, with a

fine complexion andgoodhumoured countenance;a favourite with her mother,whose affection had broughther into public at an earlyage. She had high animalspirits, and a sort of naturalself-consequence, which theattentions of the officers, towhom her uncle’s gooddinners and her own easymanners recommended her,had increased into assurance.She was very equal,

therefore, to address Mr.Bingleyon the subjectof theball, and abruptly remindedhim of his promise; adding,that it would be the mostshamefulthingintheworldifhedidnotkeepit.Hisanswerto this sudden attack wasdelightfultohermother’sear.“I am perfectly ready, I

assure you, to keep myengagement; and, when yoursister is recovered,you shall,

if you please, name the veryday of the ball. But youwouldnotwishtobedancingwhilesheisill.”Lydia declared herself

satisfied. “Oh yes—it wouldbe much better to wait tillJane was well; and by thattime, most likely, CaptainCarter would be at Merytonagain. And when you havegiven your ball,” she added,“I shall insist on their giving

one also. I shall tell ColonelForster it will be quite ashameifhedoesnot.”Mrs. Bennet and her

daughters then departed, andElizabethreturnedinstantlytoJane,leavingherownandherrelations’ behaviour to theremarksofthetwoladiesandMr. Darcy; the latter ofwhom,however,couldnotbeprevailed on to join in theircensureofher, inspiteofall

MissBingley’switticisms onfineeyes.

Chapter10

The day passed much as theday before had done. Mrs.Hurst and Miss Bingley hadspent some hours of themorning with the invalid,who continued, thoughslowly, to mend; and, in the

evening, Elizabeth joinedtheir party in the drawing-room.Thelootable,however,did not appear. Mr. Darcywas writing, and MissBingley,seatednearhim,waswatching the progress of hisletter, and repeatedly callingoffhisattentionbymessagesto his sister. Mr. Hurst andMr. Bingley were at piquet,randMrs.Hurstwasobservingtheirgame.

Elizabeth took up someneedlework, and wassufficiently amused inattending to what passedbetween Darcy and hiscompanion. The perpetualcommendations of the ladyeitheronhishand-writing,oron the evenness of his lines,oron the lengthofhis letter,with the perfect unconcernwith which her praises werereceived, formed a curiousdialogue, and was exactly in

unison with her opinion ofeach.“How delighted Miss

Darcywillbetoreceivesuchaletter!”Hemadenoanswer.“You write uncommonly

fast.”“Youaremistaken. Iwrite

ratherslowly.”“How many letters you

must have occasion to writein the course of a year!

Lettersofbusiness,too!HowodiousIshouldthinkthem!”“It is fortunate, then, that

they fall tomy lot insteadoftoyours.”“Pray tellyoursister that I

longtoseeher.”“Ihavealready toldherso

once,byyourdesire.”“I am afraid you do not

likeyourpen.Letmemenditfor you. I mend pensremarkablywell.”

“Thank you—but I alwaysmendmyown.”“How can you contrive to

writesoeven?”Hewassilent.“Tell your sister I am

delighted to hear of herimprovementontheharp,andpray let her know that I amquite in raptures with herbeautiful little design for atable, and I think it infinitelysuperiortoMissGrantley’s.”

“WillyougivemeleavetodeferyourrapturestillIwriteagain? At present I have notroomtodothemjustice.”“Oh, it is of no

consequence. I shall see herin January. But do youalways write such charminglong letters to her, Mr.Darcy?”“They are generally long;

butwhetheralwayscharming,itisnotformetodetermine.”

“Itisarulewithme,thatapersonwho canwrite a longletter with ease cannot writeill.”“That will not do for a

compliment to Darcy,Caroline,” cried her brother,“because he does not writewith ease. He studies toomuch for words of foursyllables. Do not you,Darcy?”“My style of writing is

verydifferentfromyours.”“Oh,” cried Miss Bingley,

“Charles writes in the mostcareless way imaginable. Heleavesouthalfhiswords,andblotstherest.”“My ideas flow so rapidly

thatIhavenottimetoexpressthem; by which means myletters sometimes convey noideas at all to mycorrespondents.”“Your humility, Mr.

Bingley,” said Elizabeth,“mustdisarmreproof.”“Nothing is more

deceitful,” said Darcy, “thantheappearanceofhumility.Itis often only carelessness ofopinion, and sometimes anindirectboast.”“Andwhich of the twodo

youcallmy littlerecentpieceofmodesty?”“The indirect boast; for

you are really proud of your

defects in writing, becauseyou consider them asproceedingfromarapidityofthought and carelessness ofexecution, which, if notestimable, you think at leasthighlyinteresting.Thepowerof doing any thing withquickness is always muchprized by the possessor, andoftenwithoutanyattentiontothe imperfection of theperformance. When you toldMrs. Bennet this morning,

that if you ever resolved onquitting Netherfield youshould be gone in fiveminutes,youmeantit tobeasort of panegyric, ofcompliment to yourself; andyet what is there so verylaudable in a precipitancewhich must leave verynecessary business undone,and can be of no realadvantage to yourself or anyoneelse?”

“Nay,”criedBingley,“thisis too much, to remember atnight all the foolish thingsthatweresaidinthemorning.And yet, upon my honour, IbelievedwhatIsaidofmyselftobe true, and I believe it atthis moment. At least,therefore, I did not assumethe character of needlessprecipitance merely to showoffbeforetheladies.”“Idaresayyoubelievedit;

but I am by no meansconvinced that youwould begonewithsuchcelerity.Yourconduct would be quite asdependent on chance as thatofanymanIknow;andif,asyou were mounting yourhorse, a friend were to say,‘Bingley, youhadbetter staytill next week,’ you wouldprobably do it—you wouldprobably not go—and, atanother word, might stay amonth.”

“Youhaveonlyprovedbythis,” cried Elizabeth, “thatMr.Bingleydidnotdojusticeto his own disposition. Youhave shown him off nowmuch more than he didhimself.”“I am exceedingly

gratified,” said Bingley, “byyour converting what myfriendsaysintoacomplimenton the sweetness of mytemper. But I am afraid you

aregivingitaturnwhichthatgentleman did by no meansintend;forhewouldcertainlythink the better of me, if,under such a circumstance, Iweretogiveaflatdenial,andrideoffasfastasIcould.”“Would Mr. Darcy then

consider therashnessofyouroriginal intention as atonedfor by your obstinacy inadheringtoit?”“Upon my word, I cannot

exactly explain the matter—Darcy must speak forhimself.”“Youexpectmetoaccount

for opinions which youchoose to call mine, butwhich I have neveracknowledged. Allowing thecase, however, to standaccording to yourrepresentation, you mustremember,Miss Bennet, thatthefriendwhoissupposedto

desirehis return to thehouseandthedelayofhisplan,hasmerely desired it, asked itwithout offering oneargument in favour of itspropriety.”“To yield readily—easily

—to the persuasion of afriendisnomeritwithyou.”“To yield without

conviction is no complimentto the understanding ofeither.”

“You appear to me, Mr.Darcy, to allow nothing forthe influence of friendshipand affection. A regard forthe requester would oftenmake one readily yield to arequest, without waiting forarguments to reason one intoit. I am not particularlyspeaking of such a case asyouhavesupposedaboutMr.Bingley. We may as wellwait, perhaps, till thecircumstance occurs, before

we discuss the discretion ofhis behaviour thereupon. Butingeneralandordinarycasesbetween friend and friend,whereoneof them isdesiredby the other to change aresolution of no very greatmoment, shouldyou think illof that person for complyingwith the desire, withoutwaitingtobearguedintoit?”“Will it not be advisable,

before we proceed on this

subject,toarrangewithrathermore precision the degree ofimportance which is toappertain to this request, aswellasthedegreeofintimacysubsisting between theparties?”“By all means,” cried

Bingley: “let us hear all theparticulars, not forgettingtheir comparative height andsize; for that will have moreweight in theargument,Miss

Bennet, than you may beawareof. I assureyou that ifDarcy were not such a greattall fellow, in comparisonwithmyself,Ishouldnotpayhimhalfsomuchdeference.IdeclareIdonotknowamoreawful object than Darcy, onparticular occasions, and inparticular places; at his ownhouse especially, and of aSundayevening,whenhehasnothingtodo.”

Mr. Darcy smiled; butElizabeth thought she couldperceive that he was ratheroffended, and thereforecheckedherlaugh.Miss Bingley warmlyresented the indignity he hadreceived, in an expostulationwith her brother for talkingsuchnonsense.“I see your design,

Bingley,” said his friend.“You dislike an argument,

andwanttosilencethis.”“Perhaps I do. Arguments

aretoomuchlikedisputes.Ifyou and Miss Bennet willdeferyourstillIamoutoftheroom, I shall be verythankful; and then you maysaywhateveryoulikeofme.”“What you ask,” said

Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice onmy side; andMr. Darcy hadmuchbetterfinishhisletter.”Mr.Darcytookheradvice,

anddidfinishhisletter.When that business was

over, he applied to MissBingleyandElizabethfortheindulgence of some music.Miss Bingley moved withalacrity to the piano-forte,andafterapoliterequest thatElizabethwouldleadtheway,which the other as politelyandmoreearnestlynegatived,sheseatedherself.Mrs. Hurst sang with her

sister; and while they werethus employed, Elizabethcould not help observing, asshe turned over some musicbooks that lay on theinstrument, how frequentlyMr. Darcy’s eyes were fixedonher.Shehardlyknewhowto suppose that she could beanobject of admiration to sogreat a man; and yet that heshouldlookatherbecausehedisliked her was still morestrange. She could only

imagine,however,atlast,thatshe drew his notice becausethere was a something abouther more wrong andreprehensible, according tohisideasofright,thaninanyother person present. Thesupposition did not pain her.She liked him too little tocareforhisapprobation.After playing some Italian

songs, Miss Bingley variedthe charmby a livelyScotch

air; and soon afterwardsMr.Darcy, drawing nearElizabeth,saidtoher,—“Do not you feel a great

inclination, Miss Bennet, toseize such an opportunity ofdancingareel?”s

She smiled, but made noanswer. He repeated thequestion, with some surpriseathersilence.“Oh,” said she, “I heard

you before; but I could not

immediately determine whatto say in reply. You wantedme,Iknow,tosay‘Yes,’thatyou might have the pleasureof despising my taste; but Ialways delight inoverthrowing those kinds ofschemes, and cheating aperson of their premeditatedcontempt. I have, therefore,madeupmymindtotellyou,that Idonotwant todanceareel at all; and now despisemeifyoudare.”

“IndeedIdonotdare.”Elizabeth, having rather

expected to affront him, wasamazed at his gallantry: butthere was a mixture ofsweetnessandarchnessinhermanner which made itdifficultforhertoaffrontanybody; and Darcy had neverbeen so bewitched by anywomanashewasbyher.Hereally believed that, were itnot for the inferiority of her

connections, he should be insomedanger.Miss Bingley saw, or

suspected, enough to bejealous;andhergreatanxietyfor the recovery of her dearfriend Jane received someassistance from her desire ofgettingridofElizabeth.She often tried to provoke

Darcy into disliking herguest, by talking of theirsupposed marriage, and

planning his happiness insuchanalliance.“I hope,” said she, as they

were walking together in theshrubbery thenext day, “youwill give your mother-in-lawa few hints, when thisdesirableeventtakesplace,asto the advantage of holdingher tongue; and if you cancompass it, do cure theyoungergirlsofrunningafterthe officers. And, if I may

mentionsodelicateasubject,endeavour tocheck that littlesomething, bordering onconceit and impertinence,whichyourladypossesses.”“Have you any thing else

to propose for my domesticfelicity?”“Oh yes. Do let the

portraits of your uncle andaunt Philips be placed in thegallery at Pemberley. Putthemnexttoyourgreatuncle

the judge. They are in thesame profession, you know;onlyindifferentlines.Asforyour Elizabeth’s picture, youmust not attempt to have ittaken, forwhat painter coulddo justice to those beautifuleyes?”“It would not be easy,

indeed, to catch theirexpression; but their colourandshape,andtheeyelashes,so remarkably fine,might be

copied.”At that moment they were

met from another walk byMrs. Hurst and Elizabethherself.“I did not know that you

intended to walk,” saidMissBingley, in some confusion,lesttheyhadbeenoverheard.“You used us abominably

ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst,“runningawaywithouttellingusthatyouwerecomingout.”

Thentakingthedisengagedarm of Mr. Darcy, she leftElizabeth towalk by herself.The path just admitted three.Mr.Darcyfelttheirrudeness,andimmediatelysaid,—“This walk is not wide

enoughforourparty.Wehadbettergointotheavenue.”ButElizabeth,whohadnot

theleastinclinationtoremainwith them, laughinglyanswered,—

“No, no; stay where youare. You are charminglygrouped, and appear touncommon advantage. Thepicturesque would be spoiltby admitting a fourth.Good-by.”She then ran gaily off,

rejoicing as she rambledabout,inthehopeofbeingathome again in a day or two.Jane was already so muchrecoveredastointendleaving

her room for a couple ofhoursthatevening.

Chapter11

When the ladies removedafter dinner Elizabeth ran upto her sister, and seeing herwell guarded from cold,attendedherintothedrawing-room, where she waswelcomedbyher twofriendswith many professions of

pleasure; and Elizabeth hadneverseenthemsoagreeableas theywere during the hourwhich passed before thegentlemen appeared. Theirpowers of conversation wereconsiderable. They coulddescribe an entertainmentwith accuracy, relate ananecdote with humour, andlaugh at their acquaintancewithspirit.But when the gentlemen

entered, Jane was no longerthe first object; MissBingley’seyeswere instantlyturned towards Darcy, andshe had something to say tohim before he had advancedmany steps. He addressedhimself directly to MissBennet with a politecongratulation: Mr. Hurstalso made her a slight bow,and saidhewas “veryglad;”but diffuseness and warmthremained for Bingley’s

salutation.Hewasfullof joyand attention. The first halfhour was spent in piling upthefire,lestsheshouldsufferfromthechangeofroom;andsheremoved,athisdesire, totheothersideofthefireplace,thatshemightbefartherfromthedoor.Hethensatdownbyher, and talked scarcely toany one else. Elizabeth, atwork in the opposite corner,sawitallwithgreatdelight.

When tea was over Mr.Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table—but invain. She had obtainedprivate intelligence that Mr.Darcydidnotwishforcards;and Mr. Hurst soon foundeven his open petitionrejected.Sheassuredhimthatno one intended to play, andthesilenceofthewholepartyon the subject seemed tojustify her. Mr. Hurst had,therefore, nothing to do, but

to stretch himself on one ofthe sofas and go to sleep.Darcy took up a book: MissBingley did the same; andMrs. Hurst, principallyoccupied in playing with herbracelets and rings, joinednowandtheninherbrother’sconversation with MissBennet.Miss Bingley’s attention

wasquiteasmuchengagedinwatching Mr. Darcy’s

progressthroughhisbook,asin reading her own; and shewasperpetuallyeithermakingsome enquiry, or looking athis page. She could not winhim, however, to anyconversation; he merelyanswered her question andread on. At length, quiteexhausted by the attempt tobe amused with her ownbook, which she had onlychosen because it was thesecond volume of his, she

gave a great yawn and said,“How pleasant it is to spendan evening in this way! Ideclare, after all, there is noenjoyment like reading!Howmuchsoonerone tiresofanythingthanofabook!WhenIhave a house of my own, Ishall be miserable if I havenotanexcellentlibrary.”No one made any reply.

Shethenyawnedagain,threwaside her book, and cast her

eyesround theroominquestof some amusement; whenhearing her brothermentioning a ball to MissBennet, she turned suddenlytowardshimandsaid,—“By the by, Charles, are

you really serious inmeditating a dance atNetherfield? I would adviseyou,beforeyoudetermineonit,toconsultthewishesofthepresent party; I am much

mistakeniftherearenotsomeamong us to whom a ballwouldberatherapunishmentthanapleasure.”“IfyoumeanDarcy,”cried

her brother, “he may go tobed, if he chooses, before itbegins—butasfortheball,itisquiteasettledthing;andassoon as Nicholls has madewhite soupt enough I shallsendroundmycards.”“I should like balls

infinitelybetter,” she replied,“if theywere carried on in adifferentmanner;but there issomething insufferablytediousintheusualprocessofsuch a meeting. It wouldsurelybemuchmorerationalif conversation instead ofdancingmadetheorderoftheday.”“Much more rational, my

dearCaroline,Idaresay;butitwouldnotbenearsomuch

likeaball.”Miss Bingley made no

answer; and soon afterwardsgot up andwalked about theroom.Herfigurewaselegant,and she walked well; butDarcy, at whom it was allaimed, was still inflexiblystudious.Inthedesperationofher feelings she resolved onone effortmore; and, turningtoElizabeth,said,—“MissElizaBennet, letme

persuade you to follow myexample, and take a turnabout the room. I assure youit is very refreshing aftersitting so long in oneattitude.”Elizabeth was surprised,

but agreed to it immediately.Miss Bingley succeeded noless in the real object of hercivility:Mr.Darcylookedup.Hewasasmuchawaketothenovelty of attention in that

quarter as Elizabeth herselfcould be, and unconsciouslyclosed his book. He wasdirectly invited to join theirparty, but he declined it;observing, that he couldimagine but two motives fortheirchoosingtowalkupanddowntheroomtogether,witheither of which motives hisjoining themwould interfere.What could he mean? Shewas dying to know whatcould be his meaning—and

asked Elizabeth whether shecouldatallunderstandhim?“Not at all,” was her

answer;“but,dependuponit,hemeans tobesevereonus,and our surest way ofdisappointing him will be toasknothingaboutit.”Miss Bingley, however,

was incapable ofdisappointing Mr. Darcy inany thing, and persevered,therefore, in requiring an

explanation of his twomotives.“I have not the smallest

objection to explainingthem,”saidhe,assoonassheallowed him to speak. “Youeither choose this method ofpassing the evening becauseyou are in each other’sconfidence, and have secretaffairs to discuss, or becauseyou are conscious that yourfigures appear to the greatest

advantage in walking: if thefirst, I should be completelyin your way; and if thesecond, I can admire youmuch better as I sit by thefire.”“Oh,shocking!”criedMiss

Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. Howshallwepunishhimfor suchaspeech?”“Nothing so easy, if you

havebuttheinclination,”said

Elizabeth.“Wecanallplagueand punish one another.Tease him—laugh at him.Intimateasyouare,youmustknowhowitistobedone.”“Butuponmyhonour Ido

not. I do assure you thatmyintimacy has not yet taughtme that. Tease calmness oftemperandpresenceofmind!No,no;Ifeelhemaydefyusthere.Andas to laughter,wewill not expose ourselves, if

you please, by attempting tolaugh without a subject. Mr.Darcymayhughimself.”“Mr. Darcy is not to be

laughed at!” cried Elizabeth.“That is an uncommonadvantage, and uncommon Ihope it will continue, for itwouldbeagreatlosstometohave many suchacquaintance. I dearly love alaugh.”“Miss Bingley,” said he,

“hasgivenmecreditformorethan can be. The wisest andbestofmen,—nay,thewisestand best of their actions,—may be rendered ridiculousbyapersonwhosefirstobjectinlifeisajoke.”“Certainly,” replied

Elizabeth, “there are suchpeople, but I hope I am notone of them. I hope I neverridiculewhatiswiseorgood.Follies and nonsense, whims

andinconsistencies,dodivertme, I own, and I laugh atthem whenever I can. Butthese,Isuppose,arepreciselywhatyouarewithout.”“Perhaps that is not

possible for any one. But ithasbeenthestudyofmylifeto avoid those weaknesseswhich often expose a strongunderstandingtoridicule.”“Suchasvanityandpride.”“Yes,vanity isaweakness

indeed. But pride—wherethere is a real superiority ofmind—pride will be alwaysundergoodregulation.”Elizabeth turned away to

hideasmile.“Your examination of Mr.

Darcy is over, I presume,”saidMissBingley;“andpraywhatistheresult?”“I am perfectly convinced

by it that Mr. Darcy has nodefect. He owns it himself

withoutdisguise.”“No,” said Darcy, “I have

made no such pretension. Ihave faults enough, but theyare not, I hope, ofunderstanding. My temper Idare not vouch for. It is, Ibelieve, too little yielding;certainly too little for theconvenience of the world. Icannot forget the follies andvices of others so soon as Iought, nor their offences

against myself. My feelingsare not puffed about withevery attempt tomove them.Mytemperwouldperhapsbecalled resentful. My goodopinion once lost is lost forever.”“That isa failing, indeed!”

cried Elizabeth. “Implacableresentment is a shade in acharacter. But you havechosen your fault well. Ireallycannotlaughatit.You

aresafefromme.”“There is, I believe, in

every disposition a tendencyto some particular evil, anaturaldefect,whichnoteventhe best education canovercome.”“And your defect is a

propensity to hate everybody.”“And yours,” he replied,

with a smile, “is wilfully tomisunderstandthem.”

“Do let us have a littlemusic,” cried Miss Bingley,tired of a conversation inwhich she had no share.“Louisa, you will not mindmywakingMr.Hurst.”Her sister made not the

smallest objection, and thepiano-forteuwasopened;andDarcy, after a fewmoments’recollection,wasnotsorryforit.HebegantofeelthedangerofpayingElizabethtoomuch

attention.

Chapter12

In consequence of anagreement between thesisters, Elizabeth wrote thenext morning to her mother,tobegthatthecarriagemightbesentfortheminthecourseof the day.ButMrs.Bennet,who had calculated on her

daughters remaining atNetherfield till the followingTuesday, which wouldexactly finish Jane’s week,could not bring herself toreceive them with pleasurebefore.Heranswer,therefore,was not propitious, at leastnot toElizabeth’swishes, forshe was impatient to gethome.Mrs.Bennetsentthemword that they could notpossibly have the carriagebefore Tuesday; and in her

postscriptitwasadded,thatifMr. Bingley and his sisterpressed them to stay longer,she could spare them verywell. Against staying longer,however, Elizabeth waspositively resolved—nor didshemuch expect itwould beasked; and fearful, on thecontrary,ofbeingconsideredas intruding themselvesneedlessly long, she urgedJanetoborrowMr.Bingley’scarriage immediately, and at

lengthitwassettledthattheiroriginal design of leavingNetherfield that morningshouldbementioned,andtherequestmade.The communication

excited many professions ofconcern;andenoughwassaidof wishing them to stay atleast till the followingday towork on Jane; and till themorrow their going wasdeferred. Miss Bingley was

then sorry that she hadproposed the delay; for herjealousy and dislike of onesister much exceeded heraffectionfortheother.The master of the house

heard with real sorrow thattheywere togososoon,andrepeatedly tried to persuadeMissBennetthatitwouldnotbesafeforher—thatshewasnot enough recovered; butJanewas firmwhere she felt

herselftoberight.To Mr. Darcy it was

welcome intelligence:Elizabeth had been atNetherfield longenough.Sheattracted him more than heliked; andMiss Bingley wasuncivil to her, and moreteasing thanusual tohimself.He wisely resolved to beparticularly careful that nosign of admiration shouldnow escape him—nothing

thatcouldelevateherwiththehope of influencing hisfelicity; sensible that, if suchan idea had been suggested,his behaviour during the lastday must have materialweight in confirming orcrushing it. Steady to hispurpose, he scarcely spoketenwords to her through thewhole of Saturday; andthoughtheywereatonetimeleftbythemselvesforhalfanhour, he adhered most

conscientiously to his book,and would not even look ather.On Sunday, after morning

service, the separation, soagreeable to almost all, tookplace.MissBingley’scivilityto Elizabeth increased at lastvery rapidly, as well as heraffection for Jane; and whentheyparted,afterassuringthelatterofthepleasureitwouldalways give her to see her

either at Longbourn orNetherfield, and embracingher most tenderly, she evenshook hands with the formerElizabeth took leave of thewhole party in the liveliestspirits.They were not welcomed

home very cordially by theirmother. Mrs. Bennetwondered at their coming,andthoughtthemverywrongto give somuch trouble, and

was sure Jane would havecaught cold again. But theirfather,thoughverylaconicinhis expressions of pleasure,was really glad to see them;hehadfelttheirimportanceinthefamilycircle.Theeveningconversation,whentheywereall assembled, had lostmuchof its animation, and almostallitssense,bytheabsenceofJaneandElizabeth.TheyfoundMary,asusual,

deepinthestudyofthoroughbassv and human nature; andhad some new extracts toadmire, and some newobservations of thread-baremorality to listen to.Catherine and Lydia hadinformation for them of adifferentsort.Muchhadbeendone, and much had beensaid,intheregimentsincethepreceding Wednesday;several of the officers had

dined latelywith their uncle;a private had been flogged,and it had actually beenhinted that Colonel Forsterwasgoingtobemarried.

Chapter13

I hope, my dear,” said Mr.Bennet to his wife, as theywere at breakfast the nextmorning, “that you haveorderedagooddinnerto-day,because I have reason toexpect an addition to ourfamilyparty.”

“Who do you mean, mydear? I know of nobody thatis coming, I am sure, unlessCharlotte Lucas shouldhappen to call in; and Ihopemy dinners are good enoughfor her. I do not believe sheoftenseessuchathome.”“The person of whom I

speak is a gentleman and astranger.”Mrs.Bennet’seyessparkled.“Agentlemanandastranger! It isMr. Bingley, I

am sure. Why, Jane—youneverdroppedawordof this—you sly thing! Well, I amsureIshallbeextremelygladto see Mr. Bingley. But—good Lord! how unlucky!thereisnotabitoffishtobegot to-day. Lydia, my love,ring thebell. Imust speak toHillthismoment.”“It is not Mr. Bingley,”

said her husband; “it is apersonwhom I never saw in

thewholecourseofmylife.”This roused a general

astonishment; andhehad thepleasure of being eagerlyquestioned by his wife andfivedaughtersatonce.After amusing himself

some time with theircuriosity, he thus explained:—“About a month ago Ireceivedthisletter,andabouta fortnightagoIanswered it;forIthoughtitacaseofsome

delicacy, and requiring earlyattention. It is from mycousin, Mr. Collins, who,when I am dead, may turnyou all out of this house assoonashepleases.”“Oh, my dear,” cried his

wife, “I cannot bear to hearthat mentioned. Pray do nottalk of that odiousman. I dothinkitisthehardestthinginthe world, that your estateshouldbeentailedawayfrom

your own children; and I amsure, if I had been you, Ishouldhavetriedlongagotodo something or other aboutit.”Jane and Elizabeth

attempted to explain to herthe nature of an entail. Theyhadoftenattempteditbefore:butitwasasubjectonwhichMrs. Bennet was beyond thereach of reason; and shecontinued to rail bitterly

against thecrueltyof settlinganestateawayfromafamilyoffivedaughters,infavourofa man whom nobody caredanythingabout.“It certainly is a most

iniquitous affair,” said Mr.Bennet; “and nothing canclear Mr. Collins from theguiltofinheritingLongbourn.But if you will listen to hisletter,youmay,perhaps,bealittle softened by his manner

ofexpressinghimself.”“No, that I amsure I shall

not; and I think it was veryimpertinentofhimtowritetoyou at all, and veryhypocritical.Ihatesuchfalsefriends. Why could not hekeeponquarrellingwithyou,ashisfatherdidbeforehim?”“Why, indeed, he does

seem to have had some filialscrupleson thathead, asyouwillhear.”

“HUNSFORD, NEARWESTERHAM, KENT,15THOCTOBER”DEARSIR,The disagreement

subsisting betweenyourself and my latehonoured father alwaysgave me muchuneasiness; and, since Ihave had themisfortuneto lose him, I havefrequently wished to

heal the breach: but, forsome time, I was keptbackbymyowndoubts,fearing lest it mightseemdisrespectfultohismemoryformetobeongoodtermswithanyonewithwhomithadalwayspleased him to be atvariance.—“There, Mrs.Bennet.” —My mind,however, is now madeup on the subject; for,having received

ordination at Easter, Ihave been so fortunateastobedistinguishedbythe patronage of theRight Honourable LadyCatherine de Bourgh,widow of Sir Lewis deBourgh, whose bountyand beneficence haspreferred me tow thevaluable rectory of thisparish,where it shall bemy earnest endeavourto

demean myself withgrateful respect towardsher Ladyship, and beever ready to performthose rites andceremonies which areinstituted by theChurchof England. As aclergyman, moreover, Ifeel it my duty topromote and establishthe blessing of peace inall families within thereach of my influence;

and on these grounds Iflatter myself that mypresent overtures ofgood will are highlycommendable, and thatthe circumstance of mybeing next in the entailofLongbournestatewillbekindlyoverlookedonyour side, and not leadyou to reject theofferedolivebranch.Icannotbeotherwise thanconcerned at being the

means of injuring youramiable daughters, andbeg leave to apologisefor it, as well as toassure you of myreadiness to make themevery possible amends;but of this hereafter. Ifyou should have noobjection to receive meinto your house, Ipropose myself thesatisfaction of waitingonyouandyour family,

Monday, November18th, by four o’clock,and shall probablytrespass on yourhospitality till theSaturday se’nightxfollowing, which I cando without anyinconvenience, as LadyCatherine is far fromobjecting to myoccasional absence on aSunday, provided that

someotherclergyman isengaged to do the dutyoftheday.Iremain,dearsir, with respectfulcompliments to yourladyanddaughters,yourwell-wisherandfriend,WILLIAMCOLLINS.”

“Atfouro’clock,therefore,we may expect thispeacemaking gentleman,”saidMr.Bennet,ashefoldeduptheletter.“Heseemstobe

a most conscientious andpolite young man, upon myword; and, I doubt not, willprove a valuableacquaintance, especially ifLady Catherine should be soindulgent as to let him cometousagain.”“There is some sense in

what he says about the girls,however; and, if he isdisposed to make them anyamends, I shall not be the

persontodiscouragehim.”“Though it is difficult,”

said Jane, “to guess in whatwayhecanmean tomakeusthe atonement he thinks ourdue,6 thewish is certainly tohiscredit.”Elizabeth was chiefly

struck with his extraordinarydeferenceforLadyCatherine,and his kind intention ofchristening, marrying, andburying his parishioners

wheneveritwererequired.“He must be an oddity, I

think,” said she. “I cannotmake him out. There issomething very pompous inhis style. And what can hemean by apologising forbeing next in the entail?Wecannotsupposehewouldhelpit, if he could. Can he be asensibleman,sir?”“No,mydear;Ithinknot.I

have great hopes of finding

him quite the reverse. Thereis a mixture of servility andself-importance in his letterwhich promises well. I amimpatienttoseehim.”“In point of composition,”

saidMary,“hisletterdoesnotseem defective. The idea ofthe olive branch perhaps isnotwhollynew,yetIthinkitiswellexpressed.”To Catherine and Lydia

neithertheletternoritswriter

were in any degreeinteresting. It was next toimpossible that their cousinshouldcomeinascarletcoat,and it was now some weekssince they had receivedpleasurefromthesocietyofaman in any other colour. Asfor their mother, Mr.Collins’s letter had doneaway much of her ill-will,and shewaspreparing to seehim with a degree ofcomposure which astonished

herhusbandanddaughters.Mr. Collins was punctual

tohis time,andwasreceivedwith great politeness by thewhole family. Mr. Bennetindeed said little; but theladies were ready enough totalk, andMr.Collins seemedneither in need ofencouragement, nor inclinedtobesilenthimself.Hewasatall, heavy-looking youngman of five-and-twenty. His

airwasgraveandstately,andhis manners were veryformal.Hehadnotbeenlongseated before hecomplimented Mrs. Bennetonhavingsofineafamilyofdaughters, said he had heardmuchoftheirbeauty,butthat,in this instance, fame hadfallen short of the truth; andadded, that he did not doubther seeing them all in duetime well disposed of inmarriage. This gallantry was

notmuchtothetasteofsomeof his hearers; but Mrs.Bennet, who quarrelled withno compliments, answeredmostreadily,—“You are very kind, sir, I

am sure; and I wishwith allmyheartitmayproveso;forelse they will be destituteenough.Thingsaresettledsooddly.”“You allude, perhaps, to

theentailofthisestate.”

“Ah,sir,Idoindeed.Itisagrievous affair to my poorgirls, you must confess. Notthat Imean to findfaultwithyou, for such things I knoware all chance in this world.There is no knowing howestates will go when oncetheycometobeentailed.”“I am very sensible,

madam,ofthehardshiptomyfair cousins, and could saymuchon the subject,but that

I am cautious of appearingforwardandprecipitate.ButIcan assure the young ladiesthat I come prepared toadmirethem.AtpresentIwillnot say more, but, perhaps,when we are betteracquainted—”He was interrupted by a

summons to dinner; and thegirls smiled on each other.They were not the onlyobjects of Mr. Collins’s

admiration. The hall, thedining-room, and all itsfurniture,wereexaminedandpraised; and hiscommendationofevery thingwould have touched Mrs.Bennet’s heart, but for themortifying supposition of hisviewing it all as his ownfuture property. The dinner,too, in its turn, was highlyadmired; and he begged toknow to which of his faircousins the excellence of its

cookerywasowing.Butherehe was set right by Mrs.Bennet, who assured him,with some asperity, that theywereverywellabletokeepagood cook, and that herdaughters had nothing to doin the kitchen. He beggedpardon for having displeasedher. In a softened tone shedeclared herself not at alloffended;buthecontinuedtoapologise for about a quarterofanhour.

Chapter14

During dinner, Mr. Bennetscarcely spoke at all; butwhen the servants werewithdrawn,hethoughtittimeto have some conversationwith his guest, and thereforestarted a subject inwhich heexpected him to shine, by

observing that he seemedvery fortunate in hispatroness.LadyCatherine deBourgh’s attention to hiswishes, andconsideration forhis comfort, appeared veryremarkable.Mr.Bennetcouldnot have chosen better. Mr.Collins was eloquent in herpraise. The subject elevatedhim to more than usualsolemnity of manner; andwith amost important aspecthe protested that “he had

never in his life witnessedsuchbehaviourinapersonofrank—such affability andcondescension, 7 as he hadhimself experienced fromLadyCatherine.Shehadbeengraciouslypleasedtoapproveof both the discourses whichhehadalreadyhadthehonourof preaching before her. Shehad also asked him twice todineatRosings,andhadsentfor him only the Saturday

before, to make up her poolof quadrilley in the evening.LadyCatherinewasreckonedproud by many people, heknew, but he had never seenanythingbutaffabilityinher.She had always spoken tohimasshewouldtoanyothergentleman; shemade not thesmallest objection to hisjoining in the society of theneighbourhood, nor to hisleaving his parish

occasionally for a week ortwotovisithisrelations.Shehad even condescended toadvise him to marry as soonas he could, provided hechose with discretion; andhad once paid him a visit inhis humble parsonage,whereshehadperfectlyapprovedallthe alterations he had beenmaking, and had evenvouchsafed to suggest someherself,—someshelves in theclosetsupstairs.”

“Thatisallveryproperandcivil, I am sure,” said Mrs.Bennet,“andIdaresaysheisaveryagreeablewoman.Itisa pity that great ladies ingeneralarenotmorelikeher.Doesshelivenearyou,sir?”“The garden in which

stands my humble abode isseparatedonlybyalanefromRosingsPark,herLadyship’sresidence.”“Ithinkyousaidshewasa

widow, sir? has she anyfamily?”“She has one only

daughter, the heiress ofRosings, and of veryextensiveproperty.”“Ah,” cried Mrs. Bennet,

shakingherhead,“thensheisbetter off than many girls.Andwhat sort ofyoung ladyisshe?Isshehandsome?”“She is a most charming

young lady, indeed. Lady

Catherineherselfsaysthat,inpointof truebeauty,MissdeBourgh is far superior to thehandsomest of her sex;because there is that in herfeatures which marks theyoung woman ofdistinguished birth. She isunfortunately of a sicklyconstitution, which hasprevented her making thatprogress in manyaccomplishments which shecould not otherwise have

failedof,asIaminformedbythe lady who superintendedher education, and who stillresideswith them.But she isperfectly amiable, and oftencondescends to drive by myhumble abode in her littlephaetonzandponies.”“Hasshebeenpresented?I

do not remember her nameamongtheladiesatcourt.”“Her indifferent state of

healthunhappilypreventsher

being in town; and by thatmeans, as I told LadyCatherinemyselfoneday,hasdeprived the British court ofits brightest ornament. HerLadyship seemed pleasedwith the idea; and you mayimagine that I am happy onevery occasion to offer thoselittle delicate complimentswhich are always acceptableto ladies. I have more thanonce observed to LadyCatherine, that her charming

daughterseemedborntobeaduchess; and that the mostelevated rank, instead ofgiving her consequence,would be adorned by her.These are the kind of littlethings which please herLadyship, and it is a sort ofattention which I conceivemyself peculiarly bound topay.”“Youjudgeveryproperly,”

said Mr. Bennet; “and it is

happy for you that youpossessthetalentofflatteringwith delicacy. May I askwhether these pleasingattentions proceed from theimpulseofthemoment,oraretheresultofpreviousstudy?”“They arise chiefly from

what is passing at the time;and though I sometimesamusemyselfwithsuggestingand arranging such littleelegant compliments as may

be adapted to ordinaryoccasions, I always wish togivethemasunstudiedanairaspossible.”Mr. Bennet’s expectations

were fully answered. Hiscousin was as absurd as hehadhoped;andhelistenedtohim with the keenestenjoyment,maintainingatthesame time the most resolutecomposure of countenance,and, except in an occasional

glanceatElizabeth, requiringnopartnerinhispleasure.By teatime, however, the

dose had been enough, andMr. Bennet was glad to takehis guest into the drawing-room again, and when teawas over, glad to invite himto read aloud to the ladies.Mr. Collins readily assented,andabookwasproduced;buton beholding it (for everythingannouncedittobefrom

a circulating library) hestarted back, and, beggingpardon, protested that henever read novels. Kittystared at him, and Lydiaexclaimed.Otherbookswereproduced, and after somedeliberation he choseFordyce’s Sermons.aa Lydiagaped as he opened thevolume; and before he had,with very monotonoussolemnity, read three pages,

sheinterruptedhimwith,—“Do you know, mamma,

thatmyunclePhilipstalksofturningawayRichard?and ifhedoes,ColonelForsterwillhirehim.Myaunttoldmesoherself on Saturday. I shallwalk to Meryton to-morrowto hearmore about it, and toask when Mr. Denny comesbackfromtown.”Lydia was bid by her two

eldest sisters to hold her

tongue; but Mr. Collins,muchoffended,laidasidehisbook,andsaid,—“Ihaveoftenobservedhow

little young ladies areinterested by books of aseriousstamp,thoughwrittensolely for their benefit. Itamazes me, I confess; forcertainlytherecanbenothingso advantageous to them asinstruction. But I will nolonger importune my young

cousin.”Then turning to Mr.

Bennet,heofferedhimselfashis antagonist atbackgammon. Mr. Bennetaccepted the challenge,observing that he acted verywisely in leaving the girls totheir own triflingamusements.Mrs.Bennetandher daughters apologisedmost civilly for Lydia’sinterruption, and promised

thatitshouldnotoccuragain,ifhewouldresumehisbook;butMr.Collins,afterassuringthem that he bore his youngcousinno ill-will,andshouldneverresentherbehaviourasanyaffront, seatedhimself atanother table with Mr.Bennet, and prepared forbackgammon.

Chapter15

Mr. Collins was not asensible man, and thedeficiencyofnaturehadbeenbut little assisted byeducation or society; thegreatestpartofhislifehavingbeen spent under the

guidance of an illiterate andmiserlyfather;andthoughhebelonged to one of theuniversities, he had merelykept the necessary termswithout forming at it anyuseful acquaintance.ab Thesubjectioninwhichhisfatherhadbroughthimuphadgivenhim originally great humilityofmanner; but it was now agooddealcounteractedbytheself-conceit of a weak head,

living in retirement, and theconsequential feelings ofearly and unexpectedprosperity. A fortunatechance had recommendedhim to Lady Catherine deBourgh when the living ofHunsfordwasvacant;andtherespect which he felt for herhigh rank,andhisvenerationfor her as his patroness,mingling with a very goodopinion of himself, of hisauthorityasaclergyman,and

his right as a rector, madehim altogether a mixture ofpride and obsequiousness,self-importanceandhumility.Having now a good house

and very sufficient income,he intended tomarry; and inseeking a reconciliation withtheLongbournfamilyhehadawifeinview,ashemeanttochoose one of the daughters,ifhefoundthemashandsomeand amiable as they were

represented by commonreport. This was his plan ofamends—of atonement—forinheritingtheirfather’sestate;andhethoughtitanexcellentone, full of eligibility andsuitableness, and excessivelygenerousanddisinterestedonhisownpart.His plan did not vary on

seeing them. Miss Bennet’slovely face confirmed hisviews,andestablishedallhis

strictest notions of what wasdue to seniority; and for thefirst evening she was hissettled choice. The nextmorning, however, made analteration; for in a quarter ofan hour’s tête-à-tête withMrs.Bennetbeforebreakfast,aconversationbeginningwithhis parsonage-house, andleading naturally to theavowal of his hopes, that amistressforitmightbefoundatLongbourn,producedfrom

her, amid very complaisantsmiles and generalencouragement, a cautionagainst the very Jane he hadfixed on. “As to heryoungerdaughters, shecouldnot takeupon her to say—she couldnot positively answer—butshe did not know of anyprepossession;—her eldestdaughter she must justmention—she felt itincumbentonhertohint,waslikely to be very soon

engaged.”Mr. Collins had only to

change from Jane toElizabeth—and it was soondone—done while Mrs.Bennet was stirring the fire.Elizabeth, equally next toJane in birth and beauty,succeededherofcourse.Mrs. Bennet treasured up

the hint, and trusted that shemight soon have twodaughters married; and the

manwhomshecouldnotbearto speak of the day beforewas now high in her goodgraces.Lydia’s intention of

walking to Meryton was notforgotten: every sister exceptMary agreed to go with her;andMr.Collinswastoattendthem, at the request of Mr.Bennet, who was mostanxioustogetridofhim,andhave his library to himself;

for thither Mr. Collins hadfollowed him after breakfast,and there hewould continue,nominally engaged with oneof the largest folios in thecollection, but really talkingto Mr. Bennet, with littlecessation, of his house andgarden at Hunsford. Suchdoings discomposed Mr.Bennet exceedingly. In hislibrary he had been alwayssure of leisure andtranquillity; and though

prepared, as he toldElizabeth, tomeet with follyand conceit in every otherroom in the house, he wasused to be free from themthere: his civility, therefore,was most prompt in invitingMr. Collins to join hisdaughters in their walk; andMr. Collins, being in factmuch better fitted for awalker than a reader, wasextremely well pleased toclosehislargebook,andgo.

In pompous nothings onhis side, and civil assents onthatofhiscousins, their timepassed till they enteredMeryton.Theattentionoftheyounger ones was then nolonger to be gained by him.Their eyeswere immediatelywandering up in the street inquest of the officers, andnothinglessthanaverysmartbonnet indeed, or a reallynew muslin in a shopwindow,couldrecallthem.

But the attention of everylady was soon caught by ayoung man, whom they hadnever seen before, of mostgentlemanlike appearance,walkingwithanofficerontheother side of the way. Theofficer was the very Mr.Denny, concerning whosereturn from London Lydiacame to enquire, and hebowed as they passed. Allwere struck with thestranger’s air, all wondered

who he could be; and Kittyand Lydia, determined ifpossible to find out, led theway across the street, underpretence of wantingsomething in an oppositeshop,andfortunatelyhadjustgained the pavement, whenthe two gentlemen, turningback, had reached the samespot. Mr. Denny addressedthem directly, and entreatedpermission to introduce hisfriend, Mr. Wickham, who

hadreturnedwithhimthedaybefore from town, and, hewas happy to say, hadaccepted a commission intheir corps. Thiswas exactlyasitshouldbe;fortheyoungmanwantedonlyregimentalsto make him completelycharming. His appearancewas greatly in his favour: hehad all the best parts ofbeauty, a finecountenance, agood figure, and verypleasing address. The

introductionwas followedupon his side by a happyreadiness of conversation—areadiness at the same timeperfectly correct andunassuming; and the wholeparty were still standing andtalking together veryagreeably,whenthesoundofhorses drew their notice, andDarcyandBingleywereseenriding down the street. Ondistinguishing the ladies ofthegroup, the twogentlemen

came directly towards them,andbegantheusualcivilities.Bingley was the principalspokesman, andMissBennetthe principal object. He wasthen, he said, on his way toLongbourn on purpose toenquire after her. Mr. Darcycorroborated it with a bow,and was beginning todetermine not to fix his eyesonElizabeth,whentheyweresuddenlyarrestedbythesightofthestranger;andElizabeth

happening to see thecountenance of both as theylooked at each other,was allastonishment at the effect ofthe meeting. Both changedcolour,one lookedwhite, theotherred.Mr.Wickham,aftera few moments, touched hishat—a salutation which Mr.Darcy just deigned to return.Whatcouldbethemeaningofit? It was impossible toimagine; it was impossiblenottolongtoknow.

In another minute Mr.Bingley,butwithoutseemingto have noticedwhat passed,took leave and rode on withhisfriend.Mr. Denny and Mr.

Wickham walked with theyoung ladies to the door ofMr.Philips’shouse,andthenmade their bows, in spite ofMiss Lydia’s pressingentreaties that they wouldcomein,andeveninspiteof

Mrs. Philips’s throwing upthe parlour window, andloudly seconding theinvitation.Mrs. Philips was always

gladtoseehernieces;andthetwo eldest, from their recentabsence, were particularlywelcome; and she waseagerly expressing hersurpriseattheirsuddenreturnhome, which, as their owncarriage had not fetched

them,sheshouldhaveknownnothing about, if she had nothappened to see Mr. Jones’sshop-boy in the street, whohad told her that they werenottosendanymoredraughtsto Netherfield because theMiss Bennets were comeaway, when her civility wasclaimed towards Mr. CollinsbyJane’sintroductionofhim.She received him with herverybestpoliteness,whichhereturnedwith asmuchmore,

apologising for his intrusion,without any previousacquaintancewithher,whichhe could not help flatteringhimself however might bejustifiedbyhisrelationshiptothe young ladies whointroducedhim toher notice.Mrs. Philips was quite awedby such an excess of goodbreeding; but hercontemplationofonestrangerwas soon put an end to byexclamations and enquiries

about the other, of whom,however, she could only tellher nieces what they alreadyknew, that Mr. Denny hadbrought him from London,and that he was to have alieutenant’s commission inthe———shire.Shehadbeenwatching him the last hour,shesaid,ashewalkedupanddown the street, andhadMr.Wickhamappeared,KittyandLydia would certainly havecontinuedtheoccupation;but

unluckily no one passed thewindowsnowexceptafewofthe officers, who, incomparisonwiththestranger,were become “stupid,disagreeable fellows.” SomeofthemweretodinewiththePhilipses the next day, andtheir aunt promised to makeher husband call on Mr.Wickham, and give him aninvitation also, if the familyfromLongbournwouldcomein the evening. This was

agreed to; and Mrs. Philipsprotested that they wouldhaveanicecomfortablenoisygameof lottery tickets,ac anda little bit of hot supperafterwards. The prospect ofsuch delights was verycheering, and they parted inmutual good spirits. Mr.Collinsrepeatedhisapologiesinquittingtheroom,andwasassured, with unwearyingcivility, that they were

perfectlyneedless.As they walked home,

ElizabethrelatedtoJanewhatshehadseenpassbetweenthetwo gentlemen; but thoughJane would have defendedeither or both, had theyappeared to be wrong, shecould no more explain suchbehaviourthanhersister.Mr. Collins on his return

highly gratified Mrs. Bennetby admiring Mrs. Philips’s

manners and politeness. Heprotested that, except LadyCatherine and her daughter,he had never seen a moreelegant woman; for she hadnot only received him withthe utmost civility, but hadeven pointedly included himin her invitation for the nextevening, although utterlyunknown to her before.Somethinghesupposedmightbe attributed to hisconnectionwiththem,butyet

he had never met with somuch attention in the wholecourseofhislife.

Chapter16

Asnoobjectionwasmade tothe young people’sengagement with their aunt,andallMr.Collins’sscruplesof leaving Mr. and Mrs.Bennet for a single eveningduring his visit were moststeadily resisted, the coach

conveyed him and his fivecousins at a suitable hour toMeryton;andthegirlshadthepleasure of hearing, as theyentered the drawing-room,that Mr. Wickham hadaccepted their uncle’sinvitation,andwastheninthehouse.Whenthisinformationwas

given, and theyhad all takentheirseats,Mr.Collinswasatleisure to look around him

and admire, and he was somuchstruckwiththesizeandfurniture of the apartment,that he declared he mightalmosthavesupposedhimselfinthesmallsummerbreakfastparlour at Rosings; acomparison that did not atfirst convey muchgratification; but when Mrs.Philips understood from himwhat Rosings was, and whowas its proprietor, when shehadlistenedtothedescription

of only one of LadyCatherine’s drawing-rooms,and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eighthundred pounds, she felt allthe force of the compliment,and would hardly haveresented a comparison withthehousekeeper’sroom.Indescribing toherall the

grandeur of Lady Catherineand her mansion, withoccasional digressions in

praise of his own humbleabode,and the improvementsit was receiving, he washappily employed until thegentlemen joined them; andhe found in Mrs. Philips averyattentive listener,whoseopinion of his consequenceincreased with what sheheard,andwhowasresolvingto retail it all among herneighbours as soon as shecould.Tothegirls,whocouldnot listentotheircousin,and

whohadnothingtodobuttowish for an instrument, andexaminetheirownindifferentimitations of chinaad on themantel-piece, the interval ofwaitingappearedverylong,Itwas over at last, however.The gentlemen did approach;and when Mr. Wickhamwalked into the room,Elizabeth felt that she hadneither been seeing himbefore, nor thinking of him

since, with the smallestdegree of unreasonableadmiration. The officers ofthe———shire were ingeneral a very creditable,gentlemanlike set, and thebest of them were of thepresent party; but Mr.Wickham was as far beyondthem all in person,countenance,air,andwalk,asthey were superior to thebroad-faced stuffy unclePhilips, breathing port wine,

who followed them into theroom.Mr. Wickham was the

happy man towards whomalmost every female eyewasturned,andElizabethwasthehappy woman by whom hefinallyseatedhimself;andtheagreeablemannerinwhichheimmediately fell intoconversation, though it wasonlyonitsbeingawetnight,and on the probability of a

rainy season, made her feelthat the commonest, dullest,most threadbare topic mightberenderedinterestingbytheskillofthespeaker.With such rivals for the

notice of the fair, as Mr.Wickham and the officers,Mr. Collins seemed to sinkinto insignificance; to theyoungladieshecertainlywasnothing; but he had still atintervals a kind listener in

Mrs.Philips,andwas,byherwatchfulness, mostabundantly supplied withcoffeeandmuffin.When thecard tableswere

placed,hehadanopportunityof obliging her, in return, bysittingdowntowhist.ae

“I know little of the gameat present,” said he, “but Ishall be glad to improvemyself;forinmysituationoflife———”Mrs.Philipswas

very thankful for hiscompliance, but could notwaitforhisreason.Mr.Wickhamdidnotplay

at whist, and with readydelightwashereceivedattheothertablebetweenElizabethand Lydia. At first thereseemed danger of Lydia’sengrossing him entirely, forshe was a most determinedtalker; but being likewiseextremely fond of lottery

tickets, she soon grew toomuch interested in the game,tooeager inmakingbetsandexclaiming after prizes, tohaveattention for anyone inparticular. Allowing for thecommon demands of thegame, Mr. Wickham wastherefore at leisure to talk toElizabeth, and she was verywilling to hear him, thoughwhat she chiefly wished tohearshecouldnothopetobetold, the history of his

acquaintancewithMr.Darcy.She dared not even mentionthatgentleman.Hercuriosity,however, was unexpectedlyrelieved.Mr.Wickhambeganthe subject himself. Heenquired how farNetherfieldwasfromMeryton;and,afterreceiving her answer, askedin a hesitating manner howlong Mr. Darcy had beenstayingthere.“About a month,” said

Elizabeth;andthen,unwillingtoletthesubjectdrop,added,“he is a man of very largeproperty in Derbyshire, Iunderstand.”“Yes,” replied Wickham;

“his estate there is a nobleone.Acleartenthousandperannum. You could not havemet with a person morecapableofgivingyoucertaininformationonthatheadthanmyself—for I have been

connectedwithhis family, inaparticularmanner,frommyinfancy.”Elizabeth could not but

looksurprised.“You may well be

surprised, Miss Bennet, atsuch an assertion, afterseeing, as you probablymight, the very cold mannerofourmeetingyesterday.Areyou much acquainted withMr.Darcy?”

“AsmuchasIeverwishtobe,” criedElizabeth,warmly.“Ihavespentfourdaysinthesame house with him, and Ithinkhimverydisagreeable.”“Ihavenorighttogivemy

opinion,” saidWickham, “asto his being agreeable orotherwise. I am not qualifiedto form one. I have knownhim too long and toowell tobe a fair judge. It isimpossible for me to be

impartial. But I believe youropinion of him would ingeneral astonish—and,perhaps, you would notexpress it quite so stronglyanywhereelse.Hereyouareinyourownfamily.”“Upon my word I say no

moreherethanImightsayinany house in theneighbourhood, exceptNetherfield. He is not at allliked in Hertfordshire. Every

body is disgusted with hispride. Youwill not find himmorefavourablyspokenofbyanyone.”“I cannot pretend to be

sorry,”saidWickham,afterashort interruption,“thatheorthat any man should not beestimated beyond theirdeserts;butwithhimIbelieveitdoesnotoftenhappen.Theworld is blinded by hisfortune and consequence, or

frightened by his high andimposing manners, and seeshimonlyashechooses tobeseen.”“Ishouldtakehim,evenon

my slight acquaintance, to bean ill-tempered man.”Wickham only shook hishead.“Iwonder,” saidhe, at the

nextopportunityofspeaking,“whetherheis likelytobeinthiscountrymuchlonger.”

“Idonotatallknow;butIheard nothing of his goingaway when I was atNetherfield.Ihopeyourplansin favour of the———shirewill not be affected by hisbeingintheneighbourhood.”“Ohno—itisnotformeto

bedrivenawaybyMr.Darcy.If he wishes to avoid seeingme, he must go. We are noton friendly terms, and italwaysgivesmepaintomeet

him,butIhavenoreasonforavoiding him but what Imight proclaim to all theworld—a sense of very greatill usage, and most painfulregrets at his being what heis. His father, Miss Bennet,the late Mr. Darcy, was oneof the best men that everbreathed,andthetruestfriendIeverhad;andIcanneverbein company with this Mr.Darcy without being grievedto the soul by a thousand

tender recollections. Hisbehaviourtomyselfhasbeenscandalous; but I verilybelieve I could forgive himany thing and every thing,rather than his disappointingthe hopes and disgracing thememoryofhisfather.”Elizabethfoundtheinterest

of the subject increase, andlistenedwithallherheart;butthe delicacy of it preventedfurtherenquiry.

Mr. Wickham began tospeakonmoregeneraltopics,Meryton, the neighbourhood,the society, appearing highlypleased with all that he hadyet seen,andspeakingof thelatter, especially, with gentlebutveryintelligiblegallantry.“It was the prospect of

constant society, and goodsociety,” he added, “whichwas my chief inducement toenter the———shire. Iknow

it to be a most respectable,agreeable corps; and myfriend Denny tempted mefurtherbyhisaccountoftheirpresentquarters,andtheverygreat attentions and excellentacquaintance Meryton hadprocured them. Society, Iown, is necessary to me. Ihave been a disappointedman, andmy spirits will notbear solitude. I must haveemployment and society. AmilitarylifeisnotwhatIwas

intended for, butcircumstances have nowmade it eligible. The churchought to have been myprofession—Iwasbroughtupforthechurch;andIshouldatthis time have been inpossessionofamostvaluableliving, had it pleased thegentleman we were speakingofjustnow.”“Indeed!”“Yes—the late Mr. Darcy

bequeathed me the nextpresentationofthebestlivingin his gift. He was mygodfather, and excessivelyattached to me. I cannot dojustice to his kindness. Hemeant to provide for meamply, and thought he haddone it; but when the livingfell,itwasgivenelsewhere.”“Good heavens!” cried

Elizabeth; “but how couldthat be? How could his will

be disregarded?Why did notyouseeklegalredress?”“There was just such an

informalityinthetermsofthebequestastogivemenohopefrom law. A man of honourcould not have doubted theintention, but Mr. Darcychose todoubt it—or to treatit as a merely conditionalrecommendation, and toassert that I had forfeited allclaim to it by extravagance,

imprudence, in short, anythingornothing.Certainit isthat thelivingbecamevacanttwo years ago, exactly as Iwasof anage tohold it, andthat it was given to anotherman;andnolesscertainisit,thatIcannotaccusemyselfofhaving really done any thingtodeserveto lose it. Ihaveawarm,unguardedtemper,andI may perhaps havesometimes spoken myopinion of him, and to him,

too freely. I can recallnothingworse.Butthefactis,thatweareverydifferentsortof men, and that he hatesme.”“Thisisquiteshocking!He

deserves to be publiclydisgraced.”“Sometimeorotherhewill

be—butitshallnotbebyme.Till I can forget his father, Ican never defy or exposehim.”

Elizabethhonouredhimforsuch feelings, and thoughthim handsomer than ever asheexpressedthem.“Butwhat,” said she, after

a pause, “can have been hismotive? what can haveinduced him to behave socruelly?”“A thorough, determined

dislike of me—a dislikewhichIcannotbutattributeinsome measure to jealousy.

Had the lateMr.Darcy likedme less, his son might havebornewithmebetter;buthisfather’s uncommonattachment to me irritatedhim, I believe, very early inlife. He had not a temper tobearthesortofcompetitioninwhich we stood—the sort ofpreference which was oftengivenme.”“I had not thought Mr.

Darcysobadasthis—though

Ihavenever likedhim,Ihadnotthoughtsoveryillofhim—I had supposed him to bedespisinghisfellow-creaturesingeneral,butdidnotsuspecthim of descending to suchmalicious revenge, suchinjustice, such inhumanity asthis!”After a few minutes’

reflection, however, shecontinued,—“I do rememberhis boasting one day, at

Netherfield, of theimplacability of hisresentments;ofhishavinganunforgiving temper. Hisdispositionmustbedreadful.”“Iwill not trustmyself on

the subject,” repliedWickham; “I can hardly bejusttohim.”Elizabeth was again deep

in thought, and after a timeexclaimed,“Totreatinsuchamanner the godson, the

friend, the favourite of hisfather!” She could haveadded, “A young man, too,like you, whose verycountenance may vouch foryourbeingamiable.”Butshecontentedherselfwith—“Andone, too, who had probablybeen his own companionfrom childhood, connectedtogether, as I think you said,intheclosestmanner.”“Wewereborninthesame

parish,within the samepark;thegreatestpartofouryouthwas passed together: inmatesof the same house, sharingthesameamusements,objectsofthesameparentalcare.Myfather began life in theprofessionwhich your uncle,Mr.Philips, appears todo somuch credit to; but he gaveupeverythingtobeofusetothe late Mr. Darcy, anddevoted all his time to thecare of the Pemberley

property.Hewasmosthighlyesteemed by Mr. Darcy, amost intimate, confidentialfriend. Mr. Darcy oftenacknowledged himself to beunder thegreatestobligationsto my father’s activesuperintendence; and when,immediately before myfather’s death, Mr. Darcygavehimavoluntarypromiseof providing for me, I amconvincedthathefeltittobeasmuchadebtofgratitudeto

him as of affection tomyself.”“How strange!” cried

Elizabeth.“Howabominable!I wonder that the very prideof this Mr. Darcy has notmadehimjusttoyou.Iffromno better motive, that heshould not have been tooproud to be dishonest—fordishonestyImustcallit.”“It is wonderful,” replied

Wickham;“foralmostallhis

actions may be traced topride; and pride has oftenbeen his best friend. It hasconnected him nearer withvirtue than anyother feeling.But we are none of usconsistent; and in hisbehaviour to me there werestronger impulses even thanpride.”“Can such abominable

pride as his have ever donehimgood?”

“Yes; it has often led himtobeliberalandgenerous; togive his money freely, todisplay hospitality, to assisthis tenants, and relieve thepoor. Family pride, and filialpride,forheisveryproudofwhat his father was, havedone this. Not to appear todisgrace his family, todegenerate from the popularqualities,orlosetheinfluenceof thePemberleyHouse, is apowerfulmotive.Hehasalso

brotherly pride, which, withsome brotherly affection,makes him a very kind andcarefulguardianofhissister;and you will hear himgenerallycriedupasthemostattentive and best ofbrothers.”“WhatsortofagirlisMiss

Darcy?”Heshookhishead.“Iwish

I could call her amiable. Itgivesmepaintospeakillofa

Darcy; but she is too muchlike her brother,—very, veryproud. As a child, she wasaffectionateandpleasing,andextremely fond of me; and Ihavedevotedhoursandhourstoheramusement.But she isnothing tome now. She is ahandsome girl, about fifteenor sixteen, and, I understand,highly accomplished. Sinceher father’s death her homehas been London, where alady lives with her, and

superintendshereducation.”After many pauses and

many trials of other subjects,Elizabeth could not helpreverting once more to thefirst,andsaying,—“I am astonished at his

intimacy with Mr. Bingley.How can Mr. Bingley, whoseems good-humour itself,and is, I really believe, trulyamiable,beinfriendshipwithsuch a man? How can they

suiteachother?DoyouknowMr.Bingley?”“Notatall.”“He is a sweet-tempered,

amiable, charming man. HecannotknowwhatMr.Darcyis.”“Probably not; but Mr.

Darcy can please where hechooses. He does not wantabilities. He can be aconversible companion if hethinks it worth his while.

Among those who are at allhisequalsinconsequence,heis a very different man fromwhat he is to the lessprosperous. His pride neverdesertshim;butwiththerichhe is liberal-minded, just,sincere, rational, honourable,and, perhaps, agreeable,—allowing something forfortuneandfigure.”The whist party soon

afterwards breaking up, the

players gathered round theother table, and Mr. Collinstook his station between hiscousin Elizabeth and Mrs.Philips. The usual enquiriesas to his success were madeby the latter. It had not beenvery great; he had lost everypoint: but whenMrs. Philipsbegan toexpressherconcernthereupon, he assured her,with much earnest gravity,that it was not of the leastimportance; that he

considered the money as amere trifle, and begged shewould not make herselfuneasy.“I know very well,

madam,” said he, “thatwhenpersons sit down to a cardtable they must take theirchance of these things,—andhappily I am not in suchcircumstancesastomakefiveshillings any object. Thereare, undoubtedly, many who

could not say the same; but,thanks to Lady Catherine deBourgh, I am removed farbeyond the necessity ofregardinglittlematters.”Mr. Wickham’s attention

was caught; and afterobserving Mr. Collins for afew moments, he askedElizabeth in a low voicewhether her relation werevery intimately acquaintedwith the family of De

Bourgh.“Lady Catherine de

Bourgh,” she replied, “hasverylatelygivenhimaliving.I hardly know how Mr.Collins was first introducedtohernotice,buthecertainlyhasnotknownherlong.”“You know of course that

Lady Catherine de Bourghand Lady Anne Darcy weresisters; consequently that sheis aunt to the present Mr.

Darcy.”“No, indeed, I did not. I

knew nothing at all of LadyCatherine’s connections. Inever heard of her existencetillthedaybeforeyesterday.”“Her daughter, Miss de

Bourgh, will have a verylarge fortune, and it isbelieved that she and hercousin will unite the twoestates.”This information made

Elizabeth smile, as shethoughtofpoorMissBingley.Vain indeed must be all herattentions, vain and uselessheraffectionforhissisterandher praise of himself, if hewere already self-destined toanother.“Mr. Collins,” said she,

“speaks highly both of LadyCatherine and her daughter;butfromsomeparticularsthathe has related of her

Ladyship; I suspect hisgratitude misleads him; andthat, in spiteofherbeinghispatroness, she is an arrogant,conceitedwoman.”“Ibelievehertobebothin

a great degree,” repliedWickham: “I have not seenherformanyyears;butIverywell remember that I neverliked her, and that hermanners were dictatorial andinsolent. She has the

reputation of beingremarkably sensible andclever; but I rather believeshe derives part of herabilities from her rank andfortune, part from herauthoritativemanner, and therest from the pride of hernephew, who chooses thateveryoneconnectedwithhimshouldhaveanunderstandingofthefirstclass.”Elizabeth allowed that he

had given a very rationalaccount of it, and theycontinued talking togetherwith mutual satisfaction tillsupper put an end to cards,andgavetherestoftheladiestheirshareofMr.Wickham’sattentions.Therecouldbenoconversation in the noise ofMrs. Philips’s supper party,but his mannersrecommended him to everybody.Whatever he said,wassaid well; and whatever he

did, done gracefully.Elizabethwentawaywithherhead full of him. She couldthink of nothing but of Mr.Wickham,andofwhathehadtold her, all the way home;buttherewasnottimeforhereven tomention his name asthey went, for neither Lydianor Mr. Collins were oncesilent. Lydia talkedincessantly of lottery tickets,of the fishaf she had lost and

thefishshehadwon;andMr.Collins, in describing thecivility of Mr. and Mrs.Philips,protestingthathedidnot in the least regard hislosses at whist, enumeratingall the dishes at supper, andrepeatedly fearing that hecrowded his cousins, hadmore to say than he couldwell manage before thecarriage stopped atLongbournHouse.

Chapter17

Elizabeth related to Jane, thenext day, what had passedbetween Mr. Wickham andherself. Jane listened withastonishment and concern:she knewnot how to believethat Mr. Darcy could be sounworthy of Mr. Bingley’s

regard; and yet it was not inher nature to question theveracity of a young man ofsuch amiable appearance asWickham. The possibility ofhis having really enduredsuch unkindness was enoughto interest all her tenderfeelings; and nothingthereforeremainedtobedonebut to think well of themboth,todefendtheconductofeach, and throw into theaccount of accident or

mistake whatever could notbeotherwiseexplained.“Theyhaveboth,”saidshe,

“beendeceived,Idaresay,insomewayor other, ofwhichwe can form no idea.Interested people haveperhaps misrepresented eachto the other. It is, in short,impossible for us toconjecture the causes orcircumstances which mayhave alienated them, without

actualblameoneitherside.”“Very true, indeed; and

now,mydearJane,whathaveyougottosayinbehalfoftheinterested people who haveprobably been concerned inthe business? Do clear them,too,orweshallbeobligedtothinkillofsomebody.”“Laugh as much as you

choose, but you will notlaughme out ofmy opinion.My dearest Lizzy, do but

considerinwhatadisgracefullight it places Mr. Darcy, tobe treating his father’sfavouriteinsuchamanner,—one whom his father hadpromised toprovide for. It isimpossible. No man ofcommon humanity, no manwho had any value for hischaracter,couldbecapableofit. Can his most intimatefriends be so excessivelydeceivedinhim?Ohno.”

“I can much more easilybelieve Mr. Bingley’s beingimposed on than that Mr.Wickham should invent sucha history of himself as hegave me last night; names,facts, every thing mentionedwithoutceremony.Ifitbenotso, let Mr. Darcy contradictit.Besides, therewastruthinhislooks.”“Itisdifficult,indeed—itis

distressing. One does not

knowwhattothink.”“I beg your pardon;—one

knowsexactlywhattothink.”But Jane could think with

certaintyononlyonepoint,—that Mr. Bingley, if he hadbeenimposedon,wouldhavemuch to suffer when theaffairbecamepublic.Thetwoyoungladieswere

summoned from theshrubbery, where thisconversation passed, by the

arrival of some of the verypersons of whom they hadbeen speaking; Mr. Bingleyand his sisters came to givetheir personal invitation forthe long expected ball atNetherfield,whichwas fixedfor the following Tuesday.Thetwoladiesweredelightedtoseetheirdearfriendagain,calleditanagesincetheyhadmet, and repeatedly askedwhatshehadbeendoingwithherself since their separation.

Totherestofthefamilytheypaid little attention; avoidingMrs. Bennet as much aspossible, saying notmuch toElizabeth, and nothing at alltotheothers.Theyweresoongone again, rising from theirseats with an activity whichtooktheirbrotherbysurprise,andhurryingoffasifeagertoescape from Mrs. Bennet’scivilities.The prospect of the

Netherfield ball wasextremely agreeable to everyfemale of the family. Mrs.Bennetchosetoconsideritasgiven in compliment to hereldest daughter, and wasparticularly flattered byreceiving the invitation fromMr. Bingley himself, insteadof a ceremonious card. Janepictured to herself a happyevening in the society of hertwofriends,andtheattentionsoftheirbrother;andElizabeth

thought with pleasure ofdancingagreatdealwithMr.Wickham, and of seeing aconfirmationofeverythinginMr. Darcy’s look andbehaviour. The happinessanticipated by Catherine andLydia depended less on anysingleevent,oranyparticularperson; for though theyeach,likeElizabeth,meanttodancehalf the evening with Mr.Wickham, he was by nomeans the only partner who

couldsatisfythem,andaballwas, at any rate, a ball. Andeven Mary could assure herfamily that she had nodisinclinationforit.“While I can have my

mornings to myself,” saidshe,“itisenough.Ithinkitisno sacrifice to joinoccasionally in eveningengagements. Society hasclaimsonusall;andIprofessmyself one of those who

consider intervals ofrecreation and amusement asdesirableforeverybody.”Elizabeth’s spirits were so

high on the occasion, that,though she did not oftenspeak unnecessarily to Mr.Collins, she could not helpasking him whether heintended to accept Mr.Bingley’s invitation, and, ifhe did, whether he wouldthink it proper to join in the

evening’s amusement; andshe was rather surprised tofind that he entertained noscruple whatever on thathead, and was very far fromdreading a rebuke, eitherfromtheArchbishoporLadyCatherine de Bourgh, byventuringtodance.“I am by no means of

opinion, I assure you,” saidhe, “that a ball of this kind,given by a young man of

character, to respectablepeople, can have any eviltendency; and I am so farfrom objecting to dancingmyself,thatIshallhopetobehonoured with the hands ofall my fair cousins in thecourse of the evening; and Itake this opportunity ofsoliciting yours, MissElizabeth, for the two firstdances especially; apreference which I trust mycousin Jane will attribute to

therightcause,andnottoanydisrespectforher.”Elizabeth felt herself

completely taken in.Shehadfullyproposedbeingengagedby Wickham for those verydances; and to have Mr.Collins instead!—herliveliness had been neverworse timed. There was nohelp for it, however. Mr.Wickham’shappinessandherown was perforce delayed a

little longer, and Mr.Collins’s proposal acceptedwith as good a grace as shecould.Shewasnot thebetterpleased with his gallantry,from the idea it suggested ofsomethingmore. It now firststruck her, that she wasselected from among hersistersasworthyofbeingthemistress of HunsfordParsonage,andofassistingtoform a quadrille table atRosings, in the absence of

more eligible visiters. Theidea soon reached toconviction, as she observedhis increasing civilitiestowardsherself,andheardhisfrequent attempt at acompliment on her wit andvivacity; and though moreastonished than gratifiedherself by this effect of hercharms, it was not longbeforehermothergavehertounderstand that theprobability of their marriage

wasexceedinglyagreeable toher. Elizabeth, however, didnot choose to take the hint,being well aware that aserious dispute must be theconsequence of any reply.Mr.Collinsmightnevermakethe offer, and, till he did, itwas useless to quarrel abouthim.If there had not been a

Netherfieldballtoprepareforandtalkof,theyoungerMiss

Bennetswouldhavebeeninapitiable state at this time; forfromthedayoftheinvitationto the day of the ball therewassuchasuccessionofrainasprevented theirwalking toMeryton once. No aunt, noofficers, no news could besought after; the very shoe-rosesag for Netherfield weregotbyproxy.EvenElizabethmight have found some trialof her patience in weather

which totally suspended theimprovement of heracquaintance with Mr.Wickham; and nothing lessthan a dance on Tuesdaycould have made such aFriday, Saturday, Sunday,and Monday endurable toKittyandLydia.

Chapter18

Till Elizabeth entered thedrawing-room at Netherfield,and looked in vain for Mr.Wickham among the clusterof red coats there assembled,a doubt of his being presenthad never occurred to her.Thecertaintyofmeetinghim

hadnotbeencheckedbyanyof those recollections thatmight not unreasonably havealarmedher.Shehaddressedwith more than usual care,and prepared in the highestspirits for the conquest of allthat remained unsubdued ofhis heart, trusting that it wasnotmore thanmight be wonin the course of the evening.But in an instant arose thedreadful suspicion of hisbeing purposely omitted, for

Mr. Darcy’s pleasure, in theBingleys’ invitation to theofficers; and though thiswasnot exactly the case, theabsolute fact of his absencewaspronouncedbyhisfriendMr. Denny, to whom Lydiaeagerlyapplied,andwhotoldthemthatWickhamhadbeenobliged to go to town onbusiness the day before, andwasnotyet returned;adding,withasignificantsmile,—

“I do not imagine hisbusiness would have calledhimawayjustnow,ifhehadnotwished toavoidacertaingentlemanhere.”This part of his

intelligence, though unheardby Lydia, was caught byElizabeth; and, as it assuredher that Darcy was not lessanswerable for Wickham’sabsence than if her firstsurmise had been just, every

feeling of displeasure againstthe former was so sharpenedby immediatedisappointment, that shecould hardly reply withtolerablecivility to thepoliteenquiries which he directlyafterwards approached tomake.Attention,forbearance,patience with Darcy, wasinjury toWickham. She wasresolved against any sort ofconversation with him, andturnedawaywithadegreeof

ill-humour which she couldnotwholly surmount even inspeaking to Mr. Bingley,whose blind partialityprovokedher.But Elizabeth was not

formed for ill-humour; andthough every prospect of herown was destroyed for theevening, it could not dwelllong on her spirits; and,having told all her griefs toCharlotte Lucas, whom she

had not seen for aweek, shewas soon able to make avoluntary transition to theodditiesofhercousin,andtopointhimouttoherparticularnotice. The two first dances,however, brought a return ofdistress: theywere dances ofmortification. Mr. Collins,awkward and solemn,apologising instead ofattending, and often movingwrongwithoutbeingawareofit,gaveheralltheshameand

misery which a disagreeablepartnerforacoupleofdancescangive.Themomentofherreleasefromhimwasecstasy.She danced next with an

officer, and had therefreshment of talking ofWickham,andofhearingthathe was universally liked.When those dances wereover, she returned toCharlotte Lucas, and was inconversation with her, when

she found herself suddenlyaddressedbyMr.Darcy,whotookhersomuchbysurprisein his application for herhand, that, without knowingwhat she did, she acceptedhim. He walked away againimmediately,andshewasleftto fret over her ownwant ofpresence of mind: Charlottetriedtoconsoleher.“I dare say you will find

himveryagreeable.”

“Heaven forbid! Thatwould be the greatestmisfortune of all! To find aman agreeable whom one isdetermined to hate! Do notwishmesuchanevil.”When the dancing

recommenced, however, andDarcy approached to claimherhand,Charlottecouldnothelp cautioning her, in awhisper, not to be asimpleton, and allow her

fancy for Wickham to makeher appear unpleasant in theeyesofamanoftentimeshisconsequence. Elizabethmadenoanswer,andtookherplacein the set, amazed at thedignity to which she wasarrived in being allowed tostand opposite toMr. Darcy,and reading in herneighbours’ looks their equalamazement in beholding it.They stood for some timewithoutspeakingaword;and

she began to imagine thattheir silence was to lastthrough the two dances, and,at first, was resolved not tobreak it; till suddenlyfancying that itwouldbe thegreater punishment to herpartner to oblige him to talk,she made some slightobservationon thedance.Hereplied, andwasagain silent.After a pause of someminutes,sheaddressedhimasecondtime,with—

“It is your turn to saysomethingnow,Mr.Darcy. Italked about the dance, andyououghttomakesomekindof remark on the size of theroom, or the number ofcouples.”Hesmiled,andassuredher

thatwhatevershewishedhimtosayshouldbesaid.“Verywell; that replywill

do for the present. Perhaps,byandby,Imayobservethat

private balls are muchpleasanter than public ones;butnowwemaybesilent.”“Doyoutalkbyrule,then,

whileyouaredancing?”“Sometimes. One must

speak a little, you know. Itwouldlookoddtobeentirelysilent for half an hourtogether; and yet, for theadvantage of some,conversation ought to be soarranged, as that they may

have the troubleof sayingaslittleaspossible.”“Are you consulting your

own feelings in the presentcase, or do you imagine thatyouaregratifyingmine?”“Both,” replied Elizabeth,

archly; “for I have alwaysseen a great similarity in theturn of our minds. We areeach of an unsocial, taciturndisposition, unwilling tospeak, unless we expect to

say something that willamaze the whole room, andbe handed down to posteritywith all the éclat of aproverb.”“This is no very striking

resemblance of your owncharacter,Iamsure,”saidhe.“Hownearitmaybetomine,I cannot pretend to say. Youthink it a faithful portraitundoubtedly.”“I must not decide on my

ownperformance.”He made no answer, and

theywereagainsilenttilltheyhad gone down the dance,whenheaskedher ifsheandher sisters did not very oftenwalk to Meryton? Sheanswered in the affirmative,and, unable to resist thetemptation, added, “Whenyou met us there the otherday, we had just beenforminganewacquaintance.”

The effectwas immediate.A deeper shade of hauteuroverspread his features, buthe said not a word, andElizabeth, though blamingherselfforherownweakness,could not go on. At lengthDarcy spoke, and in aconstrained manner said,“Mr. Wickham is blessedwith such happy manners asmay ensure his makingfriends—whether he may beequally capable of retaining

them,islesscertain.”“Hehasbeensounluckyas

to lose your friendship,”replied Elizabeth withemphasis, “and in a mannerwhich he is likely to sufferfromallhislife.”Darcy made no answer,

and seemed desirous ofchanging the subject. At thatmoment Sir William Lucasappeared close to them,meaning to pass through the

set to the other side of theroom; but on perceivingMr.Darcy,hestoppedwithabowof superior courtesy tocompliment him on hisdancingandhispartner.“I have been most highly

gratified indeed,my dear sir.Suchverysuperiordancingisnot often seen. It is evidentthat you belong to the firstcircles. Allow me to say,however, that your fair

partnerdoesnotdisgraceyou,and that Imust hope to havethis pleasure often repeated,especially when a certaindesirableevent,mydearMissEliza,” (glancingather sisterand Bingley), “shall takeplace. What congratulationswill then flow in! Iappeal toMr. Darcy:—but let me notinterrupt you, sir. You willnot thank me for detainingyou from the bewitchingconverse of that young lady

whose bright eyes are alsoupbraidingme.”The latter part of this

addresswasscarcelyheardbyDarcy; but Sir William’sallusion to his friend seemedtostrikehimforcibly,andhiseyes were directed with avery serious expressiontowards Bingley and Jane,who were dancing together.Recoveringhimself,however,shortly, he turned to his

partner, and said, “SirWilliam’s interruption hasmademeforgetwhatweweretalkingof.”“I do not think we were

speaking at all. Sir Williamcould not have interruptedany two people in the roomwho had less to say forthemselves. We have triedtwo or three subjects alreadywithoutsuccess,andwhatweare to talk of next I cannot

imagine.”“What think you of

books?”saidhe,smiling.“Books oh! no. I am sure

we never read the same, ornotwiththesamefeelings.”“I am sorry you think so;

but if that be the case, therecan at least be no want ofsubject.Wemaycompareourdifferentopinions.”“No—I cannot talk of

books in a ball-room; my

head is always full ofsomethingelse.”“The present always

occupies you in such scenes—does it?” said he, with alookofdoubt.“Yes,always,”shereplied,

without knowing what shesaid, for her thoughts hadwandered far from thesubject, as soon afterwardsappeared by her suddenlyexclaiming, “I remember

hearing you once say, Mr.Darcy, that you hardly everforgave, thatyour resentmentonce created wasunappeasable. You are verycautious, I suppose, as to itsbeingcreated.”“Iam,”saidhe,withafirm

voice.“And never allow yourself

tobeblindedbyprejudice?”“Ihopenot.”“It is particularly

incumbent on those whoneverchangetheiropinion,tobesecureofjudgingproperlyatfirst.”“May I ask to what these

questionstend?”“Merely to the illustration

of your character,” said she,endeavouringtoshakeoffhergravity.“Iamtryingtomakeitout.”“And what is your

success?”

She shook her head, “I donot get on at all. I hear suchdifferent accounts of you aspuzzlemeexceedingly.”“I can readily believe,”

answered he gravely, “thatreportsmayvarygreatlywithrespect to me; and I couldwish, Miss Bennet, that youwere not to sketch mycharacter at the presentmoment,asthereisreasontofear that the performance

would reflect no credit oneither.”“But if I do not take your

likeness now, I may neverhaveanotheropportunity.”“I would by no means

suspend any pleasure ofyours,”hecoldlyreplied.Shesaid nomore, and theywentdown the other dance andpartedinsilence;oneachsidedissatisfied, though not to anequal degree, for in Darcy’s

breast there was a tolerablepowerfulfeelingtowardsher,which soon procured herpardon, and directed all hisangeragainstanother.They had not long

separated,whenMissBingleycame towards her, and withanexpressionofcivildisdainthus accosted her:—“So,Miss Eliza, I hear you arequite delighted with GeorgeWickham! Your sister has

beentalkingtomeabouthim,and asking me a thousandquestions; and I find that theyoungmanforgottotellyou,among his othercommunications, that hewasthe son of oldWickham, thelateMr.Darcy’ssteward.Letme recommend you,however, as a friend, not togiveimplicitconfidencetoallhis assertions; for as to Mr.Darcy’s using him ill, it isperfectly false, for, on the

contrary, he has been alwaysremarkably kind to him,thoughGeorgeWickhamhastreated Mr. Darcy in a mostinfamous manner. I do notknow the particulars, but Iknow very well that Mr.Darcy is not in the least toblame, thathecannotbear tohear George Wickhammentioned, and that thoughmy brother thought he couldnotwell avoid including himin his invitation to the

officers, he was excessivelygladtofindthathehadtakenhimself out of the way. Hiscomingintothecountryatallis a most insolent thing,indeed,andIwonderhowhecouldpresumetodoit.Ipityyou, Miss Eliza, for thisdiscovery of your favourite’sguilt; but really, consideringhis descent, one could notexpectmuchbetter.”“His guilt and his descent

appearbyyouraccount tobethe same,” said Elizabethangrily,“forIhaveheardyouaccuse him of nothingworsethan of being the son ofMr.Darcy’s steward, andof that,Icanassureyou,heinformedmehimself.”“I beg your pardon,”

repliedMissBingley, turningaway with a sneer. “Excusemyinterference:itwaskindlymeant.”

“Insolent girl!” saidElizabethtoherself.“Youaremuchmistaken if you expectto influence me by such apaltry attack as this. I seenothing in it but your ownwilful ignorance and themalice of Mr. Darcy.” Shethen sought her eldest sister,who had undertaken tomakeinquirieson the samesubjectofBingley.Janemetherwitha smile of such sweetcomplacency,aglowof such

happy expression, assufficientlymarkedhowwellshe was satisfied with theoccurrences of the evening.Elizabeth instantly read herfeelings, and at that momentsolicitude for Wickham,resentment against hisenemies,andeverythingelse,gaveway before the hope ofJane’s being in the fairestwayforhappiness.“Iwanttoknow,”saidshe,

with a countenance no lesssmiling than her sister’s,“what you have learnt aboutMr. Wickham. But perhapsyouhavebeen toopleasantlyengaged to thinkofany thirdperson; in which case youmaybesureofmypardon.”“No,”repliedJane,“Ihave

not forgottenhim;but Ihavenothing satisfactory to tellyou. Mr. Bingley does notknow the whole of his

history, and is quite ignorantof the circumstances whichhaveprincipallyoffendedMr.Darcy; but hewill vouch forthegoodconduct,theprobity,andhonourofhisfriend,andis perfectly convinced thatMr. Wickham has deservedmuch lessattention fromMr.Darcy than he has received;andIamsorry tosaythatbyhis account as well as hissister’s, Mr. Wickham is bynomeansarespectableyoung

man.Iamafraidhehasbeenvery imprudent, and hasdeserved to loseMr.Darcy’sregard.”“Mr. Bingley does not

know Mr. Wickhamhimself?”“No;heneversawhimtill

the other morning atMeryton.”“Thisaccount then iswhat

he has received from Mr.Darcy. I am satisfied. But

what does he say of theliving?”“He does not exactly

recollect the circumstances,though he has heard themfrom Mr. Darcy more thanonce, but he believes that itwas left to him conditionallyonly.”“IhavenotadoubtofMr.

Bingley’s sincerity,” saidElizabeth warmly; “but youmust excuse my not being

convinced by assurancesonly. Mr. Bingley’s defenceof his friendwas a very ableone,Idaresay;butsinceheisunacquainted with severalparts of the story, and haslearnttherestfromthatfriendhimself,Ishallventurestilltothink of both gentlemen as Ididbefore.”She then changed the

discourse to one moregratifying to each, and on

which there could be nodifference of sentiment.Elizabeth listened withdelight to the happy, thoughmodest hopes which Janeentertained of Bingley’sregard, and said all in herpower to heighten herconfidence in it. On theirbeing joined byMr. Bingleyhimself, Elizabeth withdrewto Miss Lucas; to whoseinquiry after the pleasantnessof her last partner she had

scarcely replied, before Mr.Collinscameuptothem,andtoldherwithgreat exultationthat he had just been sofortunate as to make a mostimportantdiscovery.“Ihavefoundout,”saidhe,

“by a singular accident, thatthere is now in the room anearrelationofmypatroness.I happened to overhear thegentleman himselfmentioningtotheyounglady

whodoes thehonoursof thishousethenamesofhiscousinMiss de Bourgh, and of hermotherLadyCatherine.Howwonderfully these sort ofthings occur! Who wouldhave thought of my meetingwith, perhaps, a nephew ofLadyCatherinedeBourgh inthis assembly! I am mostthankful that thediscovery ismade in time for me to paymy respects to him, which Iamnowgoingtodo,andtrust

hewillexcusemynothavingdone it before. My totalignorance of the connectionmustpleadmyapology.”“You are not going to

introduce yourself to Mr.Darcy!”“Indeed I am. I shall

entreat his pardon for nothaving done it earlier. Ibelieve him to be LadyCatherine’snephew.Itwillbein my power to assure him

that her ladyship was quitewellyesterdayse’nnight.”Elizabeth tried hard to

dissuade him from such ascheme, assuring him thatMr.Darcywouldconsiderhisaddressing him withoutintroductionasanimpertinentfreedom, rather than acomplimenttohisaunt;thatitwasnotintheleastnecessarythereshouldbeanynoticeoneitherside;andthatifitwere,

itmust belong toMr.Darcy,the superior in consequence,to begin the acquaintance.Mr. Collins listened to herwith the determined air offollowinghisowninclination,and, when she ceasedspeaking, replied thus:—“Mydear Miss Elizabeth, I havethe highest opinion in theworld of your excellentjudgmentinallmatterswithinthe scope of yourunderstanding;butpermitme

to say, that there must be awide difference between theestablished forms ofceremony amongst the laity,and those which regulate theclergy; for, giveme leave toobserve that I consider theclerical office as equal inpoint of dignity with thehighest rank in the kingdom—provided that a properhumilityofbehaviourisatthesame time maintained. Youmust therefore allow me to

follow the dictates of myconscience on this occasion,which leads me to performwhat I look on as a point ofduty. Pardon me forneglecting to profit by youradvice,whichon everyothersubject shall be my constantguide, though in the casebefore us I consider myselfmore fitted by education andhabitual study to decide onwhat is right than a younglady likeyourself.”Andwith

a low bow he left her toattack Mr. Darcy, whosereceptionofhisadvancessheeagerly watched, and whoseastonishment at being soaddressed was very evident.Her cousin prefaced hisspeech with a solemn bow,andthoughshecouldnotheara word of it, she felt as ifhearing it all, and saw in themotion of his lips the words“apology,” “Hunsford,” and“LadyCatherinedeBourgh.”

It vexed her to see himexposehimselftosuchaman.Mr. Darcy was eyeing himwith unrestrained wonder,andwhen at lastMr. Collinsallowed him time to speak,repliedwith an air of distantcivility. Mr. Collins,however, was notdiscouraged from speakingagain, and Mr. Darcy’scontempt seemed abundantlyincreasing with the length ofhis secondspeech,andat the

endofitheonlymadehimaslight bow, and movedanotherway.Mr.CollinsthenreturnedtoElizabeth.“Ihavenoreason,Iassure

you,” said he, “to bedissatisfied with myreception.Mr.Darcy seemedmuch pleased with theattention. He answered mewith the utmost civility, andevenpaidmethecomplimentofsayingthathewassowell

convinced of LadyCatherine’sdiscernmentastobe certain she could neverbestow a favour unworthily.Itwasreallyaveryhandsomethought. Upon the whole, Iammuchpleasedwithhim.”AsElizabethhadnolonger

any interest of her own topursue, she turned herattention almost entirely onher sister and Mr. Bingley;and the train of agreeable

reflections which herobservations gave birth to,made her perhaps almost ashappyasJane.Shesawherinidea settled in that veryhouse, in all the felicitywhich a marriage of trueaffection could bestow; andshe felt capable, under suchcircumstances, ofendeavouring even to likeBingley’s two sisters. Hermother’sthoughtssheplainlysawwerebentthesameway,

and she determined not toventure near her, lest shemight hear too much. Whenthey sat down to supper,therefore, she considered it amost unlucky perversenesswhichplacedthemwithinoneofeachother;anddeeplywasshe vexed to find that hermother was talking to thatone person (Lady Lucas)freely,openly,andofnothingelse but of her expectationthat Jane would be soon

married to Mr. Bingley. Itwasananimatingsubject,andMrs. Bennet seemedincapable of fatigue whileenumerating the advantagesof thematch.His being sucha charming young man, andso rich, and living but threemiles from them, were thefirstpointsofself-gratulation;and then it was such acomforttothinkhowfondthetwo sisterswereof Jane, andto be certain that they must

desiretheconnectionasmuchas she could do. It was,moreover, such a promisingthing for her youngerdaughters,asJane’smarryingsogreatlymustthrowtheminthe way of other rich men;and lastly, itwas so pleasantat her time of life to be ableto consign her singledaughters to the careof theirsister, that she might not beobliged to go into companymore than she liked. It was

necessary to make thiscircumstance a matter ofpleasure, because on suchoccasions it is the etiquette;but no one was less likelythan Mrs. Bennet to findcomfortinstayingathomeatany period of her life. Sheconcluded with many goodwishesthatLadyLucasmightsoon be equally fortunate,though evidently andtriumphantly believing therewasnochanceofit.

In vain did Elizabethendeavour to check therapidity of her mother’swords, or persuade her todescribe her felicity in a lessaudible whisper; for, to herinexpressible vexation, shecould perceive that the chiefof it was overheard by Mr.Darcy, who sat opposite tothem. Her mother onlyscolded her for beingnonsensical.

“WhatisMr.Darcytome,pray, that I should be afraidof him? I am sure we owehimnosuchparticularcivilityas to be obliged to saynothing he may not like tohear.”“For heaven’s sake,

madam, speak lower. Whatadvantagecan itbe toyou tooffend Mr. Darcy? You willnever recommendyourself tohisfriendbysodoing!”

Nothingthatshecouldsay,however, had any influence.Hermotherwouldtalkofherviewsinthesameintelligibletone. Elizabeth blushed andblushedagainwithshameandvexation. She could not helpfrequentlyglancinghereyeatMr. Darcy, though everyglanceconvincedherofwhatshe dreaded; for though hewasnotalwayslookingathermother, she was convincedthat his attention was

invariably fixed by her. Theexpression of his facechanged gradually fromindignant contempt to acomposedandsteadygravity.At length, however, Mrs.

Bennet had no more to say;and Lady Lucas, who hadbeen long yawning at therepetition of delights whichshe saw no likelihood ofsharing, was left to thecomforts of cold ham and

chicken.Elizabethnowbeganto revive. But not long wasthe interval of tranquillity;for, when supper was over,singingwastalkedof,andshehad the mortification ofseeingMary, after very littleentreaty, preparing to obligethe company. By manysignificant looks and silententreaties, did she endeavourto prevent such a proof ofcomplaisance, but in vain;Mary would not understand

them; such an opportunity ofexhibiting was delightful toher, and she began her song.Elizabeth’s eyes were fixedon her with most painfulsensations, and she watchedher progress through theseveral stanzas with animpatiencewhichwasveryillrewarded at their close; forMary, on receiving, amongstthe thanks of the table, thehintofahope that shemightbe prevailed on to favour

themagain,afterthepauseofhalf aminute began another.Mary’s powers were by nomeans fitted for such adisplay; her voicewasweak,and her manner affected.Elizabethwasinagonies.ShelookedatJane,toseehowshebore it; but Jane was verycomposedly talking toBingley. She looked at histwo sisters, and saw themmaking signs of derision ateachother,andatDarcy,who

continued, however,impenetrably grave. Shelookedatherfathertoentreathis interference, lest Maryshould be singing all night.He took the hint, and whenMaryhadfinishedhersecondsong, said aloud, “That willdoextremelywell,child.Youhave delighted us longenough. Let the other youngladieshavetimetoexhibit.”Mary, though pretending

not to hear, was somewhatdisconcerted; and Elizabeth,sorry for her, and sorry forher father’s speech, wasafraid her anxiety had doneno good. Others of the partywerenowappliedto.“If I,” said Mr. Collins,

“were so fortunate as to beable to sing, I should havegreat pleasure, I am sure, inobligingthecompanywithanair; for I considermusic as a

very innocent diversion, andperfectly compatiblewith theprofession of a clergyman. Ido not mean, however, toassertthatwecanbejustifiedin devoting too much of ourtime to music, for there arecertainly other things to beattended to. The rector of aparishhasmuchtodo.Inthefirst place, he must makesuch an agreement for tithesas may be beneficial tohimself and not offensive to

hispatron.Hemustwritehisown sermons; and the timethat remains will not be toomuch for his parish duties,and the care andimprovementofhisdwelling,which he cannot be excusedfrom making as comfortableas possible. And I do notthink it of light importancethat he should have attentiveand conciliatory mannerstowards everybody,especially towards those to

whom he owes hispreferment. I cannot acquithimof that duty; nor could Ithink well of the man whoshould omit an occasion oftestifying his respect towardsanybody connected with thefamily.” And with a bow toMr. Darcy, he concluded hisspeech, which had beenspokensoloudastobeheardby half the room. Manystared—many smiled; but noonelookedmoreamusedthan

Mr.Bennethimself,whilehiswife seriously commendedMr.Collinsforhavingspokensosensibly,andobservedinahalf-whisper to Lady Lucas,that he was a remarkablyclever, good kind of youngman.To Elizabeth it appeared

that, had her familymade anagreement to exposethemselves as much as theycould during the evening, it

would have been impossiblefor them to play their partswith more spirit or finersuccess; and happy did shethink it for Bingley and hersister that some of theexhibition had escaped hisnotice, and that his feelingswerenotofasorttobemuchdistressed by the follywhichhemusthavewitnessed.ThathistwosistersandMr.Darcy,however,shouldhavesuchanopportunity of ridiculing her

relations, was bad enough,and she could not determinewhether the silent contemptof the gentleman, or theinsolent smiles of the ladies,weremoreintolerable.The rest of the evening

broughther littleamusement.She was teased by Mr.Collins, who continued mostperseveringlybyherside,andthough he could not prevailwith her to dance with him

again,putitoutofherpowerto dancewith others. In vaindid she entreat him to standup with somebody else, andoffer to introducehim toanyyoung lady in the room. Heassured her, that as todancing, he was perfectlyindifferenttoit;thathischiefobject was by delicateattentions to recommendhimself to her, and that heshouldthereforemakeapointof remainingclose toher the

wholeevening.Therewasnoarguing upon such a project.She owed her greatest relieftoherfriendMissLucas,whooften joined them, andgood-naturedly engaged Mr.Collins’s conversation toherself.Shewas at least free from

the offence of Mr. Darcy’sfurther notice; though oftenstanding within a very shortdistance of her, quite

disengaged, he never camenearenoughtospeak.Shefeltit to be the probableconsequence of her allusionstoMr.Wickham,andrejoicedinit.TheLongbournpartywere

thelastofallthecompanytodepart, and, by a manœuvreof Mrs. Bennet, had to waitfor theircarriageaquarterofan hour after everybody elsewas gone, which gave them

time toseehowheartily theywerewishedawaybysomeofthe family. Mrs. Hurst andher sister scarcely openedtheir mouths, except tocomplainoffatigue,andwereevidently impatient to havethehousetothemselves.Theyrepulsed every attempt ofMrs. Bennet at conversation,and by so doing threw alanguoroverthewholeparty,whichwasverylittlerelievedby the long speeches of Mr.

Collins, who wascomplimenting Mr. Bingleyandhissistersontheeleganceoftheirentertainment,andthehospitality and politenesswhich had marked theirbehaviour to their guests.Darcysaidnothingatall.Mr.Bennet, inequal silence,wasenjoying the scene. Mr.Bingley and Jane werestanding together, a littledetached from the rest, andtalked only to each other.

ElizabethpreservedassteadyasilenceaseitherMrs.Hurstor Miss Bingley; and evenLydiawas toomuchfatiguedto utter more than theoccasional exclamation of“Lord, how tired I am!”accompanied by a violentyawn.When at length they arose

to take leave, Mrs. Bennetwas most pressingly civil inherhopeof seeing thewhole

family soon at Longbourn,and addressed herselfparticularlytoMr.Bingley,toassure him how happy hewouldmakethembyeatingafamily dinner with them atany time, without theceremony of a formalinvitation. Bingley was allgrateful pleasure, and hereadilyengagedfortakingtheearliest opportunity ofwaiting on her, after hisreturn from London, whither

hewasobligedtogothenextdayforashorttime.Mrs. Bennet was perfectly

satisfied, and quitted thehouse under the delightfulpersuasion that, allowing forthe necessary preparations ofsettlements, new carriages,and wedding clothes, sheshould undoubtedly see herdaughter settled atNetherfield in the course ofthree or four months. Of

having another daughtermarried to Mr. Collins, shethought with equal certainty,andwithconsiderable,thoughnotequal,pleasure.Elizabethwastheleastdeartoherofallher children; and though themanandthematchwerequitegood enough for her, theworthofeachwaseclipsedbyMr.BingleyandNetherfield.

Chapter19

The next day opened a newscene at Longbourn. Mr.Collins made his declarationin form. Having resolved todo itwithout lossof time, ashisleaveofabsenceextendedonly to the followingSaturday, and having no

feelingsofdiffidencetomakeit distressing to himself evenatthemoment,hesetaboutitin a very orderly manner,with all the observances,which he supposed a regularpart of the business. Onfinding Mrs. Bennet,Elizabeth, and one of theyounger girls together, soonafter breakfast, he addressedthe mother in these words:“May I hope, madam, foryour interest with your fair

daughter Elizabeth, when Isolicit for the honour of aprivate audience with her inthecourseofthismorning?”Before Elizabeth had time

for anything but a blush ofsurprise, Mrs. Bennetinstantlyanswered,“Ohdear!—yes—certainly. I am sureLizzy will be very happy—Iam sure she can have noobjection. Come, Kitty, Iwant you upstairs.” And,

gathering her work together,she was hastening away,whenElizabethcalledout:“Dearmadam,donotgo.I

beg you will not go. Mr.Collins must excuse me. Hecanhavenothingtosaytomethatanybodyneednothear.Iamgoingawaymyself.”“No,no,nonsense,Lizzy.I

desire you will stay whereyou are.” And uponElizabeth’s seeming really,

with vexed and embarrassedlooks, about to escape, sheadded: “Lizzy, I insist uponyour stayingandhearingMr.Collins.”Elizabeth would not

oppose such an injunction—andamoment’sconsiderationmakingheralso sensible thatit would be wisest to get itoverassoonandasquietlyaspossible, she satdownagain,and tried to conceal, by

incessant employment, thefeelings which were dividedbetween distress anddiversion. Mrs. Bennet andKittywalkedoff,andassoonastheyweregoneMr.Collinsbegan.“Believeme,mydearMiss

Elizabeth, thatyourmodesty,so far from doing you anydisservice,ratheraddstoyourotherperfections.Youwouldhavebeenlessamiableinmy

eyes had there not been thislittleunwillingness;butallowmetoassureyou, that Ihaveyour respected mother’spermission for this address.You can hardly doubt thepurport of my discourse,however your naturaldelicacy may lead you todissemble;myattentionshavebeen too marked to bemistaken.AlmostassoonasIentered the house, I singledyou out as the companion of

my future life. But before Iam run away with by myfeelings on this subject,perhapsitwouldbeadvisableformetostatemyreasonsformarrying—and, moreover,forcomingintoHertfordshirewiththedesignofselectingawife,asIcertainlydid.”The idea of Mr. Collins,

with all his solemncomposure, being run awaywith by his feelings, made

Elizabeth so near laughing,that she could not use theshortpauseheallowedinanyattempt to stop him farther,andhecontinued:“My reasons for marrying

are,first,thatIthinkitarightthing for every clergyman ineasy circumstances (likemyself) toset theexampleofmatrimony in his parish;secondly,thatIamconvinceditwilladdverygreatlytomy

happiness; and thirdly—whichperhapsIoughttohavementioned earlier, that it isthe particular advice andrecommendation of the verynoble lady whom I have thehonour of calling patroness.Twice has she condescendedto give me her opinion(unasked too!) on thissubject; and it was but thevery Saturday night before Ileft Hunsford—between ourpoolsatquadrille,whileMrs.

JenkinsonwasarrangingMissde Bourgh’s footstool, thatshe said, ‘Mr. Collins, youmustmarry.Aclergymanlikeyou must marry. Chooseproperly, choose agentlewoman for my sake;and for your own, let her bean active, useful sort ofperson, not brought up high,but able to make a smallincome go a goodway. Thisis my advice. Find such awoman as soon as you can,

bring her to Hunsford, and Iwill visit her.’Allowme, bythe way, to observe, my faircousin, that I do not reckonthe notice and kindness ofLadyCatherinedeBourghasamong the least of theadvantages in my power tooffer. You will find hermanners beyond anything Ican describe; and your witandvivacity,Ithink,mustbeacceptable to her, especiallywhen tempered with the

silenceandrespectwhichherrank will inevitably excite.Thus much for my generalintention in favour ofmatrimony; it remains to betold why my views weredirectedtoLongbourninsteadof my own neighbourhood,where I assure you there aremanyamiableyoungwomen.Butthefactis,thatbeing,asIam,toinheritthisestateafterthe death of your honouredfather (who, however, may

live many years longer), Icould not satisfy myselfwithoutresolvingtochooseawife from among hisdaughters, that the loss tothem might be as little aspossible, when themelancholyevent takesplace—which, however, as I havealready said, may not be forseveral years. This has beenmy motive, my fair cousin,andIflattermyselfitwillnotsinkme inyour esteem,And

now nothing remains for mebut toassureyou in themostanimated language of theviolence ofmy affection. Tofortune I am perfectlyindifferent,andshallmakenodemandofthatnatureonyourfather, since Iamwellawarethat it couldnotbe compliedwith; and that one thousandpounds in the 4 per cents,ahwhich will not be yours tillafter your mother’s decease,

is all that you may ever beentitled to. On that head,therefore,Ishallbeuniformlysilent; and you may assureyourself that no ungenerousreproach shall ever pass mylipswhenwearemarried.”Itwasabsolutelynecessary

tointerrupthimnow.“You are too hasty, sir,”

she cried. “You forget that Ihavemadenoanswer.Letmedo it without further loss of

time. Accept my thanks forthe compliment you arepayingme.Iamverysensibleof the honour of yourproposals,butitisimpossiblefor me to do otherwise thandeclinethem.”“I am not now to learn,”

replied Mr. Collins, with aformal wave of the hand,“that it is usual with youngladies to reject the addressesof the man whom they

secretlymeantoaccept,whenhe first applies for theirfavour; and that sometimesthe refusal is repeated asecondorevenathirdtime.Iam, therefore, by no meansdiscouraged by what youhavejustsaid,andshallhopeto lead you to the altar erelong.”“Uponmyword,sir,”cried

Elizabeth, “your hope israther an extraordinary one

after my declaration. I doassure you that I amnot oneofthoseyoungladies(ifsuchyoung ladies there are) whoare so daring as to risk theirhappiness on the chance ofbeing asked a second time. Iam perfectly serious in myrefusal. You could not makeme happy, and I amconvinced that I am the lastwoman in the world whowould make you so. Nay,were your friend Lady

Catherine to knowme, I ampersuadedshewouldfindmein every respect ill qualifiedforthesituation.”“Were it certain that Lady

Catherine would think so,”saidMr.Collins,verygravely—“but I cannot imagine thather Ladyship would at alldisapprove of you. And youmay be certain that when Ihavethehonourofseeingheragain I shall speak in the

highest terms of yourmodesty,economy,andotheramiablequalifications.”“Indeed, Mr. Collins, all

praise of me will beunnecessary. You must givemeleavetojudgeformyself,and pay me the complimentof believing what I say. Iwishyouveryhappyandveryrich, and by refusing yourhand, do all in my power topreventyourbeingotherwise.

In makingme the offer, youmust have satisfied thedelicacyofyourfeelingswithregardtomyfamily,andmaytakepossessionofLongbournestate whenever it falls,without any self-reproach.This matter may beconsidered, therefore, asfinallysettled.”Andrisingasshe thus spoke, she wouldhave quitted the room, hadnot Mr. Collins thusaddressedher,—

“When I do myself thehonour of speaking to younext on the subject, I shallhope to receive a morefavourable answer than youhavenowgivenme;thoughIam far from accusing you ofcruelty at present, because Iknow it to be the establishedcustomofyoursextorejectaman on the first application,and, perhaps, you have evennow said as much toencourage my suit as would

be consistent with the truedelicacy of the femalecharacter.”“Really, Mr. Collins,”

cried Elizabeth, with somewarmth, “you puzzle meexceedingly. If what I havehitherto said can appear toyou in the form ofencouragement, I know nothow toexpressmy refusal insuch away asmay convinceyouofitsbeingone.”

“You must give me leaveto flatter myself, my dearcousin, that your refusal ofmy addresses are merelywords of course.My reasonsfor believing it are brieflythese:—It does not appear tomethatmyhandisunworthyyour acceptance, or that theestablishment I can offerwould be any other thanhighlydesirable.Mysituationin life, my connections withthefamilyofDeBourgh,and

my relationship to your own,are circumstances highly inmy favour; and you shouldtake it into furtherconsideration that, in spiteofyourmanifoldattractions,itisby no means certain thatanotherofferofmarriagemayever be made you. Yourportionisunhappilysosmall,that it will in all likelihoodundo the effects of yourloveliness and amiablequalifications. As I must,

therefore, conclude that youare not serious in yourrejectionofme,Ishallchoosetoattribute it toyourwishofincreasing my love bysuspense, according to theusual practice of elegantfemales.”“Idoassureyou,sir,thatI

havenopretensionswhatevertothatkindofelegancewhichconsists in tormenting arespectable man. I would

ratherbepaidthecomplimentof being believed sincere. Ithankyouagainandagainforthehonouryouhavedonemein your proposals, but toaccept them is absolutelyimpossible. My feelings inevery respect forbid it.Can Ispeak plainer? Do notconsider me now as anelegant female intending toplague you, but as a rationalcreature speaking the truthfromherheart.”

“You are uniformlycharming!” cried he with anair of awkward gallantry;“and I am persuaded that,when sanctioned by theexpressauthorityofbothyourexcellent parents, myproposals will not fail ofbeingacceptable.”To such perseverance in

wilful self-deceptionElizabeth would make noreply,andimmediatelyandin

silencewithdrew;determined,that if he persisted inconsidering her repeatedrefusals as flatteringencouragement, to apply toher father, whose negativemight be uttered in such amanner as must be decisive,andwhose behaviour at leastcouldnotbemistakenfortheaffectationandcoquetryofanelegantfemale.

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Mr.Collinswasnot left longtothesilentcontemplationofhis successful love; for Mrs.Bennet, having dawdledabout in the vestibule towatch for the end of theconference, no sooner sawElizabeth open the door and

with quick step pass hertowards the staircase, thanshe entered the breakfast-room,andcongratulatedbothhim and herself in warmterms on the happy prospectof their nearer connection.Mr. Collins received andreturned these felicitationswithequalpleasure,and thenproceeded to relate theparticulars of their interview,with the result of which hetrustedhehadeveryreasonto

be satisfied, since the refusalwhich his cousin hadsteadfastly given him wouldnaturally flow from herbashful modesty and thegenuine delicacy of hercharacter.Thisinformation,however,

startled Mrs. Bennet: shewould have been glad to beequally satisfied that herdaughter had meant toencourage him by protesting

againsthisproposals,butshedared not to believe it, andcouldnothelpsayingso.“But depend upon it, Mr.

Collins,” she added, “thatLizzy shall be brought toreason. I will speak to herabout it myself directly. Sheis a very headstrong, foolishgirl, and does not know herown interest; but Iwillmakeherknowit.”“Pardon me for

interrupting you, madam,”criedMr.Collins;“but if sheis really headstrong andfoolish, I know not whethershe would altogether be avery desirablewife to amaninmysituation,whonaturallylooks for happiness in themarriage state. If, therefore,she actually persists inrejecting my suit, perhaps, itwere better not to force herintoacceptingme,because,ifliable to such defects of

temper, she could notcontribute much to myfelicity.”“Sir, you quite

misunderstandme,”saidMrs.Bennet, alarmed. “Lizzy isonly headstrong in suchmatters as these. In everything else she is as good-naturedagirlasever lived. Iwill go directly to Mr.Bennet, and we shall verysoon settle it with her, I am

sure.”She would not give him

time to reply, but hurryinginstantly to her husband,calledout, as she entered thelibrary,—“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are

wanted immediately; we areall in an uproar. You mustcome andmake LizzymarryMr.Collins,forshevowsshewillnothavehim;andifyoudo not make haste he will

changehismindandnothaveher.”Mr.Bennet raisedhiseyes

fromhisbookassheentered,and fixed them on her facewithacalmunconcernwhichwasnotintheleastalteredbyhercommunication.“Ihavenot thepleasureof

understanding you,” said he,when she had finished herspeech. “Of what are youtalking?”

“OfMr.CollinsandLizzy.Lizzy declares she will nothave Mr. Collins, and Mr.Collins begins to say that hewillnothaveLizzy.”“And what am I to do on

the occasion? It seems ahopelessbusiness.”“Speak to Lizzy about it

yourself. Tell her that youinsist upon her marryinghim.”“Let her be called down.

Sheshallhearmyopinion.”Mrs. Bennet rang the bell,

and Miss Elizabeth wassummonedtothelibrary.“Come here, child,” cried

herfatherassheappeared.“Ihavesentforyouonanaffairof importance. I understandthat Mr. Collins has madeyouanofferofmarriage.Isittrue?”Elizabethrepliedthatitwas. “Very well—and thisoffer of marriage you have

refused?”“Ihave,sir.”“Verywell.Wenowcome

to the point. Your motherinsistsuponyouracceptingit.Isitnotso,Mrs.Bennet?”“Yes, or I will never see

heragain.”“Anunhappyalternative is

before you, Elizabeth. Fromthis day you must be astranger to one of yourparents. Your mother will

neverseeyouagainifyoudonot marryMr. Collins, and Iwill never see you again ifyoudo.”Elizabeth could not but

smileatsuchaconclusionofsuch a beginning; but Mrs.Bennet, who had persuadedherself that her husbandregarded the affair as shewished, was excessivelydisappointed.“What do you mean, Mr.

Bennet, by talking in thisway? You promised me toinsist upon her marryinghim.”“My dear,” replied her

husband, “I have two smallfavours to request. First, thatyou will allow me the freeuse of my understanding onthe present occasion; and,secondly,ofmyroom.Ishallbeglad tohave the library tomyselfassoonasmaybe.”

Not yet, however, in spiteof her disappointment in herhusband, did Mrs. Bennetgive up the point. She talkedtoElizabethagainandagain;coaxedandthreatenedherbyturns. She endeavoured tosecure Jane in her interest,but Jane, with all possiblemildness, declinedinterfering; and Elizabethsometimes with realearnestness, and sometimeswithplayfulgaiety,repliedto

her attacks. Though hermanner varied, however, herdeterminationneverdid.Mr. Collins, meanwhile,

wasmeditatinginsolitudeonwhat had passed.He thoughttoo well of himself tocomprehend on what motivehis cousin could refuse him;and though his pride washurt, he suffered in no otherway. His regard for her wasquite imaginary; and the

possibility of her deservingher mother’s reproachprevented his feeling anyregret.While the family were in

this confusion, CharlotteLucascame to spend thedaywiththem.Shewasmetinthevestibule by Lydia, who,flying to her, cried in a halfwhisper, “I am glad you arecome, for there is such funhere!What do you think has

happened this morning? Mr.Collins hasmade an offer toLizzy, and she will not havehim.”Charlotte had hardly time

to answer before they werejoinedbyKitty,whocametotell the same news; and nosooner had they entered thebreakfast-room, where Mrs.Bennet was alone, than shelikewisebeganonthesubject,callingonMissLucasforher

compassion, and entreatingher to persuade her friendLizzy to comply with thewishes of all her family.“Pray do, my dear MissLucas,” she added, in amelancholytone;“fornobodyis on my side, nobody takespart with me; I am cruellyused, nobody feels for mypoornerves.”Charlotte’s reply was

sparedbytheentranceofJane

andElizabeth.“Aye, there she comes,”

continued Mrs. Bennet,“looking as unconcerned asmay be, and caring no morefor us than if we were atYork, provided she can haveher own way. But I tell youwhat,MissLizzy,ifyoutakeit into your head to go onrefusing every offer ofmarriageinthisway,youwillnever get a husband at all—

and I am sure I donot knowwhois tomaintainyouwhenyourfatherisdead.Ishallnotbeabletokeepyou—andsoIwarn you. I have done withyoufromthisveryday.Itoldyouinthelibrary,youknow,that I should never speak toyou again, and youwill findme as good as my word. Ihavenopleasureintalkingtoundutiful children.Not that Ihavemuchpleasureindeedintalking to any body. People

who suffer as I do fromnervous complaints can haveno great inclination fortalking.NobodycantellwhatI suffer! But it is always so.Those who do not complainareneverpitied.”Her daughters listened in

silence to this effusion,sensible that any attempt toreason with or soothe herwould only increase theirritation. She talked on,

therefore, withoutinterruptionfromanyofthemtill they were joined by Mr.Collins,who enteredwith anair more stately than usual,andonperceivingwhom,shesaidtothegirls,—“Now, I do insist upon it,

thatyou,allofyou,holdyourtongues, and let Mr. Collinsand me have a littleconversationtogether.”Elizabeth passed quietly

out of the room, Jane andKitty followed, but Lydiastoodherground,determinedto hear all she could; andCharlotte, detained first bythe civility of Mr. Collins,whose enquiries after herselfand all her family were veryminute, and then by a littlecuriosity, satisfied herselfwith walking to the windowandpretendingnottohear.Ina doleful voice Mrs. Bennetthus began the projected

conversation: —“Oh, Mr.Collins.”“Mydearmadam,” replied

he, “let us be for ever silenton this point. Far be it fromme,” he presently continued,in a voice that marked hisdispleasure, “to resent thebehaviour of your daughter.Resignation to inevitableevilsisthedutyofusall:thepeculiardutyofayoungmanwhohasbeensofortunate,as

I have been, in earlypreferment;and, I trust, I amresigned.Perhapsnotthelesssofromfeelingadoubtofmypositive happiness had myfaircousinhonouredmewithher hand; for I have oftenobserved, that resignation isnever so perfect aswhen theblessingdeniedbeginstolosesomewhat of its value in ourestimation. You will not, Ihope,considermeasshowinganydisrespecttoyourfamily,

my dear madam, by thuswithdrawing my pretensionsto your daughter’s favour,without having paid yourselfand Mr. Bennet thecomplimentofrequestingyouto interposeyourauthority inmy behalf.My conductmay,I fear, be objectionable inhaving accepted mydismission from yourdaughter’s lips instead ofyour own; but we are allliable to error. I have

certainly meant well throughthe whole affair. My objecthasbeentosecureanamiablecompanion for myself, withdue consideration for theadvantageofallyour family;andifmymannerhasbeenatall reprehensible, I here begleavetoapologise.”

Chapter21

The discussion of Mr.Collins’s offer was nownearly at an end, andElizabeth had only to sufferfrom the uncomfortablefeelingsnecessarily attendingit, and occasionally fromsome peevish allusion of her

mother.Asforthegentlemanhimself, his feelings werechiefly expressed, not byembarrassment or dejection,orbytryingtoavoidher,butby stiffness of manner, andresentful silence.He scarcelyever spoke to her; and theassiduousattentionswhichhehad been so sensible ofhimself were transferred forthe rest of the day to MissLucas, whose civility inlistening to him was a

seasonable relief to them all,andespeciallytoherfriend.The morrow produced no

abatement of Mrs. Bennet’sill humour or ill health. Mr.Collinswas also in the samestateofangrypride.Elizabethhadhopedthathisresentmentmight shorten his visit, buthisplandidnotappearintheleast affected by it. He wasalways to have gone onSaturday, and to Saturday he

stillmeanttostay.After breakfast, the girls

walked to Meryton, toenquireifMr.Wickhamwerereturned, and to lament overhis absence from theNetherfield ball. He joinedthem on their entering thetown, and attended them totheir aunt’s,where his regretandvexationandtheconcernof every body were welltalked over. To Elizabeth,

however, he voluntarilyacknowledged that thenecessity of his absence hadbeenself-imposed.“I found,” said he, “as the

time drew near, that I hadbetternotmeetMr.Darcy;—that to be in the same room,the same party with him forso many hours together,might be more than I couldbear, and that scenes mightariseunpleasanttomorethan

myself.”She highly approved his

forbearance; and they hadleisureforafulldiscussionofit, and for all thecommendation which theycivilly bestowed on eachother, as Wickham andanother officer walked backwith themtoLongbourn,andduring the walk heparticularly attended to her.His accompanying them was

a double advantage; she feltall the compliment it offeredto herself; and it was mostacceptable as an occasion ofintroducing him to her fatherandmother.Soon after their return, a

letter was delivered to MissBennet: it came fromNetherfield, and was openedimmediately. The envelopecontained a sheet of elegant,little, hot-pressed paper,ai

well covered with a lady’sfair, flowing hand; andElizabeth saw her sister’scountenance change as sheread it, andsawherdwellingintently on some particularpassages. Jane recollectedherself soon; and putting theletteraway,triedtojoin,withherusualcheerfulness, in thegeneral conversation: butElizabeth felt an anxiety onthe subject which drew offher attention even from

Wickham;andnosoonerhadhe and his companion takenleave, than a glance fromJaneinvitedhertofollowherup stairs. When they hadgained theirown room, Jane,taking out her letter, said,“This is from CarolineBingley:what it containshassurprisedmeagooddeal.Thewhole party have leftNetherfield by this time, andareontheirwaytotown:andwithout any intention of

comingbackagain.Youshallhearwhatshesays.”She then read the first

sentence aloud, whichcomprised the information oftheir having just resolved tofollow their brother to towndirectly,andoftheirmeaningtodinethatdayinGrosvenorStreet,whereMr.Hursthadahouse.Thenextwas in thesewords:—“I do not pretend toregret any thing I shall leave

in Hertfordshire except yoursociety, my dearest friend;but we will hope, at somefuture period, to enjoymanyreturns of that delightfulintercourse we have known,and in the meanwhile maylessen the pain of separationby a very frequent and mostunreserved correspondence. Idepend on you for that.” Tothese high-flown expressionsElizabethlistenedwithalltheinsensibility of distrust; and

though the suddenness oftheir removal surprised her,shesawnothinginitreallytolament: it was not to besupposed that their absencefrom Netherfield wouldprevent Mr. Bingley’s beingthere; and as to the loss oftheir society, she waspersuaded that Jane mustsooncease to regard it in theenjoymentofhis.“It is unlucky,” said she,

after a short pause, “that youshouldnotbeabletoseeyourfriends before they leave thecountry. But may we nothopethattheperiodoffuturehappiness, to which MissBingley looks forward, mayarrive earlier than she isaware,and that thedelightfulintercourse you have knownas friends will be renewedwith yet greater satisfactionas sisters? Mr. Bingley willnotbedetainedinLondonby

them.”“Caroline decidedly says

that none of the party willreturn into Hertfordshire thiswinter.Iwillreadittoyou.“‘Whenmybrotherleftus

yesterday, he imagined thatthe business which took himto London might beconcluded in three or fourdays;but asweare certain itcannotbeso,andatthesametime convinced that when

Charles gets to town he willbe in no hurry to leave itagain,wehavedeterminedonfollowinghimthither, thathemay not be obliged to spendhis vacant hours in acomfortless hotel. Many ofmy acquaintance are alreadythere for thewinter: Iwish Icould hear that you, mydearest friend, had anyintentionofmakingoneinthecrowd,butofthatIdespair.Isincerely hope your

Christmas in Hertfordshiremay abound in the gaietieswhich that season generallybrings; and that your beauxwill be so numerous as toprevent your feeling the lossofthethreeofwhomweshalldepriveyou.’“It is evident by this,”

added Jane, “that he comesbacknomorethiswinter.”“It is only evident that

Miss Bingley does not mean

heshould.”“Whywillyouthinkso?It

mustbehisowndoing;he ishis own master. But you donotknowall. Iwill readyouthe passage whichparticularly hurts me. I willhave no reserves from you.‘Mr.Darcyisimpatienttoseehis sister; and, to confess thetruth, we are scarcely lesseager to meet her again. IreallydonotthinkGeorgiana

Darcy has her equal forbeauty, elegance, andaccomplishments; and theaffection she inspires inLouisa and myself isheightened into somethingstillmoreinterestingfromthehope we dare to entertain ofherbeinghereafteroursister.IdonotknowwhetherIeverbefore mentioned to you myfeelingson this subject,but Iwill not leave the countrywithoutconfidingthem,andI

trust you will not esteemthem unreasonable. Mybrother admires her greatlyalready;hewillhavefrequentopportunitynowofseeingheron themost intimate footing;her relations all wish theconnection as much as hisown; and a sister’s partialityisnotmisleadingme,Ithink,when I call Charles mostcapable of engaging anywoman’sheart.Withallthesecircumstances to favour an

attachment, and nothing toprevent it, am I wrong, mydearestJane, in indulging thehope of an event which willsecure the happiness of somany?’ What think you ofthis sentence, my dearLizzy?” said Jane, as shefinished it. “Is it not clearenough?Doesitnotexpresslydeclare, that Caroline neitherexpects nor wishes me to behersister;thatsheisperfectlyconvinced of her brother’s

indifference; and that if shesuspects the nature of myfeelings for him she means(most kindly!) to put me onmy guard. Can there be anyotheropiniononthesubject?”“Yes,therecan;formineis

totally different. Will youhearit?”“Mostwillingly.”“Youshallhaveitinafew

words.MissBingleyseesthather brother is in love with

you, andwantshim tomarryMissDarcy.Shefollowshimto town in the hope ofkeeping him there, and triesto persuade you that he doesnotcareaboutyou.”Janeshookherhead.“Indeed,Jane,yououghtto

believeme.No onewho hasever seen you together candoubt his affection; MissBingley, I am sure, cannot:she is not such a simpleton.

Could she have seen half asmuch love in Mr. Darcy forherself, she would haveordered herwedding clothes.But the case is this:—we arenot rich enough or grandenough for them; and she isthemoreanxious togetMissDarcy for her brother, fromthenotionthatwhentherehasbeen one intermarriage, shemay have less trouble inachievinga second; inwhichthere is certainly some

ingenuity, and I dare say itwould succeed if Miss DeBourghwere out of theway.But, my dearest Jane, youcannotseriouslyimaginethat,because Miss Bingley tellsyou her brother greatlyadmiresMissDarcy, he is inthe smallest degree lesssensible of your merit thanwhenhetookleaveofyouonTuesday; or that itwill be inher power to persuade himthat, instead of being in love

withyou,he isverymuch inlovewithherfriend.”“If we thought alike of

Miss Bingley,” replied Jane,“your representation of allthis might make me quiteeasy. But I know thefoundationisunjust.Carolineis incapable of wilfullydeceiving any one; and allthatIcanhopeinthiscaseis,thatsheisdeceivedherself.”“That is right. You could

nothavestartedamorehappyidea, since you will not takecomfort in mine: believe hertobedeceived,byallmeans.You have now done yourdutybyher,andmustfretnolonger.”“But,mydear sister, can I

behappy,evensupposingthebest, in accepting a manwhose sisters and friends areall wishing him to marryelsewhere?”

“You must decide foryourself,” said Elizabeth;“and if, upon maturedeliberation,youfindthatthemiseryofdisobliginghistwosisters is more thanequivalenttothehappinessofbeing his wife, I advise you,byallmeans,torefusehim.”“How can you talk so?”

said Jane, faintly smiling;“youmustknow,that,thoughI should be exceedingly

grieved at theirdisapprobation, I could nothesitate.”“Ididnotthinkyouwould;

and that being the case, Icannotconsideryoursituationwithmuchcompassion.”“But ifhe returnsnomore

this winter, my choice willneverberequired.Athousandthings may arise in sixmonths.”The idea of his returning

no more Elizabeth treatedwith the utmost contempt. Itappeared to her merely thesuggestion of Caroline’sinterested wishes; and shecould not for a momentsuppose that those wishes,however openly or artfullyspoken, could influence ayoung man so totallyindependentofeveryone.She represented to her

sister,asforciblyaspossible,

what she felt on the subject,and had soon the pleasure ofseeingitshappyeffect.Jane’stemper was not desponding;and shewas gradually led tohope,thoughthediffidenceofaffection sometimesovercame the hope, thatBingley would return toNetherfield,andanswereverywishofherheart.They agreed that Mrs.

Bennet should only hear of

the departure of the family,withoutbeingalarmedonthescore of the gentleman’sconduct;buteven thispartialcommunication gave her agreatdealofconcern,andshebewailed it as exceedinglyunluckythattheladiesshouldhappen to go away just asthey were all getting sointimate together. Afterlamenting it, however, atsome length, she had theconsolation of thinking that

Mr. Bingley would be soondown again, and soon diningat Longbourn; and theconclusion of all was thecomfortable declaration, that,though he had been invitedonly to a family dinner, shewould take care to have twofullcourses.

Chapter22

TheBennetswereengagedtodine with the Lucases; andagain,during thechiefof theday,wasMissLucas sokindas to listen to Mr. Collins.Elizabethtookanopportunityofthankingher.“Itkeepshimin good humour,” said she,

“and I am more obliged toyou than I can express.”Charlotte assured her friendof her satisfaction in beinguseful, and that it amplyrepaid her for the littlesacrifice of her time. Thiswas very amiable; butCharlotte’skindnessextendedfartherthanElizabethhadanyconception of:—its objectwas nothing less than tosecureherfromanyreturnofMr. Collins’s addresses, by

engaging them towardsherself. Such was MissLucas’s scheme; andappearances were sofavourable, that when theyparted at night, she wouldhave felt almost sure ofsuccess ifhehadnotbeen toleave Hertfordshire so verysoon. But here she didinjustice to the fire andindependence of hischaracter; for it led him toescape out of Longbourn

House thenextmorningwithadmirable sliness, and hastento Lucas Lodge to throwhimself at her feet. He wasanxioustoavoidthenoticeofhiscousins,fromaconvictionthat, if they saw him depart,they could not fail toconjecture his design, andhewas not willing to have theattemptknowntillitssuccesscouldbeknownlikewise;for,thoughfeelingalmostsecure,andwithreason,forCharlotte

had been tolerablyencouraging, he wascomparatively diffident sincethe adventure ofWednesday.His reception, however, wasof the most flattering kind.Miss Lucas perceived himfroman upperwindowas hewalked towards the house,and instantly set out to meethim accidentally in the lane.But little had she dared tohope that so much love andeloquenceawaitedherthere.

In as short a time as Mr.Collins’s long speecheswouldallow,everythingwassettled between them to thesatisfaction of both; and asthey entered the house, heearnestly entreated her toname the day that was tomake him the happiest ofmen; and though such asolicitation must be wavedfor the present, the lady feltno inclination to trifle withhis happiness. The stupidity

with which he was favouredby nature must guard hiscourtship from any charmthat could make a womanwish for its continuance; andMiss Lucas, who acceptedhimsolelyfromthepureanddisinterested desire of anestablishment, cared not howsoon that establishment weregained.Sir William and Lady

Lucas were speedily applied

to for their consent; and itwas bestowed with a mostjoyful alacrity. Mr. Collins’spresentcircumstancesmadeitamosteligiblematchfortheirdaughter,towhomtheycouldgive little fortune; and hisprospects of future wealthwere exceedingly fair. LadyLucas began directly tocalculate, with more interestthan the matter had everexcited before, how manyyears longerMr.Bennetwas

likelytolive;andSirWilliamgave it as his decidedopinion, that whenever Mr.Collins should be inpossession of the Longbournestate, it would be highlyexpedientthatbothheandhiswife should make theirappearance at St. James’s.The whole family in shortwere properly overjoyed onthe occasion. The youngergirlsformedhopesofcoming

outaj a year or two soonerthan they might otherwisehavedone;andtheboyswererelieved from theirapprehension of Charlotte’sdying an oldmaid. Charlotteherself was tolerablycomposed. She had gainedher point, and had time toconsiderofit.Herreflectionswere in general satisfactory.Mr. Collins, to be sure, wasneither sensible nor

agreeable: his society wasirksome, and his attachmenttohermustbeimaginary.Butstillhewouldbeherhusband.Without thinking highlyeither of men or ofmatrimony, marriage hadalwaysbeenherobject:itwastheonlyhonourableprovisionfor well-educated youngwomenofsmallfortune,and,however uncertain of givinghappiness, must be theirpleasantest preservative from

want. This preservative shehad now obained; and at theage of twenty-seven,withouthaving ever been handsome,shefeltallthegoodluckofit.The least agreeablecircumstance in the businesswas the surprise it mustoccasiontoElizabethBennet,whose friendship she valuedbeyond that of any otherperson. Elizabeth wouldwonder, and probably wouldblame her; and though her

resolution was not to beshaken, her feelings must behurtbysuchadisapprobation.She resolved to give her theinformation herself; andtherefore charged Mr.Collins, when he returned toLongbourn todinner, todropno hint of what had passedbefore any of the family. Apromise of secrecy was ofcourse very dutifully given,but it could not be keptwithout difficulty; for the

curiosity excited by his longabsence burst forth in suchvery direct questions on hisreturn, as required someingenuity to evade, and hewas at the same timeexercising great self-denial,forhewaslongingtopublishhisprosperouslove.As he was to begin his

journey too early on themorrow to see any of thefamily, the ceremony of

leave-taking was performedwhentheladiesmovedforthenight; andMrs. Bennet,withgreat politeness andcordiality, said how happythey should be to see him atLongbourn again, wheneverhis other engagements mightallowhimtovisitthem.“My dear madam,” he

replied, “this invitation isparticularly gratifying,becauseitiswhatIhavebeen

hoping to receive; and youmay be very certain that Ishall avail myself of it assoonaspossible.”They were all astonished;

and Mr. Bennet, who couldby no means wish for sospeedy a return, immediatelysaid,—“Butis therenotdangerof

Lady Catherine’sdisapprobationhere,mygoodsir? You had better neglect

your relations than run therisk of offending yourpatroness.”“My dear sir,” repliedMr.

Collins, “I am particularlyobliged to you for thisfriendlycaution,andyoumaydependuponmynottakingsomaterial a step without herLadyship’sconcurrence.”“You cannot be too much

onyourguard.Riskanythingrather than her displeasure;

andifyoufindit likelytoberaised by your coming to usagain, which I should thinkexceedingly probable, stayquietly at home, and besatisfiedthatweshalltakenooffence.”“Believe me, my dear sir,

my gratitude is warmlyexcited by such affectionateattention; and, depend uponit, you will speedily receivefrommealetterofthanksfor

thisaswellasforeveryothermark of your regard duringmy stay in Hertfordshire. Asfor my fair cousins, thoughmy absencemaynot be longenoughtorenderitnecessary,Ishallnowtakethelibertyofwishing them health andhappiness, not excepting mycousinElizabeth.”With proper civilities, the

ladies then withdrew; all ofthemequallysurprisedtofind

that he meditated a quickreturn.Mrs.Bennetwishedtounderstand by it that hethought of paying hisaddresses to one of heryounger girls, and Marymighthavebeenprevailedonto accept him. She rated hisabilities much higher thananyoftheothers:therewasasolidity in his reflectionswhich often struck her; andthoughbynomeanssocleverasherself,shethoughtthat,if

encouraged to read andimprove himself by such anexample as hers, he mightbecome a very agreeablecompanion. But on thefollowing morning everyhope of this kind was doneaway.MissLucascalledsoonafter breakfast, and in aprivate conference withElizabethrelatedtheeventofthedaybefore.The possibility of Mr.

Collins’s fancying himself inlovewithherfriendhadonceoccurred to Elizabeth withinthe last day or two: but thatCharlotte could encouragehim seemed almost as farfrom possibility as that shecould encourage him herself;and her astonishment wasconsequently so great as toovercome at first the boundsof decorum, and she couldnothelpcryingout,—

“Engaged to Mr. Collins!my dear Charlotte,impossible!”The steady countenance

which Miss Lucas hadcommanded in telling herstory gave way to amomentaryconfusionhereonreceiving so direct areproach;though,asitwasnomore than she expected, shesoonregainedhercomposure,andcalmlyreplied,—

“Why should you besurprised,mydearEliza?Doyou think it incredible thatMr.Collinsshouldbeabletoprocure any woman’s goodopinion, because he was notso happy as to succeed withyou?”But Elizabeth had now

recollected herself; and,making a strong effort for it,was able to assure her, withtolerable firmness, that the

prospect of their relationshipwas highly grateful to her,and that she wished her allimaginablehappiness.“I see what you are

feeling,” replied Charlotte:“youmust be surprised, verymuch surprised, so lately asMr. Collins was wishing tomarry you. But when youhave had time to think it allover, I hope you will besatisfied with what I have

done. Iamnot romantic,youknow.Ineverwas.Iaskonlya comfortable home; and,considering Mr. Collins’scharacter, connections, andsituation in life, I amconvinced thatmy chance ofhappinesswith him is as fairas most people can boast onenteringthemarriagestate.”Elizabethquietly answered

“undoubtedly;” and, after anawkwardpause,theyreturned

to the rest of the family.Charlotte did not stay muchlonger; and Elizabeth wasthen left to reflect on whatshe had heard. It was a longtimebeforeshebecameatallreconciled to the idea of sounsuitable a match. Thestrangeness of Mr. Collins’smaking two offers ofmarriage within three dayswasnothingincomparisonofhis being now accepted. Shehad always felt that

Charlotte’s opinion ofmatrimony was not exactlylike her own; but she couldnothavesupposeditpossiblethat,when called into action,she would have sacrificedevery better feeling toworldlyadvantage.Charlotte,thewifeofMr.Collins,wasamost humiliating picture!And to the pang of a frienddisgracingherselfandsunkinher esteem was added thedistressing conviction that it

wasimpossibleforthatfriendto be tolerably happy in thelotshehadchosen.

Chapter23

Elizabethwassittingwithhermother and sisters, reflectingon what she had heard, anddoubting whether she wasauthorised to mention it,when Sir William Lucashimself appeared, sentbyhisdaughter to announce her

engagement to the family.With many compliments tothem, and much self-gratulationontheprospectofa connection between thehouses, he unfolded thematter,—to an audience notmerely wondering, butincredulous; forMrs.Bennet,with more perseverance thanpoliteness, protested he mustbe entirely mistaken; andLydia,alwaysunguardedandoften uncivil, boisterously

exclaimed,—“Good Lord! Sir William,

how can you tell such astory?Donot you know thatMr. Collins wants to marryLizzy?”Nothing less than the

complaisance of a courtiercould have borne withoutanger such treatment: but SirWilliam’s good-breedingcarriedhimthroughitall;andthoughhebeggedleavetobe

positiveas to the truthofhisinformation,helistenedtoalltheir impertinence with themostforbearingcourtesy.Elizabeth, feeling it

incumbent on her to relievehim from so unpleasant asituation, now put herselfforward to confirm hisaccount, by mentioning herprior knowledge of it fromCharlotte herself; andendeavoured to put a stop to

the exclamations of hermother and sisters, by theearnestness of hercongratulations to SirWilliam, in which she wasreadilyjoinedbyJane,andbymaking a variety of remarkson the happiness that mightbe expected from the match,theexcellentcharacterofMr.Collins, and the convenientdistance of Hunsford fromLondon.

Mrs. Bennet was, in fact,toomuchoverpoweredtosayagreatdealwhileSirWilliamremained; but no sooner hadheleftthemthanherfeelingsfoundarapidvent.Inthefirstplace, she persisted indisbelieving thewholeof thematter; secondly, she wasverysurethatMr.Collinshadbeen taken in; thirdly, shetrusted that theywouldneverbe happy together; and,fourthly,thatthematchmight

be broken off. Twoinferences, however, wereplainly deduced from thewhole: one, that Elizabethwas the real cause of all themischief; and the other, thatshe herself had beenbarbarouslyusedbythemall;and on these two points sheprincipally dwelt during therestoftheday.Nothingcouldconsole and nothing appeaseher.Nordidthatdaywearouther resentment. A week

elapsed before she could seeElizabeth without scoldingher: a month passed awaybeforeshecouldspeak toSirWilliam or Lady Lucaswithoutbeingrude;andmanymonthsweregonebeforeshecould at all forgive theirdaughter.Mr. Bennet’s emotions

were much more tranquil onthe occasion, and such as hedidexperiencehepronounced

tobeofamostagreeablesort;foritgratifiedhim,hesaid,todiscoverthatCharlotteLucas,whom he had been used tothink tolerably sensible, wasas foolish as his wife, andmore foolish than hisdaughter!Jane confessed herself a

little surprised at the matchbut she said less of herastonishment than of herearnest desire for their

happiness; nor couldElizabeth persuade her toconsider it as improbable.KittyandLydiawerefarfromenvyingMiss Lucas, forMr.Collins was only aclergyman; and it affectedtheminnootherwaythanasa piece of news to spread atMeryton.Lady Lucas could not be

insensible of triumph onbeing able to retort on Mrs.

Bennetthecomfortofhavinga daughterwellmarried; andshe called at Longbournrather oftener than usual tosay how happy she was,though Mrs. Bennet’s sourlooksand ill-natured remarksmight have been enough todrivehappinessaway.Between Elizabeth and

Charlottetherewasarestraintwhich kept them mutuallysilent on the subject; and

Elizabeth felt persuaded thatnorealconfidencecouldeversubsist between them again.Her disappointment inCharlottemade her turnwithfonderregardtohersister,ofwhose rectitude and delicacyshe was sure her opinioncould never be shaken, andforwhosehappinessshegrewdaily more anxious, asBingleyhadnowbeengoneaweek, andnothingwasheardofhisreturn.

Jane had sent Caroline anearlyanswertoherletter,andwascountingthedaystillshemight reasonably hope tohear again. The promisedletter of thanks from Mr.Collins arrived on Tuesday,addressed to their father, andwrittenwithallthesolemnityof gratitude which a twelve-month’s abode in the familymight have prompted. Afterdischarginghisconscienceonthat head, he proceeded to

inform them, with manyrapturous expressions, of hishappiness in having obtainedthe affectionof their amiableneighbour, Miss Lucas, andthen explained that it wasmerely with the view ofenjoying her society that hehad been so ready to closewiththeirkindwishofseeinghim again at Longbourn,whither he hoped to be ableto return on Mondayfortnight;forLadyCatherine,

he added, so heartilyapproved his marriage, thatshewishedittotakeplaceassoon as possible, which hetrusted would be anunanswerable argument withhisamiableCharlottetonamean early day formaking himthehappiestofmen.Mr. Collins’s return into

Hertfordshirewasnolongeramatter of pleasure to Mrs.Bennet. On the contrary, she

was as much disposed tocomplainofitasherhusband.It was very strange that heshould come to Longbourninsteadof toLucasLodge; itwas also very inconvenientandexceedinglytroublesome.She hated having visitors inthe house while her healthwassoindifferent,andloverswere of all people the mostdisagreeable. Such were thegentle murmurs of Mrs.Bennet, and they gave way

onlytothegreaterdistressofMr. Bingley’s continuedabsence.Neither Jane nor Elizabeth

were comfortable on thissubject.Dayafterdaypassedaway without bringing anyother tidings of him than thereportwhichshortlyprevailedinMerytonofhis comingnomoretoNetherfieldthewholewinter;a reportwhichhighlyincensed Mrs. Bennet, and

which she never failed tocontradict as a mostscandalousfalsehood.Even Elizabeth began to

fear—not that Bingley wasindifferent—but that hissisterswouldbesuccessfulinkeepinghimaway.Unwillingasshewastoadmitanideasodestructive of Jane’shappiness, and sodishonourable to the stabilityof her lover, she could not

prevent its frequentlyrecurring. The united effortsof his two unfeeling sistersand of his overpoweringfriend, assisted by theattractionsofMissDarcyandthe amusements of London,might be too much, shefeared,for thestrengthofhisattachment.As for Jane, her anxiety

under this suspense was, ofcourse, more painful than

Elizabeth’s:butwhatevershefelt she was desirous ofconcealing; and betweenherself and Elizabeth,therefore, the subject wasnever alluded to. But as nosuch delicacy restrained hermother, an hour seldompassed in which she did nottalk of Bingley, express herimpatience for his arrival, oreven require Jane to confessthat if he did not come backshe should think herself very

ill used. It needed all Jane’ssteadymildness tobear theseattacks with tolerabletranquillity.Mr. Collins returned most

punctually on the Mondayfortnight,buthis receptionatLongbourn was not quite sograciousasithadbeenonhisfirst introduction.Hewastoohappy, however, to needmuch attention; and, luckilyfortheothers,thebusinessof

love-making relieved themfrom a great deal of hiscompany.The chief of everyday was spent by him atLucas Lodge, and hesometimes returned toLongbourn only in time tomake an apology for hisabsence before the familywenttobed.Mrs.Bennetwasreallyina

most pitiable state. The verymention of any thing

concerning the match threwher into an agony of ill-humour, and wherever shewentshewassureofhearingittalkedof.ThesightofMissLucas was odious to her. Asher successor in that house,sheregardedherwithjealousabhorrence. WheneverCharlotte came to see them,she concluded her to beanticipating the hour ofpossession;andwhenevershespoke in a low voice to Mr.

Collins, was convinced thatthey were talking of theLongbourn estate, andresolving to turn herself andherdaughtersoutofthehouseas soon as Mr. Bennet wasdead.Shecomplainedbitterlyofallthistoherhusband.“Indeed,Mr.Bennet,”said

she, “it is very hard to thinkthat Charlotte Lucas shouldeverbemistressofthishouse,that I should be forced to

makewayforher,andlivetoseehertakemyplaceinit!”“Mydear,donotgiveway

tosuchgloomythoughts.Letushope forbetter things.LetusflatterourselvesthatImaybethesurvivor.”This was not very

consoling to Mrs. Bennet;and, therefore, instead ofmakinganyanswer,shewentonasbefore.“Icannotbeartothinkthat

they should have all thisestate. If it was not for theentail,Ishouldnotmindit.”“What should not you

mind?”“I should not mind any

thingatall.”“Let us be thankful that

youarepreservedfromastateofsuchinsensibility.”“I never can be thankful,

Mr. Bennet, for any thingabouttheentail.Howanyone

could have the conscience toentail away an estate fromone’sowndaughtersIcannotunderstand; and all for thesakeofMr.Collins,too!Whyshould he have it more thananybodyelse?”“I leave it to yourself to

determine,”saidMr.Bennet.

VolumetheSecond

Chapter1

MissBingley’s letter arrived,andputanend todoubt.Thevery first sentence conveyedthe assurance of their beingall settled in London for thewinter, and concluded withher brother’s regret at not

having had time to pay hisrespects to his friends inHertfordshire before he leftthecountry.Hope was over, entirely

over; and when Jane couldattendtotherestoftheletter,she found little, except theprofessed affection of thewriter,thatcouldgiveheranycomfort.MissDarcy’s praiseoccupied the chief of it. Hermany attractions were again

dwelt on; and Carolineboasted joyfully of theirincreasing intimacy, andventured to predict theaccomplishmentofthewisheswhich had been unfolded inher former letter. She wrotealsowithgreatpleasureofherbrother’s being an inmate ofMr. Darcy’s house, andmentionedwithrapturessomeplansofthelatterwithregardtonewfurniture.

Elizabeth, to whom Janevery soon communicated thechief of all this, heard it insilent indignation. Her heartwasdividedbetweenconcernfor her sister and resentmentagainst all others. ToCaroline’s assertion of herbrother’s being partial toMiss Darcy, she paid nocredit. That he was reallyfondof Jane, shedoubtednomorethanshehadeverdone;andmuch as she had always

beendisposedtolikehim,shecouldnotthinkwithoutanger,hardly without contempt, onthat easiness of temper, thatwant of proper resolution,which now made him theslaveofhisdesigningfriends,and led him to sacrifice hisown happiness to the capriceof their inclinations. Had hisown happiness, however,been the only sacrifice, hemight have been allowed tosport with it in whatever

manner he thought best; buthersister’swasinvolvedinit,as she thought he must besensible himself. It was asubject, in short, on whichreflection would be longindulged, and must beunavailing.Shecouldthinkofnothingelse;andyet,whetherBingley’s regard had reallydied away, or weresuppressed by his friend’sinterference; whether he hadbeen aware of Jane’s

attachment,orwhether ithadescaped his observation;whatever were the case,though her opinion of himmust be materially affectedby thedifference,her sister’ssituation remained the same,herpeaceequallywounded.Adayortwopassedbefore

Janehadcourage to speakofher feelings toElizabeth; butat last, on Mrs. Bennet’sleavingthemtogether,aftera

longer irritation than usualabout Netherfield and itsmaster, she could not helpsaying,—“Oh that my dear mother

had more command overherself; shecanhaveno ideaof the pain she gives me byher continual reflections onhim.But Iwill not repine. Itcannot last long. He will beforgot,andweshallallbeaswewerebefore.”

Elizabeth looked at hersister with increduloussolicitude,butsaidnothing.“You doubt me,” cried

Jane, slightly colouring;“indeed you have no reason.He may live in my memoryas the most amiable man ofmy acquaintance, but that isall. I have nothing either tohope or fear, and nothing toreproach him with. ThankGod, I have not that pain.A

little time, therefore—I shallcertainly try to get the better——”With a stronger voice she

soon added, “I have thiscomfort immediately, that ithas not been more than anerroroffancyonmyside,andthat it has done no harm toanyonebutmyself.”“MydearJane,”exclaimed

Elizabeth,“youaretoogood.Your sweetness and

disinterestedness are reallyangelic; I do not know whattosaytoyou.IfeelasifIhadnever done you justice, orlovedyouasyoudeserve.”Miss Bennet eagerly

disclaimed all extraordinarymerit, and threw back thepraise on her sister’s warmaffection.“Nay,”saidElizabeth,“this

isnot fair.Youwish to thinkall theworldrespectable,and

are hurt if I speak ill of anybody.Ionlywanttothinkyouperfect, and you set yourselfagainstit.Donotbeafraidofmy running into any excess,of my encroaching on yourprivilege of universal good-will.Youneednot.Therearefew people whom I reallylove,andstillfewerofwhomI think well. Themore I seeof the world, the more am Idissatisfiedwithit;andeverydayconfirmsmybeliefofthe

inconsistency of all humancharacters, and of the littledependence that can beplaced on the appearance ofeither merit or sense. I havemetwithtwoinstanceslately:one I will not mention, theother isCharlotte’smarriage.It is unaccountable! in everyviewitisunaccountable!”“My dear Lizzy, do not

give way to such feelings asthese. They will ruin your

happiness. You do not makeallowance enough fordifference of situation andtemper. Consider Mr.Collins’s respectability, andCharlotte’s prudent, steadycharacter.Rememberthatsheis one of a large family; thatas to fortune, it is a mosteligible match; and be readyto believe, for every body’ssake, that she may feelsomething like regard andesteemforourcousin.”

“Toobligeyou,Iwouldtryto believe almost any thing,but no one else could bebenefited by such a belief asthis;forwereIpersuadedthatCharlotte had any regard forhim, I should only thinkworse of her understandingthan I now do of her heart.Mydear Jane,Mr.Collins isa conceited, pompous,narrow-minded, silly man:you know he is, aswell as Ido;andyoumustfeel,aswell

as I do, that thewomanwhomarries him cannot have aproper way of thinking. Youshallnotdefendher,thoughitisCharlotteLucas.Youshallnot, for the sake of oneindividual, change themeaning of principle andintegrity, nor endeavour topersuadeyourselforme, thatselfishness is prudence, andinsensibility of dangersecurityforhappiness.”

“I must think yourlanguage too strong inspeaking of both,” repliedJane;“andIhopeyouwillbeconvinced of it, by seeingthem happy together. Butenough of this. You alludedto something else. Youmentioned two instances. Icannot misunderstand you;but Ientreatyou,dearLizzy,not to pain me by thinkingthat person to blame, andsayingyouropinionofhimis

sunk. We must not be soready to fancy ourselvesintentionally injured. Wemust not expect a livelyyoung man to be always soguardedandcircumspect.Itisvery often nothing but ourown vanity that deceives us.Women fancy admirationmeansmorethanitdoes.”“And men take care that

theyshould.”“If it is designedly done,

theycannotbejustified;butIhavenoideaoftherebeingsomuch design in the world assomepersonsimagine.”“I am far from attributing

any part of Mr. Bingley’sconduct to design,” saidElizabeth; “but withoutscheming to dowrong, or tomake others unhappy, theremay be error, and theremaybe misery. Thoughtlessness,want of attention to other

people’sfeelings,andwantofresolution, will do thebusiness.”“And do you impute it to

eitherofthose?”“Yes;tothelast.ButifIgo

on, I shall displease you bysayingwhatIthinkofpersonsyou esteem. Stop me whilstyoucan.”“You persist, then, in

supposing his sistersinfluencehim.”

“Yes, in conjunction withhisfriend.”“I cannot believe it. Why

should they try to influencehim?Theycanonlywishhishappiness; and if he isattached to me, no otherwomancansecureit.”“Your first position is

false. They may wish manythings besides his happiness:theymaywishhisincreaseofwealthandconsequence;they

maywishhimtomarryagirlwhohasalltheimportanceofmoney, great connections,andpride.”“Beyond a doubt, they do

wish him to choose MissDarcy,” replied Jane; “butthis may be from betterfeelings than you aresupposing.Theyhaveknownher much longer than theyhaveknownme;nowonderifthey love her better. But,

whatever may be their ownwishes, it is very unlikelythey should have opposedtheir brother’s. What sisterwould thinkherself at libertyto do it, unless there weresomething veryobjectionable? If theybelieved him attached tome,theywouldnottrytopartus;ifhewere so, theycouldnotsucceed. By supposing suchanaffection,youmakeeverybody acting unnaturally and

wrong, and me mostunhappy. Do not distressmebytheidea.Iamnotashamedofhavingbeenmistaken—or,at least, it is slight, it isnothing in comparison ofwhatIshouldfeelinthinkingill of him or his sisters. Letme take it in “the best light,inthelightinwhichitmaybeunderstood.”Elizabethcouldnotoppose

such a wish; and from this

timeMr.Bingley’snamewasscarcely ever mentionedbetweenthem.Mrs.Bennetstillcontinued

to wonder and repine at hisreturning no more; andthough a day seldom passedin which Elizabeth did notaccount for it clearly, thereseemed little chance of herever considering it with lessperplexity. Her daughterendeavoured to convince her

of what she did not believeherself, that his attentions toJane had been merely theeffect of a common andtransientliking,whichceasedwhenhesawhernomore;butthough the probability of thestatementwasadmittedatthetime, she had the same storyto repeat every day. Mrs.Bennet’s best comfort was,that Mr. Bingley must bedownagaininthesummer.

Mr. Bennet treated thematter differently. “So,Lizzy,” said he one day,“yoursisteriscrossedinlove,I find. I congratulate her.Next to beingmarried, a girllikes to be crossed in love alittle now and then. It issomething to think of, andgivesherasortofdistinctionamong her companions.When is your turn to come?You will hardly bear to belongoutdonebyJane.Nowis

your time. Here are officersenough at Meryton todisappoint all the youngladies in the country. LetWickhambeyourman.Heisa pleasant fellow, andwouldjiltyoucreditably.”“Thankyou, sir, but a less

agreeable man would satisfyme. We must not all expectJane’sgoodfortune.”“True,” said Mr. Bennet;

“but it is a comfort to think

that, whatever of that kindmay befall you, you have anaffectionate mother who willalwaysmakethemostofit.”Mr. Wickham’s society

was of material service indispelling the gloom whichthe late perverse occurrenceshad thrown on many of theLongbourn family.They sawhim often, and to his otherrecommendations was nowadded that of general

unreserve.ThewholeofwhatElizabeth had already heard,hisclaimsonMr.Darcy,andall that he had suffered fromhim, was now openlyacknowledged and publiclycanvassed; and every bodywas pleased to think howmuch they had alwaysdisliked Mr. Darcy beforetheyhadknownany thingofthematter.Miss Bennet was the only

creature who could supposethere might be anyextenuating circumstances inthe case unknown to thesociety of Hertfordshire: hermild and steady candouralways pleaded forallowances, and urged thepossibilityofmistakes;butbyevery body else Mr. Darcywas condemned as the worstofmen.

Chapter2

After a week spent inprofessions of love andschemes of felicity, Mr.Collins was called from hisamiable Charlotte by thearrival of Saturday.The painofseparation,however,mightbe alleviated on his side, by

preparationsfor the receptionofhisbride,ashehadreasontohope, that shortly afterhisnextreturnintoHertfordshire,the day would be fixed thatwastomakehimthehappiestofmen.He took leaveofhisrelations at Longbourn withasmuchsolemnityasbefore;wishedhisfaircousinshealthand happiness again, andpromised their father anotherletterofthanks.

On the followingMonday,Mrs.Bennethad thepleasureof receiving her brother andhiswife,whocame,asusual,to spend the Christmas atLongbourn.Mr.Gardinerwasa sensible, gentlemanlikeman, greatly superior to hissister, as well by nature aseducation. The Netherfieldladies would have haddifficulty in believing that amanwho lived by trade, andwithin view of his own

warehouses, could have beenso well bred and agreeable.Mrs. Gardiner, who wasseveral years younger thanMrs.BennetandMrs.Philips,was an amiable, intelligent,elegant woman, and a greatfavourite with all herLongbourn nieces. Betweenthe two eldest and herself,especially, there subsisted avery particular regard. Theyhad frequently been stayingwithherintown.

The first part of Mrs.Gardiner’s business on herarrival was to distribute herpresents and describe thenewest fashions. When thiswas done, she had a lessactivepart toplay.Itbecameherturntolisten.Mrs.Bennethad many grievances torelate, andmuch tocomplainof.Theyhadallbeenveryillused since she last saw hersister. Two of her girls hadbeenonthepointofmarriage,

and after all there wasnothinginit.“IdonotblameJane,” she

continued, “for Jane wouldhave got Mr. Bingley if shecould.But,Lizzy!Oh,sister!it is very hard to think thatshe might have been Mr.Collins’s wife by this time,had not it been for her ownperverseness.Hemadeheranoffer in this very room, andshe refused him. The

consequence of it is, thatLady Lucas will have adaughter married before Ihave, and that Longbournestateisjustasmuchentailedasever.TheLucasesareveryartful people indeed, sister.Theyareallforwhattheycanget. I am sorry to say it ofthem,butsoitis.Itmakesmevery nervous and poorly, tobe thwarted so in my ownfamily, and to haveneighbours who think of

themselves before any bodyelse. However, your comingjustatthistimeisthegreatestof comforts, and I am veryglad to hearwhat you tell usoflongsleeves.”Mrs. Gardiner, to whom

the chief of this news hadbeen given before, in thecourse of Jane andElizabeth’s correspondencewith her, made her sister aslight answer, and in

compassion to her niecesturnedtheconversation.WhenalonewithElizabeth

afterwards, she spoke moreon the subject. “It seemslikely to have been adesirable match for Jane,”said she. “I am sorry itwentoff. But these things happensooften!Ayoungman,suchas you describeMr.Bingley,so easily falls in lovewith apretty girl for a few weeks,

and when accident separatesthem so easily forgets her,that these sort ofinconstancies are veryfrequent.”“An excellent consolation

in its way,” said Elizabeth;“butitwillnotdoforus.Wedo not suffer by accident. Itdoesnotoftenhappenthattheinterference of friends willpersuade a young man ofindependent fortune to think

no more of a girl whom hewas violently in love withonlyafewdaysbefore.”“But that expression of

‘violently in love’ is sohackneyed, so doubtful, soindefinite, that it gives mevery little idea. It is as oftenapplied to feelings whicharise only from a half hour’sacquaintance as to a real,strong attachment. Pray, howviolent was Mr. Bingley’s

love?”“I never saw a more

promisinginclination;hewasgrowing quite inattentive toother people, and whollyengrossedbyher.Every timetheymet,itwasmoredecidedand remarkable. At his ownballheoffended twoor threeyoung ladies by not askingthemtodance;andIspoketohim twice myself withoutreceiving an answer. Could

there be finer symptoms? Isnotgeneralincivilitytheveryessenceoflove?”“Oh yes! of that kind of

lovewhich I suppose him tohave felt. Poor Jane! I amsorry for her, because, withher disposition, she may notget over it immediately. Ithad better have happened toyou, Lizzy; you would havelaughed yourself out of itsooner.Butdoyou think she

would be prevailed on to goback with us? Change ofscene might be of service—and perhaps a little relieffrom homemay be as usefulasanything.”Elizabeth was exceedingly

pleased with this proposal,and felt persuaded of hersister’sreadyacquiescence.“I hope,” added Mrs.

Gardiner, “that noconsideration with regard to

thisyoungmanwillinfluenceher.Welive insodifferentapart of town, all ourconnections are so different,and,asyouwellknow,wegoout so little, that it is veryimprobable they shouldmeetat all, unlesshe really comestoseeher.”“And that is quite

impossible; for he is now inthecustodyofhisfriend,andMr. Darcy would no more

sufferhim tocallonJane in,such a part of London! Mydear aunt, how could youthink of it? Mr. Darcy mayperhapshaveheardofsuchaplaceasGracechurchStreet,akbut he would hardly think amonth’s ablution enough tocleanse him from itsimpurities, were he once toenter it; and depend upon it,Mr. Bingley never stirswithouthim.”

“Somuchthebetter.Ihopetheywillnotmeetatall.Butdoes not Jane correspondwith his sister? She will notbeabletohelpcalling.”“She will drop the

acquaintanceentirely.”Butinspiteofthecertainty

inwhichElizabethaffectedtoplacethispoint,aswellasthestill more interesting one ofBingley’s being withheldfrom seeing Jane, she felt a

solicitude on the subjectwhich convinced her, onexamination, that shedidnotconsider it entirely hopeless.It was possible, andsometimes she thought itprobable, that his affectionmightbe reanimated, and theinfluence of his friendssuccessfully combatedby themore natural influence ofJane’sattractions.Miss Bennet accepted her

aunt’s invitation withpleasure; and the Bingleyswere no otherwise in herthoughts at the same timethan as she hoped, byCaroline’s not living in thesamehousewithher brother,shemightoccasionally spenda morning with her, withoutanydangerofseeinghim.TheGardinersstaidaweek

atLongbourn;andwhatwiththe Philipses, the Lucases,

andtheofficers,therewasnotadaywithoutitsengagement.Mrs.Bennet had so carefullyprovided for theentertainment of her brotherand sister, that they did notonce sit down to a familydinner.Whentheengagementwas for home, some of theofficers always made part ofit, of which officers Mr.Wickhamwassuretobeone;and on these occasions Mrs.Gardiner,renderedsuspicious

by Elizabeth’s warmcommendation of him,narrowlyobservedthemboth.Without supposing them,fromwhatshesaw,tobeveryseriously in love, theirpreference of each otherwasplain enough to make her alittleuneasy;andsheresolvedto speak to Elizabeth on thesubject before she leftHertfordshire, and representto her the imprudence ofencouraging such an

attachment.To Mrs. Gardiner,

Wickham had one means ofaffording pleasure,unconnectedwith his generalpowers.Abouttenoradozenyears ago, before hermarriage, she had spent aconsiderabletimeinthatverypart of Derbyshire to whichhe belonged. They had,therefore,many acquaintancein common; and, though

Wickhamhadbeenlittletheresince the death of Darcy’sfather, five years before, itwas yet in his power to giveherfresherintelligenceofherformer friends than she hadbeeninthewayofprocuring.Mrs. Gardiner had seen

Pemberley, and known thelate Mr. Darcy by characterperfectly well. Here,consequently, was aninexhaustible subject of

discourse. In comparing herrecollection of Pemberleywith the minute descriptionwhich Wickham could give,and in bestowing her tributeof praise on the character ofits late possessor, she wasdelighting both him andherself. On being madeacquainted with the presentMr.Darcy’streatmentofhim,she tried to remembersomething of thatgentleman’s reputed

disposition,whenquitealad,which might agree with it;and was confident, at last,that she recollected havingheard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcyformerly spokenof as averyproud,ill-naturedboy.

Chapter3

Mrs. Gardiner’s caution toElizabethwaspunctually andkindly given on the firstfavourable opportunity ofspeaking to her alone: afterhonestly telling herwhat shethought,shethuswenton:—“You are too sensible a

girl, Lizzy, to fall in lovemerely because you arewarned against it; and,therefore, I am not afraid ofspeaking openly. Seriously, Iwould have you be on yourguard. Do not involveyourself, or endeavour toinvolve him, in an affectionwhich the want of fortunewould make so veryimprudent. I have nothing tosayagainsthim:he is amostinterestingyoungman;andif

hehadthefortuneheoughttohave, I should think youcouldnotdobetter.But as itis—you must not let yourfancy run away with you.You have sense, and we allexpect you to use it. Yourfatherwould depend on yourresolution and good conduct,I am sure. You must notdisappointyourfather.”“My dear aunt, this is

beingseriousindeed.”

“Yes,andIhopetoengageyoutobeseriouslikewise.”“Well, then, you need not

be under any alarm. I willtake care of myself, and ofMr. Wickham too. He shallnot be in love with me, if Icanpreventit.”“Elizabeth, you are not

seriousnow.”“I beg your pardon. I will

tryagain.AtpresentIamnotin love with Mr. Wickham;

no,Icertainlyamnot.Butheis,beyondallcomparison,themost agreeable man I eversaw—and if he becomesreally attached to me—Ibelieve it will be better thathe should not. I see theimprudence of it. Oh, thatabominable Mr. Darcy! Myfather’s opinion of me doesmethegreatesthonour;andIshouldbemiserabletoforfeitit. My father, however, ispartial to Mr. Wickham. In

short,mydear aunt, I shouldbeverysorrytobethemeansof making any of youunhappy; but since we seeeveryday thatwhere there isaffection young people areseldom withheld, byimmediate want of fortune,from entering intoengagementswitheachother,howcanIpromisetobewiserthan so many of my fellow-creatures, if Iamtempted,orhowamIeventoknowthatit

would be wisdom to resist?All that I can promise you,therefore, is not to be in ahurry.Iwillnotbeinahurryto believe myself his firstobject. When I am incompanywithhim,Iwillnotbewishing.Inshort,Iwilldomybest.”“Perhaps itwill be aswell

ifyoudiscouragehiscominghere so very often. At leastyou should not remind your

motherofinvitinghim.”“As I did the other day,”

said Elizabeth, with aconscioussmile;“verytrue,itwill bewise inme to refrainfromthat.Butdonotimaginethat he is always here sooften. It is on your accountthathehasbeensofrequentlyinvited thisweek.You knowmy mother’s ideas as to thenecessity of constantcompany for her friends.But

really,anduponmyhonour,Iwill try todowhat I think tobe wisest; and now I hopeyouaresatisfied.”Her aunt assured her that

she was; and Elizabethhaving thanked her for thekindness of her hints, theyparted,—awonderfulinstanceofadvicebeinggivenonsucha point without beingresented.Mr. Collins returned into

Hertfordshire soon after ithad been quitted by theGardinersandJane;butashetook up his abode with theLucases, his arrival was nogreat inconvenience to Mrs.Bennet. His marriage wasnow fast approaching; andshe was at length so farresigned as to think itinevitable, and evenrepeatedly to say, in an ill-naturedtone,thatshe“wishedthey might be happy.”

Thursday was to be thewedding day, and onWednesday Miss Lucas paidher farewell visit; and whenshe rose to take leave,Elizabeth, ashamed of hermother’s ungracious andreluctant good wishes, andsincerely affected herself,accompanied her out of theroom. As they went downstairstogether,Charlottesaid,—

“I shall depend on hearingfromyouveryoften,Eliza.”“Thatyoucertainlyshall.”“AndIhaveanotherfavour

toask.Willyoucomeandseeme?”“We shall often meet, I

hope,inHertfordshire.”“I am not likely to leave

Kent for some time. Promiseme, therefore, to come toHunsford.”Elizabethcouldnot refuse,

though she foresaw littlepleasureinthevisit.“My father and Maria are

to come to me in March,”addedCharlotte, “and I hopeyouwill consent tobeof theparty. Indeed,Eliza,youwillbeaswelcometomeaseitherofthem.”The wedding took place:

the bride and bridegroom setoff forKent from the churchdoor, and every body had as

muchtosayortohearonthesubject as usual. Elizabethsoon heard from her friend,andtheircorrespondencewasas regular and frequent as itever had been: that it shouldbe equally unreserved wasimpossible. Elizabeth couldnever address her withoutfeelingthatallthecomfortofintimacy was over; and,though determined not toslackenasacorrespondent, itwas for thesakeofwhathad

been rather than what was.Charlotte’s first letters werereceivedwith a good deal ofeagerness:therecouldnotbutbecuriositytoknowhowshewould speak of her newhome, how she would likeLady Catherine, and howhappy she would darepronounce herself to be;though,whentheletterswereread, Elizabeth felt thatCharlotte expressed herselfoneverypointexactlyasshe

might have foreseen. Shewrote cheerfully, seemedsurrounded with comforts,andmentionednothingwhichshe could not praise. Thehouse, furniture,neighbourhood, and roads,werealltohertaste,andLadyCatherine’s behaviour wasmostfriendlyandobliging.Itwas Mr. Collins’s picture ofHunsford and Rosingsrationally softened; andElizabeth perceived that she

must wait for her own visitthere,toknowtherest.Jane had already written a

few lines to her sister, toannounce theirsafearrival inLondon;andwhenshewroteagain, Elizabeth hoped itwouldbeinherpowertosaysomethingoftheBingleys.Her impatience for this

second letter was as wellrewarded as impatiencegenerally is. Jane had been a

week in town,without eitherseeing or hearing fromCaroline. She accounted forit,however,bysupposingthather last letter to her friendfromLongbournhadbysomeaccidentbeenlost.“My aunt,” she continued,

“isgoingto-morrowintothatpart of the town, and I shalltake the opportunity ofcallinginGrosvenorStreet.”al

She wrote again when the

visit was paid, and she hadseenMissBingley.“Ididnotthink Caroline in spirits,”wereherwords,“butshewasvery glad to see me, andreproachedmeforgivingherno notice of my coming toLondon. I was right,therefore; my last letter hadnever reachedher. Ienquiredafter their brother, of course.He was well, but so muchengagedwithMr.Darcy,thattheyscarcelyeversawhim.I

found that Miss Darcy wasexpected to dinner: I wish Icould see her. My visit wasnot long, as Caroline andMrs.Hurstwere going out. IdaresayIshallsoonseethemhere.”Elizabeth shook her head

over this letter. It convincedher that accident only coulddiscover to Mr. Bingley hersister’sbeingintown.Four weeks passed away,

andJanesawnothingofhim.She endeavoured to persuadeherselfthatshedidnotregretit;butshecouldnolongerbeblind to Miss Bingley’sinattention. After waiting athome every morning for afortnight,andinventingeveryevening a fresh excuse forher, the visitor did at lastappear; but the shortness ofher stay, and, yet more, thealteration of her manner,would allow Jane to deceive

herself no longer. The letterwhich she wrote on thisoccasion to her sister willprovewhatshefelt.

“MydearestLizzywill,Iamsure,beincapableoftriumphing in her betterjudgment, at myexpense,when I confessmyself to have beenentirelydeceivedinMissBingley’sregardforme.But, my dear sister,

though the event hasprovedyouright,donotthink me obstinate if Istill assert, that,considering what herbehaviour was, myconfidence was asnatural as yoursuspicion.I do not at allcomprehend her reasonfor wishing to beintimate withme; but ifthe same circumstanceswere to happen again, I

am sure I should bedeceivedagain.Carolinedid not return my visittill yesterday; and not anote, not a line, did Ireceiveinthemeantime.When she did come, itwas very evident thatshehadnopleasureinit;shemadeaslight,formalapology for not callingbefore, said not a wordof wishing to see meagain, and was in every

respect so altered acreature, that when shewent away I wasperfectly resolved tocontinue theacquaintance no longer.I pity, though I cannothelp blaming her. Shewas very wrong insingling me out as shedid;Icansafelysay,thatevery advance tointimacy began on herside. But I pity her,

because she must feelthat she has been actingwrong,andbecauseIamverysurethatanxietyforher brother is the causeof it. I need not explainmyself farther; andthough we know thisanxiety to be quiteneedless,yet ifshefeelsit, it will easily accountforherbehaviourtome;and so deservedly dearas he is to his sister,

whatever anxiety shemayfeelonhisbehalfisnatural and amiable. Icannot but wonder,however, at her havingany such fears now,because, if he had at allcaredaboutme,wemusthavemetlong,longago.He knows of my beingin town, I am certain,fromsomethingshesaidherself;andyet itwouldseem, by hermanner of

talking,as ifshewantedto persuade herself thathe is really partial toMiss Darcy. I cannotunderstand it. If I werenot afraid of judgingharshly, I should bealmost tempted to say,that there is a strongappearance of duplicityin all this. But I willendeavour to banishevery painful thought,and think only of what

will make me happy,your affection, and theinvariable kindness ofmydear uncle and aunt.Let me hear from youverysoon.MissBingleysaid something of hisnever returning toNetherfield again, ofgivingup thehouse,butnot with any certainty.We had better notmention it. I amextremely glad that you

have such pleasantaccounts from ourfriends at Hunsford.Pray go to see them,with Sir William andMaria. I am sure youwillbeverycomfortablethere.“YOURS,”&C

This letter gave Elizabethsome pain; but her spiritsreturned as she consideredthat Janewouldno longerbe

duped, by the sister at least.All expectation from thebrother was now absolutelyover. She would not evenwish for any renewal of hisattentions.Hischaractersunkoneveryreviewofit;andasapunishment for him, as wellas a possible advantage toJane, she seriously hoped hemight really soon marryMr.Darcy’s sister, as, byWickham’s account, shewould make him abundantly

regret what he had thrownaway.Mrs. Gardiner about this

time reminded Elizabeth ofher promise concerning thatgentleman, and requiredinformation; and Elizabethhad such to send as mightrathergivecontentmenttoheraunt than to herself. Hisapparent partiality hadsubsided, his attentions wereover, he was the admirer of

someoneelse.Elizabethwaswatchfulenough to see it all,butshecouldseeitandwriteof it without material pain.Her heart had been butslightly touched, and hervanity was satisfied withbelievingthatshewouldhavebeen his only choice, hadfortune permitted it. Thesudden acquisition of tenthousand pounds was themostremarkablecharmoftheyoung lady to whom he was

now rendering himselfagreeable; butElizabeth, lessclear-sighted perhaps in thiscase than in Charlotte’s, didnot quarrel with him for hiswish of independence.Nothing, on the contrary,could be more natural; andwhile able to suppose that itcost him a few struggles torelinquishher, shewas readyto allow it a wise anddesirable measure for both,andcouldverysincerelywish

himhappy.All thiswasacknowledged

to Mrs. Gardiner; and, afterrelating the circumstances,she thus went on:—“I amnowconvinced,mydearaunt,that I have never beenmuchin love; for had I reallyexperienced that pure andelevatingpassion, I shouldatpresent detest his veryname,and wish him all manner ofevil.Butmy feelings are not

only cordial towards him,they are even impartialtowardsMiss King. I cannotfindout that Ihateheratall,or that I am in the leastunwilling to think her a verygood sort of girl. There canbe no love in all this. Mywatchfulness has beeneffectual;andthoughIshouldcertainly be a moreinteresting object to all myacquaintance were Idistractedlyinlovewithhim,

I cannot say that I regretmycomparative insignificance.Importance may sometimesbepurchasedtoodearly.Kittyand Lydia take his defectionmuchmoretoheartthanIdo.They are young in the waysoftheworld,andnotyetopento the mortifying convictionthat handsome young menmust have something to liveon,aswellastheplain.”

Chapter4

With no greater events thanthese in the Longbournfamily, and otherwisediversified by little beyondthe walks to Meryton,sometimes dirty andsometimes cold, did January

and February pass away.March was to take Elizabethto Hunsford. She had not atfirstthoughtveryseriouslyofgoing thither; but Charlotte,she soon found, wasdepending on the plan, andshe gradually learned toconsider it herself withgreater pleasure as well asgreater certainty. Absencehad increased her desire ofseeing Charlotte again, andweakened her disgust ofMr.

Collins.Therewasnoveltyinthescheme;andas,withsucha mother and suchuncompanionable sisters,homecouldnotbefaultless,alittle change was notunwelcome for its own sake.The journey would,moreover, give her a peep atJane; and, in short, as thetime drew near, she wouldhavebeenvery sorry for anydelay. Every thing, however,went on smoothly, and was

finally settled according toCharlotte’s first sketch. Shewas to accompany SirWilliam and his seconddaughter. The improvementofspendinganightinLondonwas added in time, and theplan became perfect as plancouldbe.The only pain was in

leavingherfather,whowouldcertainly miss her, and who,whenitcametothepoint,so

little liked her going, that hetold her towrite to him, andalmost promised to answerherletter.The farewell between

herselfandMr.Wickhamwasperfectlyfriendly;onhissideeven more. His presentpursuit could not make himforgetthatElizabethhadbeenthe first to excite and todeservehisattention,thefirstto listen and to pity, the first

to be admired; and in hismanner of biddingher adieu,wishinghereveryenjoyment,reminding her of what shewas to expect in LadyCatherine de Bourgh, andtrustingtheiropinionofher—theiropinionofeverybody—would always coincide, therewas a solicitude, an interestwhich she felt must everattachhertohimwithamostsincereregard;andshepartedfrom him convinced, that,

whethermarriedorsingle,hemustalwaysbehermodeloftheamiableandpleasing.Her fellow-travellers the

nextdaywerenotofakindasmake her think him lessagreeable.SirWilliamLucas,and his daughter Maria, agood-humoured girl, but asempty-headedashimself,hadnothing to say that could beworth hearing, and werelistened to with about as

much delight as the rattle ofthe chaise. Elizabeth lovedabsurdities, but she hadknown Sir William’s toolong. He could tell hernothing new of the wondersof his presentation andknighthood; and his civilitieswere worn out like hisinformation.It was a journey of only

twenty-four miles, and theybegan it so early as to be in

Gracechurch Street by noon.As they drove to Mr.Gardiner’s door, Jane was ata drawing-room windowwatching their arrival: whenthey entered thepassage, shewas there to welcome them,and Elizabeth, lookingearnestly in her face, waspleasedtoseeithealthfulandlovely as ever. On the stairswereatroopoflittleboysandgirls, whose eagerness fortheir cousin’s appearance

wouldnotallowthemtowaitin the drawing-room, andwhose shyness, as they hadnot seen her for atwelvemonth, prevented theircoming lower. All was joyandkindness.Thedaypassedmost pleasantly away; themorning in bustle andshopping, and the evening atoneofthetheatres.Elizabeth thencontrived to

sit by her aunt. Their first

subjectwashersister;andshewas more grieved thanastonishedtohear,inreplytoher minute enquiries, thatthoughJanealwaysstruggledto support her spirits, therewere periods of dejection. Itwas reasonable, however, tohope that they would notcontinue long.Mrs.Gardinergave her the particulars alsoof Miss Bingley’s visit inGracechurch Street, andrepeated conversations

occurring at different timesbetween Jane and herself,whichproved that theformerhad,fromherheart,givenuptheacquaintance.Mrs. Gardiner then rallied

her niece on Wickham’sdesertion, and complimentedheronbearingitsowell.“But, my dear Elizabeth,”

she added, “what sort of girlis Miss King? I should besorry to think our friend

mercenary.”“Pray, my dear aunt, what

is the difference inmatrimonial affairs, betweenthe mercenary and theprudent motive?Where doesdiscretion end, and avaricebegin? Last Christmas youwere afraid of his marryingme, because it would beimprudent; andnow,becausehe is trying togetagirlwithonly ten thousand pounds,

youwanttofindoutthatheismercenary.”“If you will only tell me

whatsortofgirlMissKingis,Ishallknowwhattothink.”“Sheisaverygoodkindof

girl, I believe. I know noharmofher.”“But he paid her not the

smallest attention till hergrandfather’s deathmade hermistressofthisfortune?”“No—whyshouldhe?If it

werenotallowableforhimtogainmy affections, because Ihadnomoney,whatoccasioncould there be for makinglovetoagirlwhomhedidnotcare about, and who wasequallypoor?”“But there seems

indelicacy in directing hisattentions towards her sosoonafterthisevent.”“A man in distressed

circumstances has not time

forallthoseelegantdecorumswhich other people mayobserve. If she does notobjecttoit,whyshouldwe?”“Her not objecting does

notjustifyhim.Itonlyshowsher being deficient insomething herself—sense orfeeling.”“Well,” cried Elizabeth,

“have it as you choose. Heshall be mercenary, and sheshallbefoolish.”

“No, Lizzy, that is what Ido not choose. I should besorry, you know, to think illofayoungmanwhohaslivedsolonginDerbyshire.”“Oh, if that isall, Ihavea

very poor opinion of youngmenwho live in Derbyshire;andtheirintimatefriendswholive in Hertfordshire are notmuch better. I am sick ofthemall.ThankHeaven!IamgoingtomorrowwhereIshall

find a man who has not oneagreeable quality, who hasneither manner nor sense torecommend him. Stupidmenare the only ones worthknowing,afterall.”“Take care, Lizzy; that

speech savours strongly ofdisappointment.”Beforetheywereseparated

bytheconclusionoftheplay,she had the unexpectedhappiness of an invitation to

accompany her uncle andaunt in a tour of pleasurewhich they proposed takinginthesummer.“We have not quite

determined how far it shallcarryus,”saidMrs.Gardiner;“but,perhaps,totheLakes.”8

No scheme could havebeen more agreeable toElizabeth,andheracceptanceof the invitation was mostreadyandgrateful.“Mydear,

dear aunt,” she rapturouslycried, “what delight! whatfelicity! You give me freshlife and vigour. Adieu todisappointment and spleen.What are men to rocks andmountains?Oh,whathoursoftransportweshallspend!Andwhen we do return, it shallnot be like other travellers,without being able to giveone accurate idea of anything. We will know wherewe have gone—we will

recollectwhatwe have seen.Lakes,mountains,andrivers,shallnotbe jumbled togetherin our imaginations; nor,whenwe attempt to describeany particular scene,willwebegin quarelling about itsrelativesituation.Letourfirsteffusions be lessinsupportable than those ofthegeneralityoftravellers.”

Chapter5

Everyobjectinthenextday’sjourney was new andinteresting to Elizabeth; andher spirits were in a state ofenjoyment; for she had seenher sister looking so well asto banish all fear for herhealth, and the prospect of

her northern tour was aconstantsourceofdelight.When they left the high

roadforthelanetoHunsford,everyeyewasinsearchoftheParsonage, and every turningexpected to bring it in view.ThepalingamofRosingsparkwas their boundary on oneside. Elizabeth smiled at therecollectionofallthatshehadheardofitsinhabitants.At length the Parsonage

was discernible. The gardenslopingtotheroad,thehousestandinginit,thegreenpalesand the laurel hedge, everything declared they werearriving. Mr. Collins andCharlotte appeared at thedoor,andthecarriagestoppedat the small gate, which ledbya shortgravelwalk to thehouse, amidst the nods andsmiles of thewhole party. Inamomenttheywerealloutofthe chaise, rejoicing at the

sight of each other. Mrs.Collins welcomed her friendwith the liveliest pleasure,and Elizabeth was more andmore satisfied with coming,when she found herself soaffectionately received. Shesaw instantly that hercousin’s manners were notaltered by his marriage: hisformal civility was just whatit had been; and he detainedher someminutes at the gateto hear and satisfy his

enquiriesafter allher family.Theywerethen,withnootherdelay than his pointing outthe neatness of the entrance,taken into the house; and assoon as they were in theparlour,hewelcomed themasecond time, withostentatious formality, to hishumbleabode,andpunctuallyrepeated all his wife’s offersofrefreshment.Elizabeth was prepared to

seehim inhisglory;andshecould not help fancying thatin displaying the goodproportion of the room, itsaspect and its furniture, headdressedhimselfparticularlytoher, as ifwishing tomakeher feelwhat she had lost inrefusing him. But thoughevery thing seemed neat andcomfortable,shewasnotabletogratifyhimbyanysighofrepentance;andratherlookedwith wonder at her friend,

that she could have socheerful an air with such acompanion. When Mr.Collins said any thing ofwhich his wife mightreasonably be ashamed,which certainly was notunseldom, she involuntarilyturned her eye on Charlotte.Once or twice she coulddiscern a faint blush; but ingeneral Charlotte wisely didnot hear. After sitting longenough to admire every

article of furniture in theroom, from the sideboard tothe fender,an to give anaccount of their journey, andof all that had happened inLondon, Mr. Collins invitedthem to take a stroll in thegarden, which was large andwell laid out, and to thecultivation of which heattendedhimself.Towork inhis garden was one of hismost respectable pleasures;

and Elizabeth admired thecommand of countenancewith which Charlotte talkedof the healthfulness of theexercise, and owned sheencouraged it as much aspossible. Here, leading theway through every walk andcross walk, and scarcelyallowing them an interval toutterthepraisesheaskedfor,every view was pointed outwith aminutenesswhich leftbeauty entirely behind. He

could number the fields ineverydirection,andcouldtellhowmanytreestherewereinthe most distant clump. Butof all the views which hisgarden, orwhich the countryor the kingdom could boast,none were to be comparedwith theprospectofRosings,affordedbyanopeninginthetrees that bordered the parknearly opposite the front ofhishouse.Itwasahandsomemodern building, well

situatedonrisingground.From his garden, Mr.

Collinswould have led themround his two meadows; buttheladies,nothavingshoestoencounterthe remains of awhite frost, turned back; andwhile Sir Williamaccompanied him, Charlottetookhersisterandfriendoverthe house, extremely wellpleased,probably,tohavetheopportunity of showing it

withoutherhusband’shelp.Itwas rather small, but wellbuilt and convenient; andeverythingwasfittedupandarrangedwith a neatness andconsistency, of whichElizabeth gave Charlotte allthe credit.WhenMr. Collinscouldbe forgotten, therewasreally a great air of comfortthroughout, and byCharlotte’s evidentenjoyment of it, Elizabethsupposed he must be often

forgotten.Shehadalready learnt that

Lady Catherine was still inthecountry.Itwasspokenofagain while they were atdinner, when Mr. Collinsjoiningin,observed,—“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you

will have the honour ofseeing Lady Catherine deBourgh on the ensuingSundayatchurch,andIneednotsayyouwillbedelighted

with her. She is all affabilityand condescension, and Idoubt not but you will behonoured with some portionofhernoticewhen service isover. I have scarcely anyhesitation in saying that shewillincludeyouandmysisterMariaineveryinvitationwithwhich she honours us duringyourstayhere.Herbehaviourto my dear Charlotte ischarming.WedineatRosingstwice every week, and are

never allowed towalkhome.Her Ladyship’s carriage isregularly ordered for us. Ishould say, one of herLadyship’s carriages, for shehasseveral.”“Lady Catherine is a very

respectable, sensible woman,indeed,” added Charlotte,“and a most attentiveneighbour.”“Verytrue,mydear,thatis

exactlywhatIsay.Sheisthe

sort of woman whom onecannot regardwith toomuchdeference.”The evening was spent

chiefly in talking overHertfordshire news, andtelling again what had beenalready written; and when itclosed, Elizabeth, in thesolitude of her chamber, hadto meditate upon Charlotte’sdegree of contentment, tounderstand her address in

guiding, and composure inbearing, with her husband,and to acknowledge that itwas all done very well. Shehadalsotoanticipatehowhervisit would pass, the quiettenour of their usualemployments, the vexatiousinterruptions of Mr. Collins,and the gaieties of theirintercourse with Rosings. Alively imagination soonsettleditall.

About the middle of thenext day, as she was in herroom getting ready for awalk, a sudden noise belowseemed to speak the wholehouseinconfusion;and,afterlisteningamoment,sheheardsomebody running up stairsinaviolenthurry,andcallingloudly after her. She openedthedoorandmetMariainthelanding-place, who,breathless with agitation,criedout,—

“Oh, my dear Eliza! praymakehasteandcomeintothedining-room,forthereissucha sight to be seen! Iwill nottell you what it is. Makehaste, and come down thismoment.”Elizabeth asked questions

invain;Mariawould tell hernothingmore;anddowntheyran into the dining-room,which fronted the lane, inquest of this wonder; it was

two ladies stopping in a lowphaetonatthegardengate.“And is this all?” cried

Elizabeth.“Iexpectedatleastthatthepigsweregotintothegarden, and here is nothingbut Lady Catherine and herdaughter!”“La!mydear,”saidMaria,

quite shocked at themistake,“itisnotLadyCatherine.Theold lady is Mrs. Jenkinson,who lives with them. The

other is Miss De Bourgh.Onlylookather.Sheisquitea little creature. Who wouldhave thoughtshecouldbesothinandsmall!”“Sheisabominablyrudeto

keepCharlotteoutofdoorsinall this wind. Why does shenotcomein?”“Oh, Charlotte says she

hardly ever does. It is thegreatestoffavourswhenMissDeBourghcomesin.”

“I like her appearance,”said Elizabeth, struck withotherideas.“Shelookssicklyand cross. Yes, she will dofor him very well. She willmake him a very properwife.”Mr. Collins and Charlotte

werebothstandingatthegatein conversation with theladies; and Sir William, toElizabeth’s high diversion,wasstationedinthedoorway;

in earnest contemplation ofthegreatnessbeforehim,andconstantly bowing wheneverMiss De Bourgh looked thatway.At length there was

nothing more to be said; theladies drove on, and theothers returned into thehouse.Mr.Collinsno soonersaw the two girls then hebegan to congratulate themon their good fortune, which

Charlotteexplainedbylettingthem know that the wholeparty was asked to dine atRosingsthenextday.

Chapter6

Mr. Collins’s triumph, inconsequence of thisinvitation,wascomplete.Thepower of displaying thegrandeur of his patroness tohiswonderingvisitors,andofletting them see her civilitytowardshimselfandhiswife,

was exactly what he hadwished for; and that anopportunityofdoingitshouldbegivensosoonwassuchaninstance of Lady Catherine’scondescensionasheknewnothowtoadmireenough.“Iconfess,”saidhe,“thatI

should not have been at allsurprised by her Ladyship’saskingusonSundaytodrinktea and spend the evening atRosings. I rather expected,

from my knowledge of heraffability, that it wouldhappen. But who could haveforeseen such an attention asthis? Who could haveimagined that we shouldreceive an invitation to dinethere (an invitation,moreover, including thewholeparty,) so immediatelyafter your arrival?”—“I amthelesssurprisedatwhathashappened,” replied SirWilliam, “from that

knowledge of what themanners of the great reallyare,whichmysituationinlifehas allowed me to acquire.About the court, suchinstances of elegant breedingarenotuncommon.”Scarcely any thing was

talked of the whole day ornextmorningbuttheirvisittoRosings. Mr. Collins wascarefully instructing them inwhattheyweretoexpect,that

the sight of such rooms, somany servants, and sosplendid a dinner, might notwhollyoverpowerthem.When the ladies were

separating for the toilette, hesaidtoElizabeth,—“Do not make yourself

uneasy, my dear cousin,about your apparel. LadyCatherine is far fromrequiring that elegance ofdress in us which becomes

herselfanddaughter.Iwouldadvise you merely to put onwhatever of your clothes issuperior to the rest, there isno occasion for any thingmore.LadyCatherinewillnotthink the worse of you forbeing simply dressed. Shelikestohavethedistinctionofrankpreserved.”While they were dressing,

hecametwoorthreetimestotheir different doors, to

recommendtheirbeingquick,asLadyCatherineverymuchobjected to be kept waitingfor her dinner. Suchformidable accounts of herLadyship, and hermanner ofliving,quitefrightenedMariaLucas, who had been littleused to company; and shelooked forward to herintroduction at Rosings withasmuch apprehension as herfather had done to hispresentationatSt.James’s.

As the weather was fine,they had a pleasant walk ofabout half a mile across thepark. Every park has itsbeauty and its prospects; andElizabeth saw much to bepleased with, though shecouldnotbe in such rapturesas Mr. Collins expected thescene to inspire, andwasbutslightly affected by hisenumeration of the windowsinfrontof thehouse,andhisrelation of what the glazing

altogether had originally costSirLewisdeBough.When they ascended the

steps to the hall, Maria’salarm was every momentincreasing, and even SirWilliam did not lookperfectly calm. Elizabeth’scourage did not fail her. Shehad heard nothing of LadyCatherine that spoke herawful fromanyextraordinarytalents or miraculous virtue,

and the mere stateliness ofmoney and rank she thoughtshe could witness withouttrepidation.From the entrance hall, of

which Mr. Collins pointedout, with a rapturous air, thefine proportion and finishedornaments, they followed theservants through an ante-chamber to the room whereLadyCatherine,herdaughter,and Mrs. Jenkinson were

sitting. Her Ladyship, withgreat condescension, arose toreceive them; and as Mrs.Collinshadsettleditwithherhusband that the office ofintroductionshouldbehers,itwas performed in a propermanner,withoutanyof thoseapologies and thanks whichhe would have thoughtnecessary.In spite of having been at

St. James’s, SirWilliamwas

so completely awed by thegrandeur surrounding him,that he had but just courageenough to make a very lowbow, and take his seatwithout saying a word; andhis daughter, frightenedalmost out of her senses, saton the edge of her chair, notknowingwhich way to look.Elizabeth found herself quiteequal to the scene,andcouldobserve the three ladiesbeforeher composedly.Lady

Catherine was a tall, largewoman,withstrongly-markedfeatures, which might oncehavebeenhandsome.Herairwasnotconciliating,norwashermannerofreceivingthemsuch as to make her visitorsforgettheir inferiorrank.Shewas not rendered formidableby silence: but whatever shesaid was spoken in soauthoritativeatoneasmarkedher self-importance, andbrought Mr. Wickham

immediately to Elizabeth’smind; and from theobservation of the dayaltogether,shebelievedLadyCatherine to be exactly whathehadrepresented.When, after examining the

mother, in whosecountenance and deportmentshe soon found someresemblance of Mr. Darcy,she turned her eyes on thedaughter, she could almost

have joined in Maria’sastonishment at her being sothin and so small.Therewasneither infigurenorfaceanylikeness between the ladies.MissDeBourghwaspaleandsickly: her features, thoughnot plain, were insignificant;and she spoke very little,exceptinalowvoice,toMrs.Jenkinson, in whoseappearancetherewasnothingremarkable, and who wasentirely engaged in listening

towhat she said,andplacinga screenao in the properdirectionbeforehereyes.Aftersittingafewminutes,

they were all sent to one ofthe windows to admire theview, Mr. Collins attendingthemtopointoutitsbeauties,and Lady Catherine kindlyinforming them that it wasmuchbetterworth lookingatinthesummer.The dinner was

exceedingly handsome, andthere were all the servants,and all the articles of platewhich Mr. Collins hadpromised; and, as he hadlikewise foretold,he tookhisseatatthebottomofthetable,byherLadyship’sdesire,andlooked as if he felt that lifecouldfurnishnothinggreater.He carved, and ate, andpraised with delightedalacrity; and every dish wascommendedfirstbyhim,and

thenbySirWilliam,whowasnow enough recovered toechowhateverhis son-in-lawsaid, in a manner whichElizabeth wondered LadyCatherine could bear. ButLady Catherine seemedgratified by their excessiveadmiration, and gave mostgracious smiles, especiallywhen any dish on the tableprovedanoveltytothem.Theparty did not supply muchconversation. Elizabeth was

ready to speak whenevertherewasanopening,butshewasseatedbetweenCharlotteand Miss De Bourgh—theformerofwhomwasengagedin listening to LadyCatherine, and the latter saidnot aword to her all dinner-time. Mrs. Jenkinson waschieflyemployedinwatchinghow little Miss De Bourghate, pressing her to try someother dish, and fearing shewas indisposed. Maria

thought speaking out of thequestion, and the gentlemendid nothing but eat andadmire.Whentheladiesreturnedto

the drawing room, there waslittle to be done but to hearLady Catherine talk, whichshe did without anyintermission till coffee camein, delivering her opinion oneverysubjectinsodecisiveamanner as proved that she

was not used to have herjudgment controverted. Sheenquired into Charlotte’sdomestic concerns familiarlyandminutely,andgaveheragreatdealofadviceas to themanagementofthemall;toldherhowevery thingought tobe regulated in so small afamilyashers,andinstructedherastothecareofhercowsand her poultry. Elizabethfound that nothing wasbeneath this great lady’s

attention,whichcouldfurnishher with an occasion ofdictating to others. In theintervals of her discoursewith Mrs. Collins, sheaddressed a variety ofquestions to Maria andElizabeth, but especially tothe latter, of whoseconnections she knew theleast, and who, she observedto Mrs. Collins, was a verygenteel, pretty kind of girl.She asked her at different

times how many sisters shehad,whether theywereolderor younger than herself,whether any of them werelikely to bemarried,whetherthey were handsome, wheretheyhadbeeneducated,whatcarriage her father kept, andwhat had been her mother’smaiden name? Elizabeth feltall the impertinence of herquestions,butansweredthemvery composedly. LadyCatherinethenobserved,—

“Your father’s estate isentailed on Mr. Collins, Ithink?Foryoursake,”turningtoCharlotte,“Iamgladofit;but otherwise I see nooccasion for entailing estatesfrom the female line. It wasnot thought necessary in SirLewis de Bourgh’s family.Do you play and sing, MissBennet?”“Alittle.”“Oh then—some time or

other we shall be happy tohearyou.Ourinstrumentisacapitalone,probablysuperiorto—youshalltryitsomeday.Do your sisters play andsing?”“Oneofthemdoes.”“Why did not you all

learn?You ought all to havelearned. TheMissWebbs allplay, and their father has notso good an income as yours.Doyoudraw?”

“No,notatall.”“What,noneofyou?”“Notone.”“Thatisverystrange.ButI

suppose you had noopportunity. Your mothershould have taken you totown every spring for thebenefitofmasters.”“Mymotherwouldhaveno

objection,butmyfatherhatesLondon.”“Has your governess left

you?”“We never had any

governess.”“No governess! How was

that possible? Five daughtersbroughtupathomewithoutagoverness! I never heard ofsuch a thing. Your mothermusthavebeenquite a slavetoyoureducation.”Elizabethcouldhardlyhelp

smiling as she assured herthathadnotbeenthecase.

“Then who taught you?who attended to you?Without a governess, youmusthavebeenneglected.”“Compared with some

families, I believe we were;but such of us as wished tolearn never wanted themeans. We were alwaysencouraged to read, and hadall the masters that werenecessary. Those who chosetobeidlecertainlymight.”

“Aye,nodoubt:but that iswhat a governess willprevent; and if I had knownyour mother, I should haveadvised hermost strenuouslyto engage one. I always saythat nothing is to be done ineducationwithout steady andregular instruction, andnobody but a governess cangive it. It is wonderful howmanyfamiliesIhavebeenthemeans of supplying in thatway. Iamalwaysglad toget

a young person well placedout. Four nieces of Mrs.Jenkinson are mostdelightfully situated throughmymeans;anditwasbuttheotherdaythatIrecommendedanother young person, whowas merely accidentallymentioned to me, and thefamily are quite delightedwith her. Mrs. Collins, did Itell you of Lady Metcalfe’scalling yesterday to thankme? She finds Miss Pope a

treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’saidshe,‘youhavegivenmea treasure.’ Are any of youryounger sisters out, MissBennet?”“Yes,ma’am,all.”“All!What, all five out at

once? Very odd! And youonlythesecond.Theyoungerones out before the elder aremarried!Youryoungersistersmustbeveryyoung?”“Yes, my youngest is not

sixteen. Perhaps she is fullyoung to be much incompany.But really,ma’am,I think itwouldbeveryharduponyoungersistersthattheyshouldnothavetheirshareofsociety and amusement,because the elder may nothavethemeansorinclinationtomarry early.The last bornhas as good a right to thepleasuresofyouthasthefirst.Andtobekeptbackonsuchamotive! I think it would not

be very likely to promotesisterly affection or delicacyofmind.”“Uponmyword,” saidher

Ladyship, “you give youropinionverydecidedlyforsoyoungaperson.Pray,whatisyourage?”“Withthreeyoungersisters

grownup,” repliedElizabeth,smiling, “your Ladyship canhardlyexpectmetoownit.”Lady Catherine seemed

quite astonished at notreceivingadirectanswer;andElizabethsuspectedherselftobe the first creaturewhohadever dared to trifle with somuchdignifiedimpertinence.“You cannot bemore than

twenty, Iamsure,—thereforeyou need not conceal yourage.”“Iamnotone-and-twenty.”When the gentlemen had

joined them, and tea was

over, the card tables wereplaced. Lady Catherine, SirWilliam, and Mr. and Mrs.Collinssatdowntoquadrille;andasMissDeBourghchoseto play at cassino,ap the twogirls had the honour ofassisting Mrs. Jenkinson tomake up her party. Theirtable was superlativelystupid. Scarcely a syllablewasutteredthatdidnotrelateto the game, except when

Mrs.Jenkinsonexpressedherfears of Miss De Bourgh’sbeing too hot or too cold, orhaving toomuchor too littlelight. A great deal morepassed at the other table.LadyCatherinewasgenerallyspeaking—stating themistakes of the three others,or relating some anecdote ofherself. Mr. Collins wasemployed in agreeing toevery thing her Ladyshipsaid, thanking her for every

fish hewon, and apologisingif he thought he won toomany.SirWilliamdidnotsaymuch. He was storing hismemory with anecdotes andnoblenames.When Lady Catherine and

her daughter had played aslongastheychose,thetableswere broken up, the carriagewas offered to Mrs. Collins,gratefully accepted, andimmediately ordered. The

partythengatheredroundthefire to hear Lady Catherinedetermine what weather theywere tohaveon themorrow.From these instructions theywere summoned by thearrivalofthecoach;andwithmany speeches ofthankfulnessonMr.Collins’sside, and as many bows onSirWilliam’s, they departed.As soon as they had drivenfrom thedoor,Elizabethwascalled on by her cousin to

give her opinion of all thatshe had seen at Rosings,which, for Charlotte’s sake,she made more favourablethan it really was. But hercommendation, thoughcosting her some trouble,could by no means satisfyMr.Collins,andhewasverysoon obliged to take herLadyship’s praise into hisownhands.

Chapter7

SirWilliamstaidonlyaweekatHunsford;buthisvisitwaslongenough toconvincehimof his daughter’s being mostcomfortably settled, and ofher possessing such ahusband and such aneighbour as were not often

met with.While SirWilliamwas with them, Mr. Collinsdevoted his mornings todriving him out in his gig,aqandshowinghimthecountry:but when he went away, thewholefamilyreturnedtotheirusual employments, andElizabethwasthankfultofindthat theydidnot seemoreofher cousin by the alteration;for the chief of the timebetweenbreakfast anddinner

wasnowpassedbyhimeitherat work in the garden, or inreading and writing, andlookingoutofwindowinhisown book room, whichfrontedtheroad.Theroominwhich the ladies sat wasbackwards. Elizabeth at firsthad rather wondered thatCharlotte should not preferthe dining parlour forcommon use; it was a bettersized room, and had apleasanter aspect: but she

soon saw that her friend hadan excellent reason for whatshe did, for Mr. Collinswouldundoubtedlyhavebeenmuch less in his ownapartmenthadtheysatinoneequally lively; and she gaveCharlotte credit for thearrangement.From the drawing-room

they could distinguishnothinginthelane,andwereindebted to Mr. Collins for

the knowledge of whatcarriages went along, andhowoftenespeciallyMissDeBourgh drove by in herphaeton, which he neverfailedcomingtoinformthemof,thoughithappenedalmostevery day. She notunfrequently stopped at theParsonage, and had a fewminutes’ conversation withCharlotte, but was scarcelyeverprevailedontogetout.

Very few days passed inwhich Mr. Collins did notwalk to Rosings, and notmany in which his wife didnot think it necessary to golikewise; and till Elizabethrecollected that there mightbe other family livings to bedisposed of, she could notunderstandthesacrificeofsomany hours. Now and thenthey were honoured with acall from her Ladyship, andnothing escaped her

observation that was passingin the room during thesevisits. She examined intotheir employments, looked attheirwork, andadvised themto do it differently; foundfaultwith thearrangementofthe furniture, or detected thehousemaidinnegligence;andif she accepted anyrefreshment, seemed to do itonly for the sake of findingout thatMrs. Collins’s jointsofmeatweretoolargeforher

family.Elizabeth soon perceived,

that though this great ladywasnotinthecommissionofthepeacearforthecounty,shewas amost activemagistratein her own parish, theminutest concerns of whichwere carried to her by Mr.Collins;andwheneveranyofthecottagersweredisposedtobequarrelsome,discontented,or too poor, she sallied forth

into thevillage to settle theirdifferences, silence theircomplaints, and scold themintoharmonyandplenty.The entertainment of

dining at Rosings wasrepeatedabout twiceaweek;and, allowing for the loss ofSirWilliam, and there beingonly one card-table in theevening, every suchentertainment was thecounterpartof the first.Their

other engagementswere few;as the style of living of theneighbourhoodingeneralwasbeyond the Collinses’ reach.This,however,wasnoeviltoElizabeth, and upon thewhole she spent her timecomfortably enough: therewere half hours of pleasantconversation with Charlotte,and the weather was so finefor the time of year, that shehadoftengreatenjoymentoutofdoors.Her favouritewalk,

and where she frequentlywent while the others werecalling on Lady Catherine,was along the open grovewhich edged that side of thepark where there was a nicesheltered path,which no oneseemed to value but herself,andwhereshefeltbeyondthereach of Lady Catherine’scuriosity.In this quiet way the first

fortnight of her visit soon

passed away. Easter wasapproaching, and the weekpreceding it was to bring anaddition to the family atRosings,which in so small acircle must be important.Elizabeth had heard, soonafter her arrival, that Mr.Darcy was expected there inthe course of a few weeks;and though there were notmany of her acquaintancewhom she did not prefer, hiscoming would furnish one

comparativelynewto lookatin their Rosings parties, andshe might be amused inseeing how hopeless MissBingley’s designs on himwere,byhisbehaviour tohiscousin, for whom he wasevidently destined by LadyCatherine; who talked of hiscoming with the greatestsatisfaction, spoke of him interms of the highestadmiration, and seemedalmost angry to find that he

had already been frequentlyseen by Miss Lucas andherself.His arrival was soon

known at the Parsonage; forMr. Collins was walking thewhole morning within viewof the lodges opening intoHunsford Lane, in order tohavetheearliestassuranceofit; and after making his bowasthecarriageturnedintothepark, hurried home with the

great intelligence. On thefollowing morning hehastened to Rosings to payhis respects. There were twonephewsofLadyCatherinetorequire them, for Mr. Darcyhad brought with him aColonel Fitzwilliam, theyounger son of his uncle,Lord—; and, to the greatsurpriseofalltheparty,whenMr. Collins returned, thegentlemen accompanied him.Charlottehadseenthemfrom

herhusband’s room,crossingthe road, and immediatelyrunning into the other, toldthegirlswhatanhonourtheymightexpect,adding,—“I may thank you, Eliza,

for this piece of civility.Mr.Darcy would never havecome so soon to wait uponme.”Elizabethhadscarcelytime

to disclaim all right to thecompliment before their

approach was announced bythe door-bell, and shortlyafterwards the threegentlemen entered the room.ColonelFitzwilliam,who ledtheway,wasaboutthirty,nothandsome, but in person andaddress most truly thegentleman.Mr.Darcy lookedjust as he had been used tolookinHertfordshire,paidhiscompliments, with his usualreserve, toMrs. Collins; andwhatever might be his

feelings towards her friend,met her with everyappearance of composure.Elizabeth merely courtesiedto him, without saying aword.Colonel Fitzwilliam

entered into conversationdirectly, with the readinessandeaseof awell-bredman,and talked very pleasantly;but his cousin, after havingaddressedaslightobservation

on the house and garden toMrs. Collins, sat for sometimewithout speaking toanybody.Atlength,however,hiscivility was so far awakenedas to enquire of Elizabethafterthehealthofherfamily.She answered him in theusual way; and, after amoment’spause,added,—“My eldest sister has been

in town these three months.Have you never happened to

seeherthere?”She was perfectly sensible

that he never had: but shewished to see whether hewould betray anyconsciousness of what hadpassed between the BingleysandJane;andshe thoughthelookedalittleconfusedasheanswered that he had neverbeen so fortunate as to meetMissBennet.Thesubjectwaspursued no farther, and the

gentlemen soon afterwardswentaway.

Chapter8

Colonel Fitzwilliam’smanners were very muchadmiredattheParsonage,andtheladiesallfeltthathemustadd considerably to thepleasureoftheirengagementsatRosings.Itwassomedays,however, before they

received any invitationthither, for while there werevisitors in the house theycouldnotbenecessary;anditwas not till Easter-day,almost a week after thegentlemen’s arrival, that theywere honoured by such anattention, and then theyweremerely asked on leavingchurch to come there in theevening. For the last weekthey had seen very little ofeither Lady Catherine or her

daughter.ColonelFitzwilliamhad called at the Parsonagemore than once during thetime,butMr.Darcytheyhadonlyseenatchurch.The invitation was

accepted, of course, and at aproper hour they joined theparty in Lady Catherine’sdrawingroom. Her Ladyshipreceived them civilly, but itwas plain that their companywas by no means so

acceptableaswhenshecouldgetnobodyelse;andshewas,in fact, almost engrossed byher nephews, speaking tothem, especially to Darcy,muchmore than toanyotherpersonintheroom.Colonel Fitzwilliam

seemed really glad to seethem: any thing was awelcome relief to him atRosings; and Mrs. Collins’spretty friend had, moreover,

caught his fancy very much.He now seated himself byher, and talked so agreeablyofKentandHertfordshire,oftravelling and staying athome, of new books andmusic, that Elizabeth hadnever been half so wellentertained in that roombefore; and they conversedwith somuch spirit and flowas to draw the attention ofLady Catherine herself, aswell as of Mr. Darcy. His

eyes had been soon andrepeatedly turned towardsthemwithalookofcuriosity;andthatherLadyship,afterawhile,sharedthefeeling,wasmore openly acknowledged,forshedidnotscrupletocallout,—“What is that you are

saying, Fitzwilliam? What isit you are talking of? Whatare you tellingMiss Bennet?Letmehearwhatitis.”

“Wearespeakingofmusic,madam,” said he, when nolongerabletoavoidareply.“Of music! Then pray

speak aloud. It is of allsubjects my delight. I musthave my share in theconversation, if you arespeakingofmusic.There arefew people in England, Isuppose,whohavemore trueenjoyment of music thanmyself, or a better natural

taste. If I had ever learnt, Ishould have been a greatproficient. And so wouldAnne, if her health hadallowed her to apply. I amconfidentthatshewouldhaveperformed delightfully. Howdoes Georgiana get on,Darcy?”Mr. Darcy spoke with

affectionate praise of hissister’sproficiency.“I am very glad to hear

such a good account of her,”said Lady Catherine; “andpraytellherfromme,thatshecannotexpect toexcel, ifshedoes not practise a greatdeal.”“Iassureyou,madam,”he

replied, “that she does notneed such advice. Shepractisesveryconstantly.”“So much the better. It

cannotbedonetoomuch;andwhen I next write to her, I

shallchargehernottoneglectitonanyaccount.Ioftentellyoung ladies, that noexcellence in music is to beacquired without constantpractice. I have told MissBennetseveraltimes,thatshewill never play really well,unless she practises more;and thoughMrs. Collins hasno instrument, she is verywelcome,asIhaveoftentoldher,tocometoRosingseveryday, and play on the piano-

forte in Mrs. Jenkinson’sroom. She would be innobody’s way, you know, inthatpartofthehouse.”Mr. Darcy looked a little

ashamed of his aunt’s illbreeding, and made noanswer.When coffee was over,

ColonelFitzwilliamremindedElizabethofhavingpromisedto play to him; and she satdown directly to the

instrument. He drew a chairnear her. Lady Catherinelistened to half a song, andthen talked, as before, to herother nephew; till the latterwalked away from her, andmoving with his usualdeliberation towards thepiano-forte, stationed himselfsoastocommandafullviewof the fair performer’scountenance. Elizabeth sawwhathewasdoing,andatthefirst convenient pause turned

to him with an arch smile,andsaid,—“Youmeantofrightenme,

Mr. Darcy, by coming in allthis state to hear me. But Iwill not be alarmed thoughyoursisterdoesplaysowell.Thereisastubbornnessaboutme that never can bear to befrightened at the will ofothers. My courage alwaysrises with every attempt tointimidateme.”

“Ishallnotsaythatyouaremistaken,” he replied,“becauseyoucouldnotreallybelieve me to entertain anydesignofalarmingyou;andIhavehadthepleasureofyouracquaintance long enough toknow, that you find greatenjoyment in occasionallyprofessingopinionswhich,infact,arenotyourown.”Elizabeth laughed heartily

at this picture of herself, and

said to Colonel Fitzwilliam,“Yourcousinwillgiveyouaveryprettynotionofme,andteach you not to believe aword I say. I am particularlyunlucky in meeting with apersonsowellabletoexposemyrealcharacter,inapartoftheworldwhere I hadhopedtopassmyselfoffwith somedegree of credit. Indeed,Mr.Darcy, it is very ungenerousinyoutomentionallthatyouknew to my disadvantage in

Hertfordshire—and, give meleave to say, very impolitictoo—foritisprovokingmetoretaliate,andsuchthingsmaycome out as will shock yourrelationstohear.”“I am not afraid of you,”

saidhe,smilingly.“Prayletmehearwhatyou

havetoaccusehimof,”criedColonel Fitzwilliam. “Ishould like to know how hebehavesamongstrangers.”

“You shall hear then—butprepare for something verydreadful.Thefirsttimeofmyever seeing him inHertfordshire, you mustknow, was at a ball—and atthis ball, what do you thinkhe did?He danced only fourdances! I am sorry to painyou,butsoitwas.Hedancedonly four dances, thoughgentlemen were scarce; and,to my certain knowledge,more than one young lady

wassittingdowninwantofapartner. Mr. Darcy, youcannotdenythefact.”“I had not at that time the

honour of knowing any ladyin the assembly beyond myownparty.”“True; and nobody can

ever be introduced in a ballroom. Well, ColonelFitzwilliam, what do I playnext? My fingers wait yourorders.”

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, “IshouldhavejudgedbetterhadIsoughtanintroduction,butIam ill qualified torecommend myself tostrangers.”“Shall we ask your cousin

the reason of this?” saidElizabeth, still addressingColonel Fitzwilliam. “Shallwe ask him why a man ofsenseandeducation,andwhohas lived in the world, is ill

qualified to recommendhimselftostrangers?”“I can answer your

question,” said Fitzwilliam,“without applying to him. Itis because he will not givehimselfthetrouble.”“I certainly have not the

talent which some peoplepossess,” said Darcy, “ofconversingeasilywiththoseIhave never seen before. Icannot catch their tone of

conversation, or appearinterested in their concerns,asIoftenseedone.”“My fingers,” said

Elizabeth,“donotmoveoverthis instrument in themasterlymannerwhich I seeso many women’s do. Theyhave not the same force orrapidity, and do not producethesameexpression.ButthenI have always supposed it tobe my own fault—because I

wouldnot take the troubleofpractising. It is not that I donot believe my fingers ascapableasanyotherwoman’sofsuperiorexecution.”Darcy smiled and said,

“Youareperfectlyright.Youhave employed your timemuchbetter.Nooneadmittedto the privilege of hearingyou can think any thingwanting. We neither of usperformtostrangers.”

Here theywere interruptedby Lady Catherine, whocalledout toknowwhat theywere talking of. Elizabethimmediately began playingagain. Lady Catherineapproached, and, afterlistening for a few minutes,saidtoDarcy,—“Miss Bennet would not

play at all amiss if shepractised more, and couldhave the advantage of a

London master. She has averygoodnotionoffingering,though her taste is not equaltoAnne’s.Annewould havebeen a delightful performer,hadherhealthallowedher tolearn.”Elizabeth looked at Darcy

to see how cordially heassented to his cousin’spraise: but neither at thatmoment nor at any othercould she discern any

symptom of love; and fromthewholeofhisbehaviourtoMiss De Bourgh she derivedthis comfort for MissBingley, that he might havebeen just as likely to marryher,hadshebeenhisrelation.Lady Catherine continued

her remarks on Elizabeth’sperformance, mixing withthem many instructions onexecutionandtaste.Elizabethreceived them with all the

forbearanceofcivility;andatthe request of the gentlemenremainedattheinstrumenttillher Ladyship’s carriage wasreadytotakethemallhome.

Chapter9

Elizabeth was sitting byherself thenextmorning,andwriting to Jane, while Mrs.CollinsandMariaweregoneon business into the village,when she was startled by aring at the door, the certainsignalofavisitor.Asshehad

heardnocarriage,shethoughtit not unlikely to be LadyCatherine; and under thatapprehension was puttingaway her half-finished letter,that she might escape allimpertinent questions, whenthe door opened, and to hervery great surprise Mr.Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only,enteredtheroom.He seemed astonished too

on finding her alone, and

apologised for his intrusion,by letting her know that hehad understood all the ladiestobewithin.They then sat down, and

when her enquiries afterRosings were made, seemedindangerofsinkingintototalsilence. It was absolutelynecessary, therefore, to thinkof something; and in thisemergence recollectingwhenshe had seen him last in

Hertfordshire, and feelingcurious to know what hewould say on the subject oftheir hasty departure, sheobserved,—“How very suddenly you

all quitted Netherfield lastNovember, Mr. Darcy! Itmust have been a mostagreeable surprise to Mr.Bingley to see you all afterhimsosoon;for,ifIrecollectright, he went but the day

before. He and his sisterswerewell, I hope,when youleftLondon?”“Perfectlyso,Ithankyou.”She found that she was to

receivenootheranswer;and,afterashortpause,added,—“I think I have understood

that Mr. Bingley has notmuch idea of ever returningtoNetherfieldagain?”“I have never heard him

sayso;but it isprobable that

he may spend very little ofhis time there in future. Hehasmanyfriends,andheisata time of life when friendsand engagements arecontinuallyincreasing.”“Ifhemeanstobebutlittle

at Netherfield, it would bebetter for the neighbourhoodthat he should give up theplace entirely, for then wemight possibly get a settledfamily there. But, perhaps,

Mr.Bingley did not take thehouse so much for theconvenience of theneighbourhood it as for hisown,andwemustexpecthimtokeeporquititonthesameprinciple.”“Ishouldnotbesurprised,”

said Darcy, “if he were togive it up as soon as anyeligiblepurchaseoffers.”Elizabethmadenoanswer.

She was afraid of talking

longer of his friend; and,having nothing else to say,wasnowdetermined to leavethe trouble of finding asubjecttohim.He took thehint,andsoon

began with, “This seems averycomfortablehouse.LadyCatherine, I believe, did agreat deal to it when Mr.Collins first came toHunsford.”“I believe she did—and I

am sure she could not havebestowed her kindness on amoregratefulobject.”“Mr. Collins appears very

fortunate in his choice of awife.”“Yes, indeed; his friends

maywellrejoiceinhishavingmetwithoneof theveryfewsensible women who wouldhave accepted him, or havemadehimhappy if they had.My friend has an excellent

understanding—though I amnotcertainthatIconsiderhermarrying Mr. Collins as thewisestthingsheeverdid.Sheseems perfectly happy,however;and, inaprudentiallight, it is certainly a verygoodmatchforher.”“Itmust be very agreeable

toher to be settledwithin soeasy a distance of her ownfamilyandfriends.”“An easy distance do you

call it? It is nearly fiftymiles.”“Andwhatisfiftymilesof

good road? Little more thanhalf a day’s journey. Yes, Icallitaveryeasydistance.”“I should never have

considered the distance asone of theadvantages of thematch,” cried Elizabeth. “Ishould never have said Mrs.Collins was settled near herfamily.”

“It is a proof of your ownattachment to Hertfordshire.Any thing beyond the veryneighborhood of Longbourn,Isuppose,wouldappearfar.”As he spoke there was a

sortofsmile,whichElizabethfancied she understood; hemust be supposing her to bethinking of Jane andNetherfield, and she blushedassheanswered,—“Idonotmeantosaythata

womanmaynotbesettledtoonear her family. The far andthenearmustberelative,anddepend on many varyingcircumstances.Wherethereisfortune to make the expenseof travelling unimportant,distancebecomesnoevil.Butthat isnot thecasehere.Mr.and Mrs. Collins have acomfortable income, but notsuch a one as will allow offrequent journeys—and I ampersuaded my friend would

not call herself near herfamily under less than halfthepresentdistance.”Mr.Darcydrewhischaira

little towards her, and said,“You cannot have a right tosuch very strong localattachment. You cannot havebeenalwaysatLongbourn.”Elizabethlookedsurprised.

The gentleman experiencedsome change of feeling; hedrew back his chair, took a

newspaperfromthetable,andglancing over it, said, in acoldervoice,—“Are you pleased with

Kent?”A short dialogue on the

subjectofthecountryensued,on either side calm andconcise—andsoonputanendto by the entrance ofCharlotte and her sister, justreturnedfromtheirwalk.Thetête-à-tête surprised them.

Mr.Darcyrelatedthemistakewhich had occasioned hisintruding on Miss Bennet,and after sitting a fewminutes longer withoutsaying much to any body,wentaway.“Whatcanbe themeaning

of this?” said Charlotte, assoon as he was gone. “MydearEliza,hemustbeinlovewith you, or he would neverhave called on us in this

familiarway.”ButwhenElizabethtoldof

his silence, it did not seemvery likely, even toCharlotte’s wishes, to be thecase; and, after variousconjectures,theycouldatlastonly suppose his visit toproceedfromthedifficultyoffinding any thing to do,whichwasthemoreprobablefrom the time of year. Allfieldsportswereover.Within

doors there was LadyCatherine, books, and abilliard table, but gentlemencannot be always withindoors; and in thenearnessofthe Parsonage, or thepleasantnessofthewalktoit,orof thepeoplewholivedinit, the two cousins found atemptationfromthisperiodofwalking thither almost everyday. They called at varioustimes of the morning,sometimes separately,

sometimes together, andnowand then accompanied bytheir aunt. It was plain tothem all that ColonelFitzwilliam came because hehad pleasure in their society,apersuasionwhichofcourserecommendedhimstillmore;and Elizabeth was remindedby her own satisfaction inbeingwithhim,aswellasbyhisevidentadmirationofher,of her former favourite,George Wickham; and

though, in comparing them;she saw there was lesscaptivating softness inColonel Fitzwilliam’smanners, she believed hemighthavethebest informedmind.But why Mr. Darcy came

so often to the Parsonage itwas more difficult tounderstand. It could not befor society, as he frequentlysattheretenminutestogether

withoutopeninghis lips; andwhenhedidspeak,itseemedthe effect of necessity ratherthanofchoice—asacrificetopropriety, not a pleasure tohimself.He seldom appearedreally animated.Mrs.Collinsknew not what to make ofhim. Colonel Fitzwilliam’soccasionally laughing at hisstupidity proved that he wasgenerallydifferent,whichherownknowledgeofhimcouldnothave toldher; andas she

would have liked to believethischangetheeffectoflove,andtheobjectofthatloveherfriend Eliza, she set herselfseriously to work to find itout: she watched himwhenever they were atRosings, and whenever hecame to Hunsford; butwithout much success. Hecertainly lookedather frienda great deal, but theexpression of that look wasdisputable. Itwas an earnest,

steadfast gaze, but she oftendoubted whether there weremuch admiration in it, andsometimes it seemed nothingbutabsenceofmind.She had once or twice

suggested to Elizabeth thepossibilityofhisbeingpartialto her, but Elizabeth alwayslaughedat theidea;andMrs.Collins did not think it righttopress the subject, from thedangerofraisingexpectations

which might only end indisappointment; for in heropinion it admitted not of adoubt, that all her friend’sdislike would vanish, if shecould suppose him to be inherpower.In her kind schemes for

Elizabeth, she sometimesplannedhermarryingColonelFitzwilliam. He was, beyondcomparison, the pleasantestman: he certainly admired

her, and his situation in lifewas most eligible; but, tocounterbalance theseadvantages, Mr. Darcy hadconsiderablepatronage in thechurch, and his cousin couldhavenoneatall.

Chapter10

MorethanoncedidElizabeth,inherramblewithinthepark,unexpectedly meet Mr.Darcy. She felt all theperverseness of themischance that should bringhim where no one else wasbrought; and, to prevent its

ever happening again, tookcare to inform him, at first,that it was a favourite hauntofhers.Howitcouldoccurasecond time, therefore, wasveryodd!Yetitdid,andeventhe third. It seemed likewilful ill-nature, or avoluntary penance; for onthese occasions it was notmerelyafewformalenquiriesand an awkward pause andthen away, but he actuallythought it necessary to turn

back and walk with her. Henever said a great deal, nordid she give herself thetrouble of talking or oflistening much; but it struckherinthecourseoftheirthirdrencountrethathewasaskingsome odd unconnectedquestions—about herpleasureinbeingatHunsford,her love of solitary walks,and her opinion of Mr. andMrs.Collins’shappiness;andthat in speaking of Rosings,

and her not perfectlyunderstanding the house, heseemed to expect thatwhenevershecameintoKentagain she would be stayingthere too. His words seemedto imply it. Could he haveColonel Fitzwilliam in histhoughts?Shesupposed,ifhemeant any thing, he mustmean an allusion to whatmight arise in that quarter. Itdistressedheralittle,andshewasquitegladtofindherself

at the gate in the palesasoppositetheParsonage.Shewas engaged one day,

as shewalked, in re-perusingJane’s last letter, anddwelling on some passageswhich proved that Jane hadnot written in spirits, when,instead of being againsurprised by Mr. Darcy, shesaw, on looking up, thatColonel Fitzwilliam wasmeetingher.Puttingawaythe

letter immediately, andforcingasmile,shesaid,—“Ididnotknowbeforethat

youeverwalkedthisway.”“I have been making the

tour of the park,” he replied,“asIgenerallydoeveryyear,andintendedtocloseitwithacallattheParsonage.Areyougoingmuchfarther?”“No, I should have turned

inamoment.”And accordingly she did

turn,andtheywalkedtowardstheParsonagetogether.“Do you certainly leave

KentonSaturday?”saidshe.“Yes—if Darcy does not

put it off again. But I am athis disposal.He arranges thebusinessjustashepleases.”“And if not able to please

himself in the arrangement,he has at least great pleasurein the power of choice. I donot know any body who

seems more to enjoy thepowerofdoingwhathelikesthanMr.Darcy.”“He likes to have his own

way very well,” repliedColonel Fitzwilliam. “But sowe all do. It is only that hehasbettermeansofhaving itthanmanyothers,becauseheis rich, and many others arepoor. I speak feelingly. Ayoungerson,youknow,mustbe inured to self-denial and

dependence.”“In my opinion, the

younger son of an earl canknow very little of either.Now, seriously, what haveyoueverknownofself-denialand dependence?When haveyou been prevented by wantof money from goingwherever you chose, orprocuringanythingyouhadafancyfor?”“Thesearehomequestions

—and perhaps I cannot saythatIhaveexperiencedmanyhardships of that nature. Butinmattersofgreaterweight,Imay suffer from the want ofmoney.Younger sons cannotmarrywheretheylike.”“Unless where they like

women of fortune, which Ithinktheyveryoftendo.”“Our habits of expense

make us too dependent, andtherearenotmanyinmyrank

of life who can afford tomarrywithoutsomeattentiontomoney.”“Is this,” thought

Elizabeth, “meant for me?”and she coloured at the idea;but, recovering herself, saidin a lively tone, “And pray,what is the usual price of anearl’s younger son? Unlessthe elder brother is verysickly, I suppose you wouldnot ask above fifty thousand

pounds.”He answered her in the

same style, and the subjectdropped. To interrupt asilence which might makehim fancy her affected withwhat had passed, she soonafterwardssaid,—“I imagine your cousin

brought you down with himchieflyforthesakeofhavingsomebody at his disposal. Iwonderhedoesnotmarry,to

secure a lasting convenienceofthatkind.But,perhaps,hissister does as well for thepresent; and, as she is underhissolecare,hemaydowhathelikeswithher.”“No,” said Colonel

Fitzwilliam, “that is anadvantage which he mustdivide with me. I am joinedwith him in the guardianshipofMissDarcy.”“Are you, indeed? And

pray what sort of a guardiando you make? Does yourcharge give you muchtrouble? Young ladies of herage are sometimes a littledifficulttomanage;andifshehas the trueDarcy spirit, shemay like to have her ownway.”Asshespoke,sheobserved

him looking at her earnestly;and the manner in which heimmediately asked her why

she supposed Miss Darcylikely to give them anyuneasiness, convinced herthat she had somehow orothergotprettynearthetruth.Shedirectlyreplied,—“You need not be

frightened. I never heard anyharm of her; and I dare sayshe is one of the mosttractable creatures in theworld. She is a very greatfavouritewithsome ladiesof

my acquaintance,Mrs. Hurstand Miss Bingley. I think Ihave heard you say that youknowthem.”“Iknowthemalittle.Their

brother is a pleasant,gentleman-like man—he is agreatfriendofDarcy’s.”“Oh yes,” said Elizabeth,

drily—“Mr. Darcy isuncommonly kind to Mr.Bingley, and takes aprodigious deal of care of

him.”“Careofhim!Yes,Ireally

believeDarcydoes take careof him in those pointswherehe most wants care. Fromsomething that he toldme inour journey hither, I havereason to think Bingley verymuch indebted to him. But Ioughttobeghispardon,forIhaveno right to suppose thatBingley was the personmeant.Itwasallconjecture.”

“Whatisityoumean?”“Itisacircumstancewhich

Darcy of course could notwish to be generally known,because if it were to getround to the lady’s family, itwould be an unpleasantthing.”“Youmaydependuponmy

notmentioningit.”“AndrememberthatIhave

not much reason forsupposing it to be Bingley.

Whathe toldmewasmerelythis: that he congratulatedhimself on having latelysaved a friend from theinconveniences of a mostimprudent marriage, butwithoutmentioningnamesorany other particulars; and Ionly suspected it to beBingley from believing himthekindofyoungmantogetintoascrapeofthatsort,andfrom knowing them to havebeen together the whole of

lastsummer.”“Did Mr. Darcy give you

his reasons for thisinterference?”“I understood that there

were some very strongobjectionsagainstthelady.”“Andwhat arts did he use

toseparatethem?”“He did not talk to me of

his own arts,” saidFitzwilliam, smiling. “HeonlytoldmewhatIhavenow

toldyou.”Elizabethmadenoanswer,

and walked on, her heartswelling with indignation.After watching her a little,Fitzwilliam asked her whyshewassothoughtful.“Iamthinkingofwhatyou

have been telling me,” saidshe. “Your cousin’s conductdoes not suit my feelings.Whywashetobethejudge?”“Youareratherdisposedto

call his interferenceofficious?”“I do not see what right

Mr. Darcy had to decide onthe propriety of his friend’sinclination; orwhy, upon hisown judgment alone, he wasto determine and direct inwhat manner that friend wasto be happy. But,” shecontinued, recollectingherself,“asweknownoneoftheparticulars,itisnotfairto

condemn him. It is not to besupposedthattherewasmuchaffectioninthecase.”“That is not an unnatural

surmise,” said Fitzwilliam;“butitislesseningthehonourof my cousin’s triumph verysadly.”Thiswas spoken jestingly,

butitappearedtohersojustapictureofMr.Darcy,thatshewould not trust herself withan answer; and, therefore,

abruptly changing theconversation, talked onindifferent matters till theyreachedtheParsonage.There,shut into her own room, assoonastheirvisitorleftthem,she could think withoutinterruptionofallthatshehadheard. It was not to besupposed that any otherpeople could be meant thanthose with whom she wasconnected. There could notexist in the world two men

over whomMr. Darcy couldhave such boundlessinfluence. That he had beenconcerned in the measurestakentoseparateMr.Bingleyand Jane, she had neverdoubted; but she had alwaysattributedtoMissBingleytheprincipal design andarrangement of them. If hisownvanity,however,didnotmislead him, he was thecause, his pride and capricewere the cause, of all that

Jane had suffered, and stillcontinued to suffer. He hadruinedforawhileeveryhopeof happiness for the mostaffectionate, generous heartin the world; and no onecouldsayhowlastinganevilhemighthaveinflicted.“There were some very

strong objections against thelady,” were ColonelFitzwilliam’s words; andthese strong objections

probably were, her havingoneunclewhowasacountryattorney, and another whowasinbusinessinLondon.“To Jane herself,” she

exclaimed,“therecouldbenopossibility of objection,—allloveliness and goodness asshe is! Her understandingexcellent,hermindimproved,and her manners captivating.Neither could any thing beurgedagainstmyfather,who,

though with somepeculiarities, has abilitieswhich Mr. Darcy himselfneed not disdain, andrespectability which he willprobablynever reach.”Whenshe thought of her mother,indeed, her confidence gaveway a little; but she wouldnot allow that any objectionsthere had material weightwithMr.Darcy,whosepride,she was convinced, wouldreceiveadeeperwoundfrom

thewantofimportanceinhisfriend’s connections thanfromtheirwantofsense;andshewasquitedecided,atlast,that he had been partlygoverned by this worst kindof pride, and partly by thewishofretainingMr.Bingleyforhissister.The agitation and tears

which the subject occasionedbroughtonaheadache;anditgrewsomuchworse towards

theeveningthat,addedtoherunwillingness to see Mr.Darcy, it determined her notto attend her cousins toRosings, where they wereengaged to drink tea. Mrs.Collins, seeing that she wasreally unwell, did not pressher to go, and as much aspossible prevented herhusband from pressing her;but Mr. Collins could notconceal his apprehension ofLadyCatherine’sbeingrather

displeased by her staying athome.

Chapter11

When they were gone,Elizabeth, as if intending toexasperateherselfasmuchaspossible against Mr. Darcy,choseforheremploymenttheexamination of all the letterswhichJanehadwrittentohersinceherbeinginKent.They

contained no actualcomplaint, norwas there anyrevivalofpastoccurrences,orany communication ofpresent suffering. But in all,and in almost every line ofeach,therewasawantofthatcheerfulness which had beenusedtocharacteriseherstyle,and which, proceeding fromtheserenityofamindateasewith itself, and kindlydisposed towards every one,had been scarcely ever

clouded. Elizabeth noticedeverysentenceconveying theidea of uneasiness, with anattentionwhich it had hardlyreceived on the first perusal.Mr. Darcy’s shameful boastof what misery he had beenable to inflict gave her akeener sense of her sister’ssufferings. It was someconsolation to think that hisvisittoRosingswastoendonthe day after the next, and astillgreater,thatinlessthana

fortnight she should herselfbe with Jane again, andenabled to contribute to therecoveryofher spirits,byallthataffectioncoulddo.She could not think of

Darcy’sleavingKentwithoutremembering that his cousinwas to go with him; butColonel Fitzwilliam hadmade it clear that he had nointentions at all, and,agreeable as he was, she did

notmeantobeunhappyabouthim.While settling this point,

she was suddenly roused bythe sound of the door bell;and her spirits were a littlefluttered by the idea of itsbeing Colonel Fitzwilliamhimself,whohadoncebeforecalledlateintheevening,andmight now come to enquireparticularlyafterher.Butthisidea was soon banished, and

her spirits were verydifferently affected,when, toherutteramazement,shesawMr. Darcy walk into theroom.Inahurriedmannerheimmediately began anenquiry after her health,imputinghisvisittoawishofhearing that she were better.She answered him with coldcivility. He sat down for afew moments, and thengetting up walked about theroom. Elizabeth was

surprised,butsaidnotaword.After a silence of severalminutes,hecametowardsherin an agitated manner, andthusbegan:—“InvainhaveIstruggled.It

will not do.My feelingswillnot be repressed. You mustallow me to tell you howardently I admire and loveyou.”Elizabeth’s astonishment

was beyond expression. She

stared,coloured,doubted,andwassilent.Thisheconsideredsufficientencouragement,andthe avowal of all that he feltand had long felt for herimmediately followed. Hespoke well, but there werefeelings besides those of theheart to be detailed, and hewasnotmoreeloquentonthesubject of tenderness than ofpride. His sense of herinferiority, of its being adegradation, of the family

obstacleswhichjudgmenthadalways opposed toinclination, were dwelt onwithawarmthwhichseemeddue to the consequence hewas wounding, but was veryunlikely to recommend hissuit.In spite of her deeply-

rooted dislike, she could notbe insensible to thecompliment of such a man’saffection, and though her

intentionsdidnotvaryforaninstant, shewas at first sorryforthepainhewastoreceive;till, roused to resentment byhis subsequent language, shelost all compassion in anger.She tried, however, tocompose herself to answerhim with patience, when heshould have done. Heconcluded with representingto her the strength of thatattachmentwhich, in spite ofall his endeavours, he had

found impossible to conquer;andwithexpressinghishopethat it would now berewarded by her acceptanceof his hand. As he said this,she could easily see that hehadnodoubtofa favourableanswer. He spoke ofapprehensionandanxiety,buthis countenance expressedreal security. Such acircumstance could onlyexasperate farther; and whenhe ceased, the colour rose

intohercheeks,andshesaid,—“Insuchcasesasthis,itis,

I believe, the establishedmode to express a sense ofobligation for the sentimentsavowed, however unequallythey may be returned. It isnatural thatobligation shouldbe felt, and if I could feelgratitude, Iwouldnow thankyou. But I cannot—I havenever desired your good

opinion, and you havecertainly bestowed it mostunwillingly. I am sorry tohave occasioned pain to anyone. It has been mostunconsciously done,however, and I hope will beof short duration. Thefeelings which you tell mehave long prevented theacknowledgment of yourregard can have littledifficulty in overcoming itafterthisexplanation.”

Mr. Darcy, who wasleaning against the mantel-piece with his eyes fixed onherface,seemedtocatchherwords with no lessresentment than surprise.Hiscomplexionbecamepalewithanger, and the disturbanceofhismindwasvisibleineveryfeature.Hewasstrugglingfortheappearanceofcomposure,andwould not open his lips,till he believed himself tohave attained it. The pause

was to Elizabeth’s feelingsdreadful.Atlength,inavoiceof forced calmness, he said,—“And this is all the reply

which I am to have thehonourofexpecting!Imight,perhaps,wish tobe informedwhy,withso littleendeavouratcivility,Iamthusrejected.But it is of smallimportance.”“I might as well enquire,”

replied she, “why, with soevidentadesignofoffendingand insulting me, you choseto tell me that you liked meagainst your will, againstyourreason,andevenagainstyour character?Was not thissomeexcuseforincivility,ifIwasuncivil?ButIhaveotherprovocations. You know Ihave. Had not my ownfeelings decided against you,had they been indifferent, orhad they even been

favourable, doyou think thatany consideration wouldtempt me to accept the manwho has been the means ofruining,perhaps forever, thehappiness of a most belovedsister?”As she pronounced these

words, Mr. Darcy changedcolour; but the emotion wasshort,andhelistenedwithoutattempting to interrupt herwhileshecontinued,—

“Ihaveeveryreasonintheworld to think ill of you.Nomotive can excuse the unjustand ungenerous part youacted there. You dare not,you cannot deny that youhavebeentheprincipal,ifnotthe only means of dividingthem from each other, ofexposing one to the censureof the world for caprice andinstability, the other to itsderision for disappointedhopes, and involving them

both inmisery of the acutestkind.”She paused, and saw with

no slight indignation that hewas listening with an airwhich proved him whollyunmoved by any feeling ofremorse. He even looked ather with a smile of affectedincredulity.“Can you deny that you

havedoneit?”sherepeated.With assumed tranquillity

he then replied, “I have nowish of denying that I didevery thing in my power toseparatemyfriendfromyoursister, or that I rejoice inmysuccess. Towardshim I havebeen kinder than towardsmyself.”Elizabeth disdained the

appearance of noticing thiscivil reflection, but itsmeaning did not escape, norwasitlikelytoconciliateher.

“But it is not merely thisaffair,” she continued, “onwhichmydislike is founded.Long before it had takenplace,myopinionofyouwasdecided. Your character wasunfoldedintherecitalwhichIreceived many months agofrom Mr. Wickham. On thissubject,whatcanyouhavetosay?Inwhatimaginaryactoffriendship can you heredefend yourself? or underwhat misrepresentation can

you here impose uponothers?”“Youtakeaneagerinterest

in that gentleman’sconcerns,” said Darcy, in aless tranquil tone, andwith aheightenedcolour.“Who thatknowswhathis

misfortunes have been canhelp feeling an interest inhim?”“His misfortunes!”

repeated Darcy,

contemptuously,—“yes, hismisfortunes have been greatindeed.”“And of your infliction,”

cried Elizabeth, with energy.“Youhavereducedhimtohispresent state of poverty—comparative poverty. Youhavewithheld theadvantageswhichyoumustknowtohavebeen designed for him. Youhave deprived the best yearsof his life of that

independence which was noless his due than his desert.You have done all this! andyetyoucantreat thementionof his misfortunes withcontemptandridicule.”“Andthis,”criedDarcy,as

he walked with quick stepsacross the room, “is youropinion of me! This is theestimation inwhichyouholdme! I thank you forexplaining it so fully. My

faults, according to thiscalculation,areheavyindeed!But, perhaps,” added he,stopping in his walk, andturning towards her, “theseoffences might have beenoverlooked, had not yourpridebeenhurtbymyhonestconfession of the scruplesthat had long prevented myforming any serious design.These bitter accusationsmight have been suppressed,had I, with greater policy,

concealed my struggles, andflatteredyouintothebeliefofmy being impelled byunqualified, unalloyedinclination; by reason, byreflection,byeverything.Butdisguise of every sort is myabhorrence. Nor am Iashamed of the feelings Irelated. They were naturaland just. Could you expectmetorejoiceintheinferiorityof your connections? Tocongratulate myself on the

hope of relations whosecondition in life is sodecidedlybeneathmyown?”Elizabeth felt herself

growing more angry everymoment; yet she tried to theutmost to speak withcomposurewhenshesaid,—“You are mistaken, Mr.

Darcy,ifyousupposethatthemode of your declarationaffectedmeinanyotherwaythan as it spared me the

concern which I might havefelt in refusing you, had youbehaved in a moregentleman-likemanner.”She saw him start at this;

but he said nothing, and shecontinued,—“Youcouldnothavemade

me the offer of your hand inany possible way that wouldhave tempted me to acceptit.”Again his astonishment

wasobvious:andhelookedather with an expression ofmingled incredulity andmortification.Shewenton,—“From the very beginning,

fromthefirstmoment,Imayalmost say, of myacquaintance with you, yourmanners impressing me withthe fullest belief of yourarrogance, your conceit, andyour selfish disdain of thefeelings of others,were such

astoformthatgroundworkofdisapprobation, on whichsucceeding events have builtsoimmovableadislike;andIhad not known you a monthbeforeIfeltthatyouwerethelastmanintheworldwhomIcouldeverbeprevailedontomarry.”“You have said quite

enough, madam. I perfectlycomprehend your feelings,and have now only to be

ashamed of what my ownhave been. Forgive me forhaving taken up so much ofyourtime,andacceptmybestwishes for your health andhappiness.”And with these words he

hastily left the room, andElizabeth heard him the nextmoment open the front doorand quit the house. Thetumult of hermindwas nowpainfullygreat.Sheknewnot

how to support herself, and,from actual weakness, satdown and cried for half anhour. Her astonishment, asshe reflected on what hadpassed, was increased byevery review of it. That sheshould receive an offer ofmarriage from Mr. Darcy!that he should have been inlove with her for so manymonths!somuchinloveastowish tomarryher in spite ofall the objections which had

madehimpreventhisfriend’smarrying her sister, andwhich must appear at leastwith equal force in his owncase,wasalmostincredible!itwas gratifying to haveinspired unconsciously sostrong an affection. But hispride, his abominable pride,hisshamelessavowalofwhathe had done with respect toJane, his unpardonableassurance in acknowledging,thoughhecouldnotjustifyit,

and the unfeeling manner inwhich he hadmentionedMr.Wickham,hiscrueltytowardswhom he had not attemptedto deny, soon overcame thepity which the considerationof his attachment had for amomentexcited.She continued in very

agitating reflections till thesound of Lady Catherine’scarriage made her feel howunequalshewastoencounter

Charlotte’s observation, andhurriedherawaytoherroom.

Chapter12

Elizabeth awoke the nextmorningtothesamethoughtsandmeditationswhichhadatlength closed her eyes. Shecould not yet recover fromthe surprise of what hadhappened: it was impossibleto think of any thing else;

and, totally indisposed foremployment, she resolvedsoon after breakfast toindulge herself in air andexercise.Shewasproceedingdirectlytoherfavouritewalk,when the recollection ofMr.Darcy’s sometimes comingtherestoppedher;andinsteadof entering the park, sheturnedupthelane,whichledher farther from the turnpikeroad. The park paling wasstilltheboundaryononeside,

and she soon passed one ofthegatesintotheground.Afterwalking twoor three

times along that part of thelane,shewastempted,bythepleasantness of the morning,to stop at the gates and lookintothepark.ThefiveweekswhichshehadnowpassedinKent had made a greatdifferenceinthecountry,andevery day was adding to theverdureoftheearlytrees.She

was on the point ofcontinuing her walk, whenshe caught a glimpse of agentleman within the sort ofgrove which edged the park:hewasmovingthatway;andfearfulofitsbeingMr.Darcy,she was directly retreating.Butthepersonwhoadvancedwas now near enough to seeher, and stepping forwardwith eagerness, pronouncedher name. She had turnedaway; but on hearing herself

called, though in a voicewhich proved it to be Mr.Darcy, she moved againtowards the gate. He had bythattimereacheditalso;and,holding out a letter, whichshe instinctively took, said,with a look of haughtycomposure, “I have beenwalking in the grove sometime, in the hope ofmeetingyou. Will you do me thehonour of reading thatletter?” And then, with a

slight bow, turned again intotheplantation,atandwassoonoutofsight.With no expectation of

pleasure, but with thestrongest curiosity, Elizabethopened the letter, and to herstill increasing wonder,perceived an envelopecontainingtwosheetsofletterpaper, written quite through,in a very close hand. Theenvelope itself was likewise

full. Pursuing her way alongthe lane,she thenbegan it. Itwas dated from Rosings, ateighto’clock in themorning,andwasasfollows:—“Be not alarmed, madam,

onreceivingthisletter,bytheapprehensionofitscontainingany repetition of thosesentiments, or renewal ofthose offers,whichwere lastnight so disgusting to you. Iwritewithoutanyintentionof

paining you, or humblingmyself, by dwelling onwishes, which, for thehappiness of both, cannot betoo soon forgotten; and theeffort which the formationand the perusal of this lettermust occasion, should havebeen spared, had not mycharacter required it to bewritten and read. You must,therefore,pardonthefreedomwith which I demand yourattention; your feelings, I

know, will bestow itunwillingly, but I demand itofyourjustice.“Two offences of a very

different nature, and by nomeans of equal magnitude,you last night laid to mycharge. The first mentionedwas, that, regardless of thesentiments of either, I haddetached Mr. Bingley fromyour sister,—and the other,that I had, in defiance of

variousclaims,indefianceofhonour and humanity, ruinedtheimmediateprosperity,andblasted the prospects of Mr.Wickham. Wilfully andwantonly to have thrown offthe companion of my youth,the acknowledged favouriteof my father, a young manwho had scarcely any otherdependence than on ourpatronage,andwhohadbeenbrought up to expect itsexertion, would be a

depravity, to which theseparation of two youngpersons, whose affectioncouldbethegrowthofonlyafew weeks, could bear nocomparison. But from theseverity of that blame whichwas last night so liberallybestowed, respecting eachcircumstance, I shall hope tobeinfuturesecured,whenthefollowing account of myactionsand theirmotiveshasbeen read. If, in the

explanationof themwhich isduetomyself,Iamunderthenecessity of relating feelingswhich may be offensive toyours, I can only say that Iamsorry.Thenecessitymustbe obeyed, and furtherapology would be absurd. Ihad not been long inHertfordshire, before I saw,in common with others, thatBingley preferred your eldersister to any other youngwoman in the country.But it

wasnottilltheeveningofthedance at Netherfield that Ihad any apprehension of hisfeelingaseriousattachment.Ihad often seen him in lovebefore. At that ball, while Ihad the honour of dancingwith you, I was first madeacquainted, by Sir WilliamLucas’s accidentalinformation, that Bingley’sattentions to your sister hadgiven rise to a generalexpectationoftheirmarriage.

He spoke of it as a certainevent, of which the timealone could be undecided.FromthatmomentIobservedmy friend’s behaviourattentively; and I could thenperceivethathispartialityforMiss Bennet was beyondwhat I had everwitnessed inhim. Your sister I alsowatched. Her look andmannerswereopen,cheerful,and engaging as ever, butwithout any symptom of

peculiar regard; and Iremainedconvinced,fromtheevening’s scrutiny, thatthough she received hisattentions with pleasure, shedid not invite them by anyparticipation of sentiment. Ifyou have not been mistakenhere, Imust have been in anerror. Your superiorknowledge of your sistermust make the latterprobable.Ifitbeso,ifIhavebeenmisled by such error to

inflict pain on her, yourresentment has not beenunreasonable. But I shall notscruple to assert, that theserenity of your sister’scountenanceandairwassuchasmighthavegiventhemostacute observer a convictionthat, however amiable hertemper, her heart was notlikely to be easily touched.That I was desirous ofbelieving her indifferent iscertain; but I will venture to

say that my investigationsand decisions are not usuallyinfluenced by my hopes orfears.Ididnotbelieveher tobe indifferent because Iwished it; I believed it onimpartial conviction, as trulyas I wished it in reason.Myobjections to the marriagewere notmerely thosewhichI last night acknowledged tohave required the utmostforce of passion to put asideinmyown case; thewant of

connection could not be sogreat an evil tomy friend asto me. But there were othercauses of repugnance; causeswhich, though still existing,and existing to an equaldegree in both instances, Ihad myself endeavoured toforget,becausetheywerenotimmediately before me.These causesmust be stated,though briefly. The situationof your mother’s family,though objectionable, was

nothingincomparisonofthattotal want of propriety sofrequently, so almostuniformly betrayed byherself,byyourthreeyoungersisters,andoccasionallyevenby your father:—pardon me,—it painsme to offend you.But amidst your concern forthe defects of your nearestrelations, and yourdispleasure at thisrepresentation of them, let itgive you consolation to

consider that to haveconductedyourselvessoastoavoid any share of the likecensure is praise no lessgenerally bestowed on youand your eldest sister than itishonourabletothesenseanddisposition of both. I willonly say, farther, that fromwhat passed that eveningmyopinion of all parties wasconfirmed, and everyinducement heightened,which could have led me

before to preserve my friendfromwhat Iesteemedamostunhappy connection. He leftNetherfieldforLondonontheday following, as you, I amcertain, remember, with thedesignofsoonreturning.Thepart which I acted is now tobe explained. His sisters’uneasiness had been equallyexcited with my own: ourcoincidence of feeling wassoon discovered; and, alikesensible that no time was to

be lost in detaching theirbrother, we shortly resolvedon joining him directly inLondon. We accordinglywent—and there I readilyengaged in the office ofpointingout tomy friend thecertainevilsofsuchachoice.I described and enforcedthem earnestly. But howeverthis remonstrancemighthavestaggered or delayed hisdetermination, I do notsuppose that it would

ultimatelyhavepreventedthemarriage, had it not beenseconded by the assurance,which I hesitated not ingiving, of your sister’sindifference. He had beforebelieved her to return hisaffection with sincere, if notwith equal, regard. ButBingley has great naturalmodesty, with a strongerdependence on my judgmentthanonhisown.Toconvincehim, therefore, that he had

deceivedhimselfwasnoverydifficult point. To persuadehim against returning intoHertfordshire, when thatconviction had been given,was scarcely the work of amoment. I cannot blamemyself for having done thusmuch.Thereisbutonepartofmy conduct, in the wholeaffair, on which I do notreflect with satisfaction; it isthat I condescended to adoptthemeasures of art so far as

to conceal from him yoursister’sbeingintown.Iknewitmyself,as itwasknowntoMissBingley;butherbrotherisevenyetignorantofit.Thattheymight havemetwithoutill consequence is, perhaps,probable; but his regard didnot appear to me enoughextinguished for him to seeher without some danger.Perhaps this concealment,this disguise, was beneathme. It is done, however, and

it was done for the best. Onthis subject I have nothingmoretosay,nootherapologyto offer. If I have woundedyour sister’s feelings, it wasunknowingly done; andthough the motives whichgovernedmemaytoyouverynaturally appear insufficient,I have not yet learnt tocondemn them.—Withrespect to that other, moreweightyaccusation,ofhavinginjured Mr. Wickham, I can

onlyrefuteitbylayingbeforeyou the whole of hisconnection with my family.Of what he has particularlyaccusedmeIamignorant;butof the truth of what I shallrelate I can summon morethan one witness ofundoubted veracity. Mr.Wickhamisthesonofaveryrespectableman,whohadformany years the managementof all the Pemberley estates,and whose good conduct in

the discharge of his trustnaturally inclined my fatherto be of service to him; andon George Wickham, whowas his godson, his kindnesswas therefore liberallybestowed. My fathersupported him at school, andafterwards at Cambridge;most important assistance, ashis own father, always poorfrom the extravagance of hiswife,wouldhavebeenunableto give him a gentleman’s

education.Myfatherwasnotonlyfondofthisyoungman’ssociety,whosemannerswerealwaysengaging,hehadalsothe highest opinion of him,andhoping thechurchwouldbehisprofession, intendedtoprovide for him in it. As formyself, it is many, manyyears since I first began tothink of him in a verydifferentmanner.Theviciouspropensities, the want ofprinciple, which he was

careful to guard from theknowledgeofhisbest friend,could not escape theobservation of a young manof nearly the same age withhimself, and who hadopportunitiesofseeinghiminunguarded moments, whichMr. Darcy could not have.Here again I shall give youpain—to what degree youonly can tell. But whatevermaybe the sentimentswhichMr. Wickham has created, a

suspicionoftheirnatureshallnot prevent me fromunfoldinghisrealcharacter.Itadds even another motive.My excellent father diedabout fiveyears ago; andhisattachment to Mr. Wickhamwastothelastsosteady,thatin his will he particularlyrecommended it to me topromote his advancement inthe best manner that hisprofessionmightallow,andifhe tookorders,desired thata

valuable family living mightbe his as soon as it becamevacant. There was also alegacy of one thousandpounds. His own father didnot long survive mine; andwithinhalfayear from theseeventsMr.Wickhamwrotetoinformmethat,havingfinallyresolved against takingorders,hehopedIshouldnotthink itunreasonable forhimto expect some moreimmediate pecuniary

advantage, in lieu of thepreferment, by which hecould not be benefited. Hehadsomeintention,headded,of studying the law, and Imust be aware that theinterest of one thousandpounds would be a veryinsufficient support therein. Irather wished than believedhimtobesincere;but,atanyrate, was perfectly ready toaccede to his proposal. Iknew that Mr. Wickham

ought not to be a clergyman.The business was thereforesoon settled. He resigned allclaim to assistance in thechurch, were it possible thathecouldeverbeinasituationto receive it, and accepted inreturnthreethousandpounds.All connection between usseemed now dissolved. Ithought too ill of him toinvite him to Pemberley, oradmit his society in town. Intown, I believe, he chiefly

lived,buthisstudyingthelawwas a mere pretence; andbeing now free from allrestraint,hislifewasalifeofidleness and dissipation. ForaboutthreeyearsIheardlittleofhim;butonthedeceaseofthe incumbent of the livingwhich had been designed forhim, he applied to me againby letter for thepresentation.Hiscircumstances,heassuredme,andIhadnodifficultyinbelievingit,wereexceedingly

bad.He had found the law amost unprofitable study, andwas now absolutely resolvedonbeingordained,ifIwouldpresent him to the living inquestion—ofwhichhetrustedtherecouldbelittledoubt,ashewaswellassuredthatIhadno other person to providefor, and I could not haveforgottenmy revered father’sintentions. You will hardlyblame me for refusing tocomplywith this entreaty, or

for resisting every repetitionof it. His resentment was inproportion to the distress ofhis circumstances—and hewas doubtless as violent inhisabuseofmetoothersasinhis reproaches to myself.After this period, everyappearance of acquaintancewasdropped.Howhelived,Iknownot.Butlastsummerhewas again most painfullyobtrudedonmynotice.Imustnow mention a circumstance

whichIwouldwish to forgetmyself, and which noobligation less than thepresent should induce me tounfold to any human being.Havingsaidthusmuch,Ifeelnodoubtofyoursecrecy.Mysister, who is more than tenyears my junior, was left tothe guardianship of mymother’s nephew, ColonelFitzwilliam, and myself.About a year ago, she wastaken from school, and an

establishment formed for herin London; and last summershe went with the lady whopresided over it toRamsgate;au and thither alsowent Mr. Wickham,undoubtedly by design; forthere proved to have been aprior acquaintance betweenhim and Mrs. Younge, inwhose character we weremostunhappilydeceived;andbyherconnivanceandaidhe

so far recommended himselfto Georgiana, whoseaffectionate heart retained astrong impression of hiskindnesstoherasachild,thatshewaspersuaded tobelieveherselfinlove,andtoconsentto an elopement. She wasthen but fifteen, which mustbe her excuse; and afterstating her imprudence, I amhappytoadd,thatIowedtheknowledge of it to herself. Ijoined them unexpectedly a

day or two before theintendedelopement;and thenGeorgiana, unable to supportthe idea of grieving andoffendingabrotherwhomshealmost looked up to as afather, acknowledged thewhole to me. You mayimaginewhatIfeltandhowIacted.Regard formy sister’scredit and feelings preventedany public exposure; but Iwrote toMr.Wickham, wholeft the place immediately,

and Mrs. Younge was ofcourse removed from hercharge.Mr.Wickham’schiefobject was unquestionablymy sister’s fortune, which isthirty thousandpounds; but Icannot help supposing thatthehopeofrevenginghimselfon me was a stronginducement. His revengewould have been completeindeed. This, madam, is afaithful narrative of everyevent inwhichwehavebeen

concerned together; and ifyoudonotabsolutelyrejectitas false, you will, I hope,acquit me henceforth ofcruelty towards Mr.Wickham.Iknownotinwhatmanner, under what form offalsehood,hehasimposedonyou; but his success is notperhaps to be wondered at,ignorant as you previouslywere of every thingconcerning either. Detectioncould not be in your power,

andsuspicioncertainlynotinyour inclination. You maypossiblywonderwhy all thiswas not told you last night.But I was not then masterenough of myself to knowwhat could or ought to berevealed. For the truth ofeverythinghererelated,Icanappeal more particularly tothe testimony of ColonelFitzwilliam, who, from ournearrelationshipandconstantintimacy, and still more as

one of the executors of myfather’s will, has beenunavoidably acquainted withevery particular of thesetransactions. If yourabhorrence of me shouldmakemyassertionsvalueless,you cannot be prevented bythe same cause fromconfiding in my cousin; andthat there may be thepossibilityof consultinghim,I shall endeavour to findsome opportunity of putting

thisletterinyourhandsinthecourse of themorning. Iwillonlyadd,Godblessyou.“FITZWILLIAMDARCY.”

Chapter13

IfElizabeth,whenMr.Darcygave her the letter, did notexpectittocontainarenewalofhisoffers, shehad formedno expectation at all of itscontents. But such as theywere, it may be wellsupposed how eagerly she

went through them,andwhatacontrarietyofemotion theyexcited. Her feelings as sheread were scarcely to bedefined.Withamazementdidshe first understand that hebelievedanyapologytobeinhis power; and steadfastlywas she persuaded, that hecould have no explanation togive, which a just sense ofshame would not conceal.With a strong prejudiceagainst every thing he might

say,shebeganhisaccountofwhat had happened atNetherfield.Shereadwithaneagerness which hardly leftherpowerof comprehension;and from impatience ofknowing what the nextsentence might bring, wasincapable of attending to thesense of the one before hereyes.Hisbeliefofhersister’sinsensibility she instantlyresolved to be false; and hisaccountof thereal, theworst

objectionstothematch,madeher too angry to have anywishofdoinghimjustice.Heexpressed no regret for whathe had done which satisfiedher; his style was notpenitent, but haughty. It wasallprideandinsolence.But when this subject was

succeeded by his account ofMr. Wickham—when sheread, with somewhat clearerattention, a relationofevents

which, if true, mustoverthrow every cherishedopinion of his worth, andwhich bore so alarming anaffinity tohisownhistoryofhimself—her feelings wereyetmore acutely painful andmore difficult of definition.Astonishment, apprehension,and even horror, oppressedher.Shewishedtodiscredititentirely, repeatedlyexclaiming, “This must befalse! This cannot be! This

must be the grossestfalsehood!” —and when shehad gone through the wholeletter, though scarcelyknowinganythingofthelastpage or two, put it hastilyaway, protesting that shewould not regard it, that shewouldneverlookinitagain.In this perturbed state of

mind, with thoughts thatcould rest on nothing, shewalked on; but it would not

do:inhalfaminutetheletterwas unfolded again; and,collecting herself as well asshe could, she again beganthe mortifying perusal of allthat related toWickham, andcommanded herself so far asto examine the meaning ofevery sentence. The accountof his connection with thePemberleyfamilywasexactlywhat he had related himself;and the kindness of the lateMr. Darcy, though she had

not before known its extent,agreed equally well with hisown words. So far eachrecital confirmed the other;but when she came to thewill,thedifferencewasgreat.What Wickham had said ofthe living was fresh in hermemory; and as she recalledhis very words, it wasimpossible not to feel thatthere was gross duplicity ononesideortheother,and,fora fewmoments, she flattered

herselfthatherwishesdidnoterr. But when she read andreread, with the closestattention, the particularsimmediately following ofWickham’s resigning allpretensions to the living, ofhis receiving in lieu soconsiderable a sum as threethousand pounds, again wassheforcedtohesitate.Sheputdown the letter, weighedeverycircumstancewithwhatshe meant to be impartiality

—deliberated on theprobability of each statement—but with little success. Onboth sides it was onlyassertion.Again she read on.But every line proved moreclearly that the affair, whichshehadbelieveditimpossiblethatanycontrivancecouldsorepresent as to render Mr.Darcy’s conduct in it lessthan infamous, was capableof a turn which must makehim entirely blameless

throughoutthewhole.The extravagance and

general profligacy which hescrupled not to lay to Mr.Wickham’s chargeexceedingly shocked her; themore so, as she could bringno proof of its injustice. Shehadneverheardofhimbeforehis entrance into the———shiremilitia,inwhichhehadengaged at the persuasion ofthe young man, who, on

meeting him accidentally intown, had there renewed aslight acquaintance. Of hisformer way of life, nothinghad been known inHertfordshire but what hetold himself. As to his realcharacter, had informationbeen in her power, she hadneverfeltawishofenquiring.His countenance, voice, andmanner, had established himat once in the possession ofevery virtue. She tried to

recollect some instance ofgoodness,somedistinguishedtrait of integrity orbenevolence, that mightrescue him from the attacksofMr.Darcy; or at least, bythe predominance of virtue,atone for those casual errors,under which she wouldendeavour to class what Mr.Darcy had described as theidleness and vice of manyyears’ continuance. But nosuch recollection befriended

her. She could see himinstantly before her, in everycharmofairandaddress,butshecouldremembernomoresubstantial good than thegeneral approbation of theneighbourhood, and theregard which his socialpowershadgainedhiminthemess. After pausing on thispoint a considerable while,she once more continued toread. But, alas! the storywhich followed, of his

designs on Miss Darcy,received some confirmationfrom what had passedbetween Colonel Fitzwilliamand herself only themorningbefore; and at last she wasreferredforthetruthofeveryparticular to ColonelFitzwilliam himself—fromwhom she had previouslyreceived the information ofhis near concern in all hiscousin’s affairs, and whosecharactershehadnoreasonto

question.Atonetimeshehadalmost resolved on applyingto him, but the idea waschecked by the awkwardnessof the application, and atlengthwhollybanishedbytheconviction that Mr. Darcywould never have hazardedsuchaproposal,ifhehadnotbeen well assured of hiscousin’scorroboration.She perfectly remembered

everythingthathadpassedin

conversation betweenWickhamandherself in theirfirsteveningatMr.Philips’s.Manyofhisexpressionswerestillfreshinhermemory.Shewas now struck with theimpropriety of suchcommunicationstoastranger,andwondered it had escapedher before. She saw theindelicacy of putting himselfforward as he had done, andthe inconsistency of hisprofessionswith his conduct.

She remembered that he hadboasted of having no fear ofseeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr.Darcy might leave thecountry, but that he shouldstand his ground; yet he hadavoided the Netherfield ballthe very next week. Sherememberedalso, that till theNetherfield family hadquitted the country, he hadtold his story to no one butherself; but that after theirremoval, it had been every

where discussed; that he hadthen no reserves, no scruplesin sinking Mr. Darcy’scharacter, though he hadassured her that respect forthe father would alwayspreventhisexposingtheson.How differently did every

thingnowappearinwhichhewasconcerned!Hisattentionsto Miss King were now theconsequence of views solelyand hatefullymercenary; and

themediocrity of her fortuneproved no longer themoderationofhiswishes,buthis eagerness to grasp at anything. His behaviour toherself could now have hadno tolerable motive: he hadeither been deceived withregard to her fortune, or hadbeen gratifying his vanity byencouraging the preferencewhich she believed she hadmost incautiously shown.Every lingering struggle in

his favour grew fainter; andin further justificationofMr.Darcy, she could not butallowthatMr.Bingley,whenquestionedby Jane, had longago asserted hisblamelessnessintheaffair;—that, proud and repulsive aswere his manners, she hadnever, in thewholecourseoftheir acquaintance—anacquaintance which hadlatterly brought them muchtogether,andgivenherasort

of intimacy with his ways—seen any thing that betrayedhim to be unprincipled orunjust—any thing that spokehimofirreligiousorimmoralhabits;—that among his ownconnectionshewasesteemedand valued—that evenWickham had allowed himmerit as a brother, and thatshe had often heard himspeaksoaffectionatelyofhissisterastoprovehimcapableof some amiable feeling; —

thathadhisactionsbeenwhatWickham represented them,so gross a violation of everything rightcouldhardlyhavebeen concealed from theworld; and that friendshipbetween a person capable ofitandsuchanamiablemanasMr. Bingley wasincomprehensible.She grew absolutely

ashamed of herself. Ofneither Darcy nor Wickham

could she think, withoutfeeling that she had beenblind, partial, prejudiced,absurd.“How despicably have I

acted!” she cried. “I whohave prided myself on mydiscernment! I, who havevalued myself on myabilities! who have oftendisdained the generouscandour of my sister, andgratifiedmyvanityinuseless

or blameable distrust. Howhumiliating is this discovery!Yet, how just a humiliation!Had I been in love, I couldnot have been morewretchedly blind.But vanity,not love, has been my folly.Pleased with the preferenceof one, and offended by theneglect of the other, on thevery beginning of ouracquaintance, I have courtedprepossessionav and

ignorance, and driven reasonaway where either wereconcerned. Till this moment,Ineverknewmyself.”9

Fromherself to Jane, fromJane toBingley,her thoughtswere in a line which soonbrought to her recollectionthat Mr. Darcy’s explanationthere had appeared veryinsufficient; and she read itagain. Widely different wastheeffectofasecondperusal.

How could she deny thatcredittohisassertions,inoneinstance,which shehadbeenobliged to give in the other?He declared himself to havebeen totally unsuspicious ofher sister’s attachment; andshe could not helpremembering whatCharlotte’s opinion hadalways been. Neither couldshe deny the justice of hisdescription of Jane. She feltthat Jane’s feelings, though

fervent,were little displayed,and that therewasaconstantcomplacency in her air andmanner,notoftenunitedwithgreatsensibility.Whenshecametothatpart

of the letter in which herfamily were mentioned, intermsof suchmortifying,yetmeritedreproach,hersenseofshamewassevere.Thejusticeof the charge struck her tooforcibly for denial; and the

circumstances to, which heparticularly alluded, ashaving passed at theNetherfield ball, and asconfirming all his firstdisapprobation, could nothave made a strongerimpression on his mind thanonhers.The compliment to herself

andher sisterwasnotunfelt.It soothed, but it could notconsole her for the contempt

which had been thus self-attracted by the rest of herfamily;andassheconsideredthat Jane’s disappointmenthad,infact,beentheworkofher nearest relations, andreflected how materially thecreditofbothmustbehurtbysuch impropriety of conduct,shefeltdepressedbeyondanything she had ever knownbefore.After wandering along the

lane for two hours, givingway to every variety ofthought, re-consideringevents, determiningprobabilities, and reconcilingherself, as well as she couldtoachangesosuddenandsoimportant, fatigue, and arecollection of her longabsence, made her at lengthreturnhome;andsheenteredthe house with the wish ofappearing cheerful as usual,and the resolution of

repressing such reflections asmust make her unfit forconversation.Shewas immediately told,

that the two gentlemen fromRosings had each calledduring her absence; Mr.Darcy, only for a fewminutes, to take leave, butthat Colonel Fitzwilliam hadbeensittingwiththematleastan hour, hoping for herreturn, and almost resolving

towalkafterhertillshecouldbefound.Elizabethcouldbutjustaffectconcern inmissinghim; she really rejoiced at it.Colonel Fitzwilliam was nolonger an object. She couldthinkonlyofherletter.

Chapter14

The two gentlemen leftRosings the next morning;andMr. Collins having beeninwaitingnear thelodges, tomake them his partingobeisance, was able to bringhome the pleasingintelligenceoftheirappearing

inverygoodhealth,andinastolerable spirits as could beexpected, after themelancholy scene so latelygone through at Rosings. ToRosings he then hastened toconsole Lady Catherine andher daughter; and on hisreturn brought back, withgreat satisfaction, a messagefromherLadyship,importingthatshefeltherselfsodullastomake her very desirous ofhaving them all to dine with

her.Elizabeth could not see

Lady Catherine withoutrecollecting that, had shechosen it, she might by thistime have been presented toher as her future niece; norcould she think, without asmile,ofwhatherLadyship’sindignationwouldhavebeen.“What would she have said?how would she havebehaved?” were questions

with which she amusedherself.Their first subject was the

diminution of the Rosings’party. “I assure you, I feel itexceedingly,” said LadyCatherine; “I believe nobodyfeels the loss of friends somuch as I do. But I amparticularly attached to theseyoung men; and know themtobesomuchattachedtome!They were excessively sorry

togo!Butsotheyalwaysare.The dear Colonel rallied hisspirits tolerably till just atlast;butDarcyseemedtofeelit most acutely—more, Ithink, than last year. Hisattachment to Rosingscertainlyincreases.”Mr. Collins had a

compliment and an allusionto throw inhere,whichwerekindly smiled on by themotheranddaughter.

Lady Catherine observed,afterdinner,thatMissBennetseemed out of spirits; andimmediatelyaccountingforitherself,bysupposingthatshedidnotliketogohomeagainsosoon,sheadded,—“Butifthatisthecase,you

mustwrite toyourmother tobegthatyoumaystaya littlelonger. Mrs. Collins will beverygladofyourcompany,Iamsure.”

“IammuchobligedtoyourLadyship for your kindinvitation,” repliedElizabeth;“but it isnot inmypower toaccept it. I must be in townnextSaturday.”“Why,atthatrate,youwill

have been here only sixweeks.Iexpectedyoutostaytwo months. I told Mrs.Collins so before you came.Therecanbenooccasionforyour going so soon. Mrs.

Bennet could certainly spareyouforanotherfortnight.”“Butmy father cannot.He

wrote last week to hurry myreturn.”“Oh,yourfather,ofcourse,

may spare you, if yourmother can. Daughters arenever of so muchconsequence toa father.Andifyouwillstayanothermonthcomplete, it will be in mypower to take one of you as

farasLondon,forIamgoingthere early in June, for aweek; and as Dawson doesnot object to the barouche-box,aw there will be verygood room for one of you—and indeed, if the weathershould happen to be cool, Ishould not object to takingyou both, as you are neitherofyoularge.”“You are all kindness,

madam;butIbelievewemust

abidebyouroriginalplan.”Lady Catherine seemed

resigned. “Mrs. Collins, youmust send a servant withthem. You know I alwaysspeakmymind,and Icannotbear the idea of two youngwomen travelling postax bythemselves. It is highlyimproper.Youmust contrivetosendsomebody.Ihavethegreatest dislike in the worldto that sort of thing. Young

women should always beproperly guarded andattended, according to theirsituation in life. When myniece Georgiana went toRamsgate last summer, Imade a point of her havingtwo men-servants go withher.MissDarcy,thedaughterof Mr. Darcy of Pemberley,and Lady Anne, could nothave appearedwith proprietyin a different manner. I amexcessively attentive to all

those things. You must sendJohn with the young ladies,Mrs. Collins. I am glad itoccurredtometomentionit;for it would really bediscreditable to you to letthemgoalone.”“My uncle is to send a

servantforus.”“Oh!Youruncle!Hekeeps

aman-servant,doeshe?Iamverygladyouhavesomebodywho thinks of those things.

Where shall you changehorses? Oh, Bromley, ofcourse. If you mention mynameat theBell,youwillbeattendedto.”Lady Catherine had many

other questions to askrespecting their journey, andasshedidnotanswerthemallherself, attention wasnecessary, which Elizabethbelieved to be lucky for her;or,with amind so occupied,

she might have forgottenwhere she was. Reflectionmust be reserved for solitaryhours: whenever she wasalone, she gave way to it asthe greatest relief; and not aday went by without asolitary walk, in which shemight indulge in all thedelight of unpleasantrecollections.Mr.Darcy’s letter shewas

inafairwayofsoonknowing

by heart. She studied everysentence; and her feelingstowards its writer were attimeswidelydifferent.Whenshe remembered the style ofhis address, shewas still fullof indignation: but when sheconsidered how unjustly shehad condemned andupbraidedhim,herangerwasturnedagainstherself;andhisdisappointed feelingsbecametheobjectofcompassion.Hisattachment excited gratitude,

his general character respect:but she could not approvehim; nor could she for amomentrepentherrefusal,orfeel the slightest inclinationever to seehimagain. Inherown past behaviour, therewas a constant source ofvexation and regret; and inthe unhappy defects of herfamily, a subject of yetheavier chagrin. They werehopeless of remedy. Herfather, contented with

laughing at them, wouldneverexerthimselftorestrainthe wild giddiness of hisyoungest daughters; and hermother, with manners so farfrom right herself, wasentirelyinsensibleoftheevil.Elizabeth had frequentlyunited with Jane in anendeavour to check theimprudence of Catherine andLydia; but while they weresupported by their mother’sindulgence, what chance

could there be ofimprovement? Catherine,weak-spirited, irritable, andcompletely under Lydia’sguidance, had been alwaysaffrontedbytheiradvice;andLydia, self-willed andcareless,would scarcely givethem a hearing. They wereignorant, idle, and vain.While therewasanofficer inMeryton, they would flirtwithhim;andwhileMerytonwas within a walk of

Longbourn, they would begoingthereforever.Anxiety on Jane’s behalf

was another prevailingconcern; and Mr. Darcy’sexplanation, by restoringBingley to all her formergood opinion, heightened thesense of what Jane had lost.His affection was proved tohave been sincere, and hisconduct clearedof all blame,unlessanycouldattachtothe

implicitnessofhisconfidencein his friend. How grievousthenwasthethoughtthat,ofasituationsodesirableineveryrespect, so replete withadvantage, so promising forhappiness, Jane had beendeprived, by the folly andindecorumofherownfamily!Whentotheserecollections

was added the developmentof Wickham’s character, itmay be easily believed that

the happy spirits which hadseldombeendepressedbeforewerenowsomuchaffectedastomake it almost impossiblefor her to appear tolerablycheerful.Their engagements at

Rosings were as frequentduring the last week of herstayastheyhadbeenatfirst.The very last evening wasspentthere;andherLadyshipagain enquired minutely into

the particulars of theirjourney,gavethemdirectionsas to the best method ofpacking, and was so urgenton the necessity of placinggowns in the only rightway,that Maria thought herselfobliged, on her return, toundo all the work of themorning, and pack her trunkafresh.When they parted, Lady

Catherine, with great

condescension, wished thema good journey, and invitedthem to come to Hunsfordagainnextyear;andMissDeBourghexertedherselfsofaras to courtesy and hold outherhandtoboth.

Chapter15

On Saturday morningElizabethandMr.Collinsmetfor breakfast a few minutesbefore the others appeared ;and he took the opportunityofpayingthepartingcivilitieswhich he deemedindispensablynecessary.

“I know not, MissElizabeth,” said he, “whetherMrs. Collins has yetexpressed her sense of yourkindnessincomingtous;butIamverycertainyouwillnotleave the house withoutreceiving her thanks for it.The favour of your companyhas been much felt, I assureyou. We know how littlethere is to tempt any one toour humble abode.Our plainmanner of living, our small

rooms, and few domestics,and the little we see of theworld, must make Hunsfordextremely dull to a younglady likeyourself;but Ihopeyou will believe us gratefulfor the condescension, andthatwehavedoneeverythinginourpower topreventyourspending your timeunpleasantly.”Elizabeth was eager with

her thanks and assurances of

happiness. She had spent sixweeks with great enjoyment;andthepleasureofbeingwithCharlotte, and the kindattentions she had received,must make her feel theobliged. Mr. Collins wasgratified; and with a moresmilingsolemnityreplied,—“It gives me the greatest

pleasuretohearthatyouhavepassed your time notdisagreeably. We have

certainly done our best; andmost fortunately having it inourpowertointroduceyoutovery superior society, andfrom our connection withRosings, the frequent meansof varying the humble homescene, I thinkwemay flatterourselves that yourHunsfordvisit cannot have beenentirely irksome. Oursituationwith regard toLadyCatherine’s family is indeedthe sort of extraordinary

advantageandblessingwhichfew can boast. You see onwhat a footing we are. Yousee how continually we areengagedthere.Intruth,Imustacknowledge, that, with allthe disadvantages of thishumble parsonage, I shouldnotthinkanyoneabidinginitan object of compassion,while they are sharers of ourintimacyatRosings.”Wordswereinsufficientfor

the elevation of his feelings;and he was obliged to walkabout the room, whileElizabeth tried to unitecivility and truth in a fewshortsentences.“Youmay, in fact, carry a

very favourable report of usinto Hertfordshire, my dearcousin. I flatter myself, atleast, thatyouwillbeabletodoso.LadyCatherine’sgreatattentionstoMrs.Collinsyou

havebeenadailywitnessof;and altogether I trust it doesnot appear that your friendhas drawn an unfortunate—butonthispoint itwillbeaswelltobesilent.Onlyletmeassure you, my dear MissElizabeth,thatIcanfrommyheartmostcordiallywishyouequalfelicityinmarriage.MydearCharlotteandIhavebutone mind and one way ofthinking. There is in everything a most remarkable

resemblance of character andideasbetweenus.Weseemtohave been designed for eachother.”Elizabeth could safely say

that it was a great happinesswhere thatwas the case, andwith equal sincerity couldadd, that she firmly believedand rejoiced in his domesticcomforts. She was not sorry,however, to have the recitalof them interrupted by the

entrance of the lady fromwhom they sprang. PoorCharlotte! It wasmelancholyto leave her to such society!But she had chosen it withher eyes open; and thoughevidently regretting that hervisiters were to go, she didnot seem to ask forcompassion. Her home andher housekeeping, her parishand her poultry, and all theirdependent concerns, had notyetlosttheircharms.

At length the chaisearrived, the trunks werefastened on, the parcelsplaced within, and it waspronouncedtobeready.Afteran affectionate partingbetween the friends,Elizabethwasattendedtothecarriage by Mr. Collins; andas they walked down thegarden, he wascommissioning her with hisbestrespectstoallherfamily,not forgetting his thanks for

the kindness he had receivedat Longbourn in the winter,and his compliments to Mr.and Mrs. Gardiner, thoughunknown.Hethenhandedherin, Maria followed, and thedoor was on the point ofbeing closed, when hesuddenly reminded them,withsomeconsternation, thattheyhadhithertoforgottentoleave any message for theladiesofRosings.

“But,”headded,“youwillof course wish to have yourhumble respects delivered tothem, with your gratefulthanks for their kindness toyou while you have beenhere.”Elizabeth made no

objection: the door was thenallowed to be shut, and thecarriagedroveoff.“Good gracious!” cried

Maria, after a few minutes’

silence,“itseemsbutadayortwo sincewe first came! andyet how many things havehappened!”“A great many indeed,”

said her companion, with asigh.“Wehavedinedninetimes

at Rosings, besides drinkingtea there twice!Howmuch Ishallhavetotell!”Elizabeth privately added,

“Andhowmuch I shall have

toconceal.”Their journey was

performed without muchconversation, or any alarm;andwithinfourhoursoftheirleaving Hunsford theyreached Mr. Gardiner’shouse, where they were toremainafewdays.Jane looked well, and

Elizabeth had littleopportunity of studying herspirits, amidst the various

engagements which thekindness of her aunt hadreserved for them. But Janewastogohomewithher,andatLongbourn therewouldbeleisure enough forobservation.It was not without an

effort, meanwhile, that shecould wait even forLongbourn, before she toldher sister of Mr. Darcy’sproposals. To know that she

had the power of revealingwhat would so exceedinglyastonish Jane, and must, atthe same time, so highlygratify whatever of her ownvanity she had not yet beenabletoreasonaway,wassucha temptation to openness asnothing could haveconquered, but the state ofindecision in which sheremained as to the extent ofwhat she shouldcommunicate;andherfear,if

she once entered on thesubject, of beinghurried intorepeating something ofBingley, which might onlygrievehersisterfurther.

Chapter16

It was the second week inMay, in which the threeyoung ladies set out togetherfrom Gracechurch Street forthe town of———, inHertfordshire; and, as theydrew near the appointed innwhere Mr. Bennet’s carriage

was to meet them, theyquicklyperceived,intokenofthe coachman’s punctuality,bothKittyandLydia lookingout of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls hadbeen above an hour in theplace, happily employed invisiting an opposite milliner,watching the sentinel onguard, and dressing a saladandcucumber.After welcoming their

sisters, they triumphantlydisplayeda tablesetoutwithsuch cold meat as an innlarder usually affords,exclaiming,“Isnot thisnice?is not this an agreeablesurprise?”“Andwemeantotreatyou

all,” added Lydia; “but youmust lend us the money, forwehavejustspentoursattheshop out there.” Thenshowing her purchases,

—“Look here, I have boughtthisbonnet.Idonotthinkitisvery pretty; but I thought Imightaswellbuy itasnot. Ishallpull it topiecesassoonasIgethome,andseeifIcanmakeitupanybetter.”And when her sisters

abused it as ugly, she added,with perfect unconcern, “Oh,but there were two or threemuchuglier in the shop; andwhen I have bought some

prettier-colouredsatin to trimitwithfresh,Ithinkitwillbeverytolerable.Besides,itwillnot much signify what onewears this summer, after the———shire have leftMeryton, and they are goinginafortnight.”“Are they, indeed?” cried

Elizabeth, with the greatestsatisfaction.“They are going to be

encamped near Brighton;ay

andIdosowantpapatotakeusallthereforthesummer!Itwould be such a deliciousscheme,andIdaresaywouldhardly cost any thing at all.Mamma would like to go,too, of all things!Only thinkwhatamiserablesummerelseweshallhave!”“Yes,” thought Elizabeth;

“that would be a delightfulscheme, indeed, andcompletelydoforusatonce.

GoodHeaven!Brightonandawholecampfulofsoldiers, tous, who have been oversetalreadybyonepoorregimentof militia, and the monthlyballsofMeryton!”“Now I have got some

newsforyou,”saidLydia,astheysatdowntotable.“Whatdo you think? It is excellentnews,capitalnews,andabouta certain person that we alllike.”

Jane and Elizabeth lookedat each other, and the waiterwastoldthatheneednotstay.Lydialaughed,andsaid,—“Aye, that is just likeyour

formalityanddiscretion.Youthought the waiter must nothear,asifhecared!Idaresayhe often hears worse thingssaid than I am going to say.Butheisanuglyfellow!Iamglad he is gone. I never sawsuch a long chin in my life.

Well,butnowformynews:itis about dear Wickham; toogoodforthewaiter,isnotit?There is no danger ofWickham’s marrying MaryKing—there’sforyou!Sheisgone down to her uncle atLiverpool; gone to stay.Wickhamissafe.”“AndMary King is safe!”

addedElizabeth;“safefromaconnection imprudent as tofortune.”

“She is a great fool forgoingaway,ifshelikedhim.”“But I hope there is no

strong attachment on eitherside,”saidJane.“I am sure there is not on

his. I will answer for it henever cared three strawsabout her. Who could aboutsuch a nasty little freckledthing?”Elizabeth was shocked to

thinkthat,howeverincapable

of such coarseness ofexpression herself, thecoarseness of the sentimentwas little other than her ownbreast had formerlyharbouredandfanciedliberal!Assoonasallhadate,and

the elder ones paid, thecarriage was ordered; and,after some contrivance, thewhole party, with all theirboxes, workbags,az andparcels, and the unwelcome

addition of Kitty’s andLydia’s purchases, wereseatedinit.“How nicely we are

crammed in!”criedLydia. “IamgladIboughtmybonnet,if it is only for the fun ofhaving another band-box!Well, now let us be quitecomfortable and snug, andtalk and laugh all the wayhome.And in the first place,letushearwhathashappened

to you all since you wentaway. Have you seen anypleasantmen?Have you hadany flirting? I was in greathopes that one of youwouldhave got a husband beforeyou came back. Jane will bequite an old maid soon, Ideclare. She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord! howashamed I should be of notbeing married before three-and-twenty! My aunt Philipswantsyousotogethusbands,

you can’t think. She saysLizzy had better have takenMr.Collins;butIdonotthinkthere would have been anyfun in it.Lord!howI shouldlike tobemarriedbeforeanyof you! and then I wouldchaperonyouabouttoalltheballs.Dearme!wehadsuchagood piece of fun the otherday at Colonel Forster’s!Kitty and me were to spendthe day there, and Mrs.Forster promised to have a

little dance in the evening;(by the by, Mrs. Forster andme are such friends!) and soshe asked the twoHarringtons to come: butHarriet was ill, and so Penwas forced to come byherself; and then, what doyouthinkwedid?WedressedupChamberlayneinwoman’sclothes, on purpose to passfor a lady,—only think whatfun! Not a soul knew of it,butColonelandMrs.Forster,

andKittyandme,exceptmyaunt, for we were forced toborrowoneofhergowns;andyoucannotimaginehowwellhelooked!WhenDenny,andWickham,andPratt,and twoor three more of the mencame in, they did not knowhimin the least.Lord!howIlaughed! and so did Mrs.Forster. I thought I shouldhavedied.Andthatmadethemen suspect something, andthen they soon found out

whatwasthematter.”Withsuchkindofhistories

of their parties and goodjokes did Lydia, assisted byKitty’s hints and additions,endeavour to amuse hercompanions all the way toLongbourn.Elizabethlistenedaslittleasshecould,buttherewasnoescaping the frequentmentionofWickham’sname.Their reception at home

was most kind. Mrs. Bennet

rejoiced to see Jane inundiminished beauty; andmorethanonceduringdinnerdid Mr. Bennet sayvoluntarilytoElizabeth,—“I am glad you are come

back,Lizzy.”Their party in the dining-

roomwaslarge,foralmostallthe Lucases came to meetMariaandhearthenews;andvarious were the subjectswhich occupied them: Lady

Lucas was enquiring ofMaria, across the table, afterthewelfareandpoultryofhereldest daughter; Mrs. Bennetwas doubly engaged, on onehandcollectinganaccountofthe present fashions fromJane, who sat some waybelow her, and on the other,retailing them all to theyounger Miss Lucases; andLydia, in a voice ratherlouder than any otherperson’s, was enumerating

the various pleasures of themorning to any body whowouldhearher.“Oh, Mary,” said she, “I

wish you had gone with us,for we had such fun! as wewent along Kitty and medrew up all the blinds, andpretended there was nobodyin the coach; and I shouldhave gone so all the way, ifKitty had not been sick; andwhenwegottotheGeorge,I

do think we behaved veryhandsomely, for we treatedtheotherthreewiththenicestcold luncheon in the world,and if youwould have gone,we would have treated youtoo.Andthenwhenwecameaway it was such fun! Ithoughtwenevershouldhavegot into the coach. I wasready todieof laughter.Andthenweweresomerryalltheway home! we talked andlaughed so loud, that any

bodymighthaveheardustenmilesoff!”Tothis,Maryverygravely

replied, “Far be it from me,my dear sister, to depreciatesuch pleasures. They woulddoubtless be congenial withthe generality of femaleminds. But I confess theywould have no charms forme. I should infinitely preferabook.”But of this answer Lydia

heardnotaword.Sheseldomlistenedtoanybodyformorethanhalfaminute,andneverattendedtoMaryatall.IntheafternoonLydiawas

urgent with the rest of thegirlstowalktoMeryton,andseehoweverybodywenton;but Elizabeth steadilyopposedthescheme.Itshouldnot be said, that the MissBennetscouldnotbeathomehalfadaybeforetheywerein

pursuit of the officers. Therewas another reason, too, forher opposition. She dreadedseeing Wickham again, andwas resolved to avoid it aslongaspossible.Thecomfortto her, of the regiment’sapproaching removal, wasindeedbeyondexpression. Ina fortnight they were to go,and once gone, she hopedthere could be nothing moretoplagueheronhisaccount.

She had not been manyhours at home, before shefound that the Brightonscheme, of which Lydia hadgiven them a hint at the inn,wasunderfrequentdiscussionbetween her parents.Elizabeth saw directly thatherfatherhadnotthesmallestintention of yielding; but hisanswers were at the sametimesovagueandequivocal,thathermother, thoughoftendisheartened, had never yet

despaired of succeeding atlast.

Chapter17

Elizabeth’s impatience toacquaint Jane with what hadhappened could no longer beovercome; and at lengthresolving to suppress everyparticular in which her sisterwasconcerned,andpreparingher to be surprised, she

related to her the nextmorning the chief of thescenebetweenMr.Darcyandherself.Miss Bennet’s

astonishment was soonlessenedbythestrongsisterlypartiality which made anyadmiration of Elizabethappear perfectly natural; andallsurprisewasshortlylostinother feelings.Shewas sorrythat Mr. Darcy should have

delivered his sentiments in amanner so little suited torecommend them; but stillmorewasshegrievedfor theunhappiness which hersister’s refusal must havegivenhim.“His being so sure of

succeedingwaswrong,” saidshe, “and certainly ought notto have appeared; butconsider how much it mustincreasehisdisappointment.”

“Indeed,” repliedElizabeth, “I am heartilysorry for him; but he hasother feelings which willprobablysoondriveawayhisregard for me. You do notblame me, however, forrefusinghim?”“Blameyou!Oh,no.”“But you blame me for

having spoken so warmly ofWickham?”“No—I do not know that

you were wrong in sayingwhatyoudid.”“But you will know it,

when I have told you whathappenedtheverynextday.”She then spoke of the

letter, repeating thewhole ofits contents as far as theyconcerned George Wickham.What a stroke was this forpoor Jane! who wouldwillingly have gone throughthe world without believing

that so much wickednessexisted in the whole race ofmankind as was herecollected in one individual.NorwasDarcy’svindication,though grateful to herfeelings,capableofconsolingher for such discovery.Mostearnestly did she labour toprovetheprobabilityoferror,andseektoclearone,withoutinvolvingtheother.“This will not do,” said

Elizabeth;“youneverwillbeable to make both of themgoodforanything.Takeyourchoice, but you must besatisfiedwithonlyone.Thereisbutsuchaquantityofmeritbetweenthem;justenoughtomake one good sort of man;andoflateithasbeenshiftingabout pretty much. For mypart, I am inclined tobelieveit all Mr. Darcy’s, but youshalldoasyouchoose.”

Itwassometime,however,before a smile could beextortedfromJane.“I do not know when I

have been more shocked,”said she. “Wickham so verybad! It is almost past belief.And poor Mr. Darcy! dearLizzy, only considerwhat hemust have suffered. Such adisappointment! andwith theknowledgeofyourillopiniontoo!andhavingtorelatesuch

a thing of his sister! It isreally too distressing. I amsureyoumustfeelitso.”“Oh no, my regret and

compassionarealldoneawaybyseeingyousofullofboth.Iknowyouwilldohimsuchample justice, that I amgrowing everymomentmoreunconcerned and indifferent.Your profusion makes mesaving; and if you lamentover him much longer, my

heart will be as light as afeather.”“Poor Wickham! there is

such an expression ofgoodness inhis countenance!such an openness andgentlenessinhismanner.”“There certainlywas some

great mismanagement in theeducationofthosetwoyoungmen. One has got all thegoodness, and the other alltheappearanceofit.”

“IneverthoughtMr.Darcyso deficient in theappearanceof it asyouusedtodo.”“And yet I meant to be

uncommonlyclever in takingso decided a dislike to him,withoutanyreason.Itissucha spur to one’s genius, suchanopeningforwit, tohaveadislikeofthatkind.Onemaybe continually abusivewithoutsayinganythingjust;

but one cannot be alwayslaughing at a man withoutnow and then stumbling onsomethingwitty.”“Lizzy,whenyoufirstread

that letter, I am sure youcould not treat the matter asyoudonow.”“Indeed,Icouldnot. Iwas

uncomfortable enough. Iwasvery uncomfortable—I maysay unhappy. And with noonetospeaktoofwhatIfelt,

no Jane to comfort me, andsay that I had not been sovery weak, and vain, andnonsensical as I knew I had!OhhowIwantedyou!”“Howunfortunate thatyou

should have used such verystrong expressions inspeaking ofWickham toMr.Darcy, for now they doappearwhollyundeserved.”“Certainly. But the

misfortune of speaking with

bitterness is a most naturalconsequenceoftheprejudicesI had been encouraging.ThereisonepointonwhichIwant your advice. I want tobe told whether I ought, orought not, to make ouracquaintance in generalunderstand Wickham’scharacter.”MissBennetpausedalittle,

and then replied, “Surelythere can be no occasion for

exposing him so dreadfully.Whatisyourownopinion?”“That it ought not to be

attempted.Mr.Darcyhasnotauthorised me to make hiscommunication public. Onthe contrary, every particularrelative to his sister wasmeant to be kept asmuch aspossible to myself; and if Iendeavour to undeceivepeople as to the rest of hisconduct, who will believe

me? The general prejudiceagainst Mr. Darcy is soviolent, that it would be thedeathofhalfthegoodpeoplein Meryton, to attempt toplacehiminanamiablelight.Iamnotequaltoit.Wickhamwill soon be gone; andthereforeitwillnotsignifytoanybodyherewhathe reallyis.Sometimehenceitwillbeall found out, and then wemaylaughattheirstupidityinnot knowing it before. At

present I will say nothingaboutit.”“You are quite right. To

have his errors made publicmightruinhimforever.Heisnow, perhaps, sorry forwhathe has done, and anxious tore-establish a character. Wemust not make himdesperate.”The tumult of Elizabeth’s

mind was allayed by thisconversation.Shehadgot rid

of two of the secrets whichhad weighed on her for afortnight,andwascertainofawilling listener in Jane,whenever she might wish totalkagainofeither.Buttherewas still something lurkingbehind, of which prudenceforbad the disclosure. Shedarednotrelatetheotherhalfof Mr. Darcy’s letter, norexplain to her sister howsincerelyshehadbeenvaluedby his friend. Here was

knowledge in which no onecould partake; and she wassensiblethatnothinglessthana perfect understandingbetween the parties couldjustifyherinthrowingoffthislastencumbranceofmystery.“And then,”saidshe,“if thatveryimprobableeventshouldevertakeplace,Ishallmerelybe able to tell what Bingleymay tell in a much moreagreeable manner himself.Thelibertyofcommunication

cannotbeminetill ithas lostallitsvalue!”She was now, on being

settled at home, at leisure toobserve the real state of hersister’s spirits. Jane was nothappy. She still cherished avery tender affection forBingley. Having never evenfanciedherselfinlovebefore,herregardhadallthewarmthof first attachment, and fromher age and disposition,

greater steadiness than firstattachments often boast; andsoferventlydidshevaluehisremembrance,andpreferhimto every other man, that allher good sense, and all herattentiontothefeelingsofherfriends, were requisite tochecktheindulgenceofthoseregretswhichmusthavebeeninjurious to her own healthandtheirtranquillity.“Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs.

Bennet, one day, “what isyour opinionnow of this sadbusiness of Jane’s? For mypart, I am determined neverto speak of it again to anybody. I toldmysisterPhilipssotheotherday.ButIcannotfind out that Jane saw anythingofhiminLondon.Well,he is a very undeservingyoung man—and I do notsuppose there is the leastchance in the world of herever getting him now. There

is no talk of his coming toNetherfield again in thesummer;andIhaveenquiredof every body, too, who islikelytoknow.”“I do not believe that he

will ever live at Netherfieldanymore.”“Oh, well! it is just as he

chooses. Nobody wants himto come; though I shallalways say that he used mydaughterextremelyill;and,if

I was her, I would not haveput up with it. Well, mycomfort is, I am sure Janewilldieofabrokenheart,andthenhewillbesorryforwhathehasdone.”But asElizabeth could not

receive comfort from anysuchexpectationshemadenoanswer.“Well, Lizzy,” continued

her mother, soon afterwards,“and so the Collinses live

very comfortable, do they?Well,well,Ionlyhopeitwilllast.Andwhatsortoftabledothey keep? Charlotte is anexcellentmanager,Idaresay.If she is half as sharp as hermother,sheissavingenough.There is nothing extravagantin their housekeeping, I daresay.”“No,nothingatall.”“A great deal of good

management,dependupon it.

Yes, yes.Theywill takecarenot to outrun their income.Theywillneverbedistressedformoney.Well,much goodmay it do them! And so, Isuppose, they often talk ofhavingLongbournwhenyourfather is dead. They lookupon it quite as their own, Idare say, whenever thathappens.”“It was a subject which

theycouldnotmentionbefore

me.”“No; it would have been

strange if they had. But Imakenodoubttheyoftentalkof it between themselves.Well,iftheycanbeeasywithan estate that is not lawfullytheirown,somuchthebetter.I should be ashamed ofhaving one that was onlyentailedonme.”

Chapter18

Thefirstweekof their returnwas soon gone. The secondbegan. It was the last of theregiment’s stay in Meryton,andalltheyoungladiesintheneighbourhood weredrooping apace. Thedejection was almost

universal. The elder MissBennets alonewere still ableto eat, drink, and sleep, andpursue the usual course oftheir employments. Veryfrequently were theyreproached for thisinsensibility by Kitty andLydia, whose own miserywas extreme, andwho couldnot comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of thefamily.

“GoodHeaven!What is tobecome of us? What are weto do?” would they oftenexclaim in the bitterness ofwoe. “How can you besmiling so, Lizzy?” Theiraffectionatemothersharedalltheir grief; she rememberedwhatshehadherselfenduredon a similar occasion five-and-twentyyearsago.“I am sure,” said she, “I

cried for two days together

when Colonel Millar’sregiment went away. Ithought I should have brokemyheart.”“I am sure I shall break

mine,”saidLydia.“If one could but go to

Brighton!” observed Mrs.Bennet.“Ohyes!—ifonecouldbut

gotoBrighton!Butpapaissodisagreeable.”“Alittlesea-bathingwould

setmeupforever.”“And my aunt Philips is

sure it would dome a greatdealofgood,”addedKitty.Such were the kind of

lamentations resoundingperpetually throughLongbourn House. Elizabethtried to be diverted by them;but all sense of pleasurewaslost in shame. She felt anewthe justice of Mr. Darcy’sobjections;andneverhadshe

beforebeensomuchdisposedto pardon his interference intheviewsofhisfriend.But the gloom of Lydia’s

prospect was shortly clearedaway; for she received aninvitation from Mrs. Forster,thewifeof thecolonelof theregiment, to accompany herto Brighton. This invaluablefriend was a very youngwoman, and very latelymarried. A resemblance in

good-humourandgoodspiritshad recommended her andLydia to each other, and outof their three months’acquaintance they had beenintimatetwo.The rapture of Lydia on

thisoccasion,heradorationofMrs. Forster, the delight ofMrs. Bennet, and themortification of Kitty, arescarcely to be described.Wholly inattentive to her

sister’s feelings, Lydia flewabout the house in restlessecstasy, calling for everyone’s congratulations, andlaughing and talking withmore violence than ever;whilst the luckless Kittycontinued in the parlourrepining at her fate in termsasunreasonableasheraccentwaspeevish.“I cannot see why Mrs.

Forster should not askme as

well as Lydia,” said she,“though I am not herparticular friend. I have justasmuch right to be asked asshe has, and more too, for Iamtwoyearsolder.”In vain did Elizabeth

attempt to make herreasonable,andJane tomakeherresigned.AsforElizabethherself, this invitationwassofar from exciting in her thesame feelings as in her

mother and Lydia, that sheconsidered it as the death-warrant of all possibility ofcommon sense for the latter;and detestable as such a stepmust make her, were itknown, she could not helpsecretly advising her fathernot to let her go. Sherepresented to him all theimproprieties of Lydia’sgeneral behaviour, the littleadvantage she could derivefromthefriendshipofsucha

woman as Mrs. Forster, andthe probability of her beingyetmoreimprudentwithsucha companion at Brighton,where the temptations mustbe greater than at home. Heheard her attentively, andthensaid,—“Lydia will never be easy

tillshehasexposedherselfinsome public place or other,andwe can never expect hertodoitwithsolittleexpense

or inconvenience to herfamily as under the presentcircumstances.”“If you were aware,” said

Elizabeth, “of the very greatdisadvantage to us all,whichmust arise from the publicnotice of Lydia’s unguardedand imprudent manner, nay,whichhasalreadyarisenfromit,Iamsureyouwouldjudgedifferentlyintheaffair.”“Already arisen!” repeated

Mr. Bennet. “What! has shefrightenedawaysomeofyourlovers?Poor littleLizzy!Butdo not be cast down. Suchsqueamish youths as cannotbear to be connected with alittleabsurdityarenotwortharegret. Come, let me see thelistof thepitifulfellowswhohave been kept aloof byLydia’sfolly.”“Indeedyouaremistaken.I

have no such injuries to

resent. It is not of peculiar,but of general evils, which Iam now complaining. Ourimportance,ourrespectabilityintheworldmustbeaffectedby the wild volatility, theassurance and disdain of allrestraint whichmark Lydia’scharacter. Excuse me,—for Imust speak plainly. If you,my dear father,will not takethe trouble of checking herexuberant spirits, and ofteaching her that her present

pursuits are not to be thebusiness of her life, she willsoon be beyond the reach ofamendment. Her characterwillbefixed;andshewill,atsixteen, be the mostdetermined flirt that evermade herself and her familyridiculous.A flirt, too, in theworst andmeanest degree offlirtation; without anyattractionbeyondyouthandatolerable person; and, fromthe ignorance and emptiness

ofhermind,whollyunabletoward off any portion of thatuniversalcontemptwhichherrage for admiration willexcite.InthisdangerKittyisalso comprehended. She willfollowwhereverLydia leads.Vain, ignorant, idle, andabsolutely uncontrolled! Oh,my dear father, can yousuppose it possible that theywill not be censured anddespised wherever they areknown, and that their sisters

will not be often involved inthedisgrace?”Mr. Bennet saw that her

whole heart was in thesubject; and affectionatelytaking her hand, said, inreply,—“Do not make yourself

uneasy, my love. WhereveryouandJaneareknown,youmustberespectedandvalued;and you will not appear toless advantage for having a

couple of—or I may say,three—very silly sisters. Weshall have no peace atLongbourn if Lydia does notgo to Brighton. Let her go,then. Colonel Forster is asensible man, and will keepher out of any realmischief;andsheisluckilytoopoortobe an object of prey to anybody.AtBrightonshewillbeof less importance even as acommon flirt than she hasbeen here. The officers will

findwomenbetterworththeirnotice.Letushope,therefore,thatherbeingtheremayteachher her own insignificance.At any rate, she cannotgrowmanydegreesworse,withoutauthorising us to lock her upfortherestofherlife.”With thisanswerElizabeth

wasforced tobecontent;buther own opinion continuedthe same, and she left himdisappointedandsorry.Itwas

notinhernature,however,toincrease her vexations bydwelling on them. She wasconfident of havingperformed her duty; and tofretoverunavoidableevils,oraugment them by anxiety,was no part of herdisposition.HadLydia and hermother

known the substance of herconference with her father,their indignation would

hardlyhavefoundexpressionin their united volubility. InLydia’simagination,avisittoBrighton comprised everypossibility of earthlyhappiness. She saw,with thecreative eye of fancy, thestreets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers.Shesawherself theobjectofattentiontotensandtoscoresof them at present unknown.Shesawall thegloriesof thecamp:itstentsstretchedforth

in beauteous uniformity oflines,crowdedwiththeyoungand the gay, and dazzlingwith scarlet; and to completethe view, she saw herselfseatedbeneathatent,tenderlyflirting with at least sixofficersatonce.Had she known that her

sister sought to tearher fromsuch prospects and suchrealitiesasthese,whatwouldhave been her sensations?

They could have beenunderstood only by hermother, who might have feltnearly the same. Lydia’sgoingtoBrightonwasallthatconsoled her for themelancholyconvictionofherhusband’s never intending togotherehimself.But they were entirely

ignorant ofwhat had passed;and their raptures continued,withlittleintermission,tothe

very day of Lydia’s leavinghome.Elizabeth was now to see

Mr. Wickham for the lasttime.Havingbeen frequentlyin company with him sinceher return, agitation waspretty well over; theagitationsof formerpartialityentirely so. She had evenlearnt to detect, in the verygentleness which had firstdelighted her, an affectation

andasamenesstodisgustandweary. In his presentbehaviour to herself,moreover, she had a freshsourceofdispleasure; for theinclination he soon testifiedof renewing those attentionswhich had marked the earlypart of their acquaintancecould only serve, after whathad since passed, to provokeher. She lost all concern forhim in finding herself thusselectedas theobjectofsuch

idle and frivolous gallantry;and while she steadilyrepressed it, could not butfeel the reproof contained inhis believing, that howeverlong,andforwhatevercause,his attentions had beenwithdrawn, her vanity wouldbe gratified, and herpreference secured at anytime,bytheirrenewal.Ontheverylastdayofthe

regiment’s remaining in

Meryton, he dined, withothers of the officers, atLongbourn; and so little wasElizabeth disposed to partfrom him in good-humour,that on his making someenquiry as to the manner inwhichher timehadpassedatHunsford, she mentionedColonel Fitzwilliam’s andMr. Darcy’s having bothspentthreeweeksatRosings,and asked him if he wereacquaintedwiththeformer.

He looked surprised,displeased, alarmed:butwithamoment’s recollection, andareturningsmile,replied,thathe had formerly seen himoften; and, after observingthathewasaverygentleman-likeman, asked her how shehad liked him. Her answerwas warmly in his favour.With an air of indifference,he soon afterwards added,“How long did you say thathewasatRosings?”

“Nearlythreeweeks.”“And you saw him

frequently?”“Yes,almosteveryday.”“His manners are very

differentfromhiscousin’s.”“Yes, very different; but I

thinkMr.Darcy improvesonacquaintance.”“Indeed!” cried Wickham,

with a look which did notescape her. “Andpraymay Iask—”but checking himself,

headded,inagayertone,“Isit in address that heimproves?Hashedeigned toadd aught of civility to hisordinary style? for I darenothope,” he continued, in alower andmore serious tone,“that he is improved inessentials.”“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth.

“Inessentials,Ibelieve,heisvery much what he everwas.”

Whileshespoke,Wickhamlookedasifscarcelyknowingwhether to rejoice over herwords or to distrust theirmeaning. There was asomethinginhercountenancewhich made him listen withan apprehensive and anxiousattention,whilesheadded,—“When I said that he

improved on acquaintance, Idid not mean that either hismind or manners were in a

stateofimprovement;butthatfromknowinghimbetter,hisdisposition was betterunderstood.”Wickham’s alarm now

appeared in a heightenedcomplexion and agitatedlook; for a few minutes hewassilent;till,shakingoffhisembarrassment, he turned toher again, and said in thegentlestofaccents,—“You, who so well know

my feelings towards Mr.Darcy, will readilycomprehend how sincerely Imust rejoice that he is wiseenough to assume even theappearance of what is right.His pride, in that direction,may be of service, if not tohimself,tomanyothers,foritmust deter him from suchfoul misconduct as I havesuffered by. I only fear thatthe sort of cautiousness towhich you, I imagine, have

been alluding, is merelyadopted on his visits to hisaunt, of whose good opinionandjudgmenthestandsmuchin awe. His fear of her hasalways operated, I know,whentheyweretogether;anda good deal is to be imputedtohiswishof forwarding thematchwithMissDeBourgh,which I am certain he hasverymuchatheart.”Elizabethcouldnotrepress

a smile at this, but sheanswered only by a slightinclination of the head. Shesawthathewantedtoengageher on the old subject of hisgrievances,andshewasinnohumour to indulge him. Therest of the evening passedwith the appearance, on hisside, of usual cheerfulness,butwithnofurtherattempttodistinguish Elizabeth; andthey parted at last withmutualcivility,andpossiblya

mutual desire of nevermeetingagain.When the party broke up,

Lydia returned with Mrs.Forster to Meryton, fromwhence they were to set outearly the next morning. Theseparation between her andher family was rather noisythan pathetic. Kitty was theonlyonewho shed tears; butshe did weep from vexationand envy. Mrs. Bennet was

diffuseinhergoodwishesforthe felicity of her daughter,and impressive in herinjunctionsthatshewouldnotmiss the opportunity ofenjoying herself as much aspossible,—advicewhichtherewas every reason to believewould be attended to; and inthe clamorous happinessLydia herself in biddingfarewell, the more gentleadieus of her sisters wereutteredwithoutbeingheard.

Chapter19

HadElizabeth’sopinionbeenall drawn from her ownfamily, she could not haveformed a very pleasingpictureofconjugalfelicityordomesticcomfort.Herfather,captivated by youth andbeauty, and that appearance

ofgood-humourwhichyouthand beauty generally give,hadmarried awomanwhoseweak understanding andilliberal mind had very earlyin their marriage put an endto all real affection for her.Respect, esteem, andconfidence had vanished forever; and all his views ofdomestic happiness wereoverthrown. But Mr. Bennetwas not of a disposition toseek comfort for the

disappointment which hisown imprudencehadbroughton in any of those pleasureswhich too often console theunfortunate for their folly ortheirvice.Hewasfondofthecountry and of books; andfrom these tastes had arisenhis principal enjoyments. Tohis wife he was very littleotherwise indebted than asher ignorance and folly hadcontributedtohisamusement.This is not the sort of

happinesswhichamanwouldingeneralwish toowe tohiswife;butwhereotherpowersofentertainmentarewanting,the true philosopher willderive benefit from such asaregiven.Elizabeth, however, had

never been blind to theimpropriety of her father’sbehaviour as a husband. Shehadalwaysseen itwithpain;but respecting his abilities,

and grateful for hisaffectionate treatment ofherself, she endeavoured toforget what she could notoverlook, and to banish fromher thoughts that continualbreachof conjugalobligationand decorum which, inexposing his wife to thecontemptofherownchildren,was so highly reprehensible.But she had never felt sostrongly as now thedisadvantages which must

attend the children of sounsuitable a marriage, norever been so fully aware ofthe evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents—talentswhich,rightlyused,mightat leasthavepreservedthe respectability of hisdaughters, even if incapableof enlarging the mind of hiswife.When Elizabeth had

rejoiced over Wickham’s

departure, she found littleothercauseforsatisfactioninthelossoftheregiment.Theirparties abroad were lessvaried than before; and athome she had a mother andsister, whose constantrepinings at the dulness ofevery thing around themthrewarealgloomover theirdomestic circle; and, thoughKittymightintimeregainhernaturaldegreeofsense,sincethe disturbers of her brain

were removed, her othersister,fromwhosedispositiongreater evil might beapprehended,waslikelytobehardened in all her folly andassurance, by a situation ofsuch double danger as awatering-place and a camp.Upon the whole, therefore,she found, what has beensometimes found before, thatan event to which she hadlooked forward withimpatient desire, did not, in

taking place, bring all thesatisfactionshehadpromisedherself. It was consequentlynecessarytonamesomeotherperiodforthecommencementof actual felicity; to havesome other point on whichher wishes and hopes mightbe fixed, and by againenjoying the pleasure ofanticipation, console herselffor the present, and preparefor another disappointment.Her tour to the Lakes was

nowtheobjectofherhappiestthoughts: it was her bestconsolation for all theuncomfortable hours whichthe discontentedness of hermother and Kitty madeinevitable; and could shehave included Jane in thescheme, every part of itwouldhavebeenperfect.“But it is fortunate,”

thought she, “that I havesomething to wish for.Were

the whole arrangementcomplete,mydisappointmentwouldbecertain.Buthere,bycarrying with me oneceaseless source of regret inmy sister’s absence, I mayreasonably hope to have allmy expectations of pleasurerealised. A scheme of whichevery part promises delightcan never be successful: andgeneral disappointment isonly warded off by thedefenceofsomelittlepeculiar

vexation.”“When Lydia went away

she promised to write veryoften and very minutely tohermotherandKitty;butherletters were always longexpected, and always veryshort. Those to her mothercontained little else than thatthey were just returned fromthe Library, where such andsuch officers had attendedthem,andwhereshehadseen

such beautiful ornaments asmadeherquitewild; thatshehad a new gown, or a newparasol, which she wouldhave described more fully,but was obliged to leave offin a violent hurry, as Mrs.Forster called her, and theywere going to the camp; andfromhercorrespondencewithher sister there was still lesstobe learnt, forher letters toKitty, though rather longer,were much too full of lines

under the words to be madepublic.After the first fortnight or

three weeks of her absence,health, good-humour, andcheerfulness began to re-appear at Longbourn. Everything wore a happier aspect.Thefamilieswhohadbeenintown for the winter cameback again, and summerfinery and summerengagements arose. Mrs.

Bennet was restored to herusual querulous serenity; andby the middle of June Kittywas somuch recovered as tobe able to enter Merytonwithout tears,—an event ofsuch happy promise as tomakeElizabethhope, thatbythe following Christmas shemight be so tolerablyreasonable as not tomentionan officer above once a day,unless, by some cruel andmalicious arrangement at the

WarOffice,anotherregimentshould be quartered inMeryton.The time fixed for the

beginning of their northerntour was now fastapproaching; and a fortnightonlywaswantingof it,whena letter arrived from Mrs.Gardiner, which at oncedelayed its commencementand curtailed its extent. Mr.Gardinerwould be prevented

by business from setting outtill a fortnight later in July,andmustbeinLondonagainwithin a month; and as thatleft too short a period forthemtogosofar,andseesomuch as they had proposed,or at least to see it with theleisure and comfort they hadbuilton,theywereobligedtogive up the Lakes, andsubstitute a more contractedtour; and, according to thepresent plan, were to go no

farther northward thanDerbyshire. In that countythere was enough to be seento occupy the chief of theirthree weeks; and to Mrs.Gardiner it had a peculiarlystrong attraction. The townwhere she had formerlypassedsomeyearsofherlife,andwhere theywere now tospend a few days, wasprobablyasgreatanobjectofher curiosity as all thecelebrated beauties of

Matlock, Chatsworth,Dovedale,orthePeak.10

Elizabeth was excessivelydisappointed: she had set herheart on seeing the Lakes;and still thought there mighthavebeentimeenough.Butitwas her business to besatisfied—and certainly hertemper to be happy; and allwassoonrightagain.With the mention of

Derbyshire, thereweremany

ideas connected. It wasimpossible for her to see theword without thinking ofPemberley and its owner.“Butsurely,”saidshe,“Imayenter his county withimpunity,androb itofa fewpetrified spars,ba without hisperceivingme.”The period of expectation

was now doubled. Fourweeks were to pass awaybefore her uncle and aunt’s

arrival. But they did passaway, and Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner, with their fourchildren,didat lengthappearat Longbourn. The children,two girls of six and eightyears old, and two youngerboys, were to be left underthe particular care of theircousin Jane, who was thegeneral favourite, and whosesteadysenseandsweetnessoftemper exactly adapted herforattendingtotheminevery

way—teaching them, playingwiththem,andlovingthem.The Gardiners stayed only

one night at Longbourn, andsetoff thenextmorningwithElizabeth in pursuit ofnovelty and amusement.Oneenjoyment was certain—thatofsuitablenessascompanions—a suitableness whichcomprehended health andtemper to bearinconveniences—

cheerfulnesstoenhanceeverypleasure—and affection andintelligence, which mightsupplyitamongthemselvesifthere were disappointmentsabroad.It is not the object of this

work togiveadescriptionofDerbyshire,norofanyof theremarkable places throughwhich their route thither lay;Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick,Kenilworth,Birmingham,&c.

are sufficiently known. AsmallpartofDerbyshireisallthe present concern. To thelittle town of Lambton, thescene of Mrs. Gardiner’sformer residence, and whereshe had lately learned thatsome acquaintance stillremained, they bent theirsteps,afterhavingseenalltheprincipal wonders of thecountry;andwithinfivemilesofLambton,Elizabethfound,fromheraunt,thatPemberley

was situated. It was not intheir direct road; nor morethanamileortwooutofit.Intalking over their route theevening before, Mrs.Gardiner expressed aninclination to see the placeagain.Mr. Gardiner declaredhiswillingness,andElizabethwas applied to for herapprobation.“My love, should not you

like to see a place of which

you have heard so much?”said her aunt. “A place, too,with which so many of youracquaintance are connected.Wickhampassedallhisyouththere,youknow.”Elizabeth was distressed.

She felt that she had nobusiness at Pemberley, andwas obliged to assume adisinclination for seeing it.“Shemust own that she wastired of great houses: after

going over so many, shereallyhadnopleasureinfinecarpetsorsatincurtains.”Mrs. Gardiner abused her

stupidity.“Ifitweremerelyafine house richly furnished,”said she, “I should not careabout it myself; but thegrounds are delightful. Theyhave some of the finestwoodsinthecountry.”Elizabethsaidnomore;but

hermindcouldnotacquiesce.

The possibility of meetingMr.Darcy,whileviewingtheplace, instantly occurred. Itwould be dreadful! Sheblushedat thevery idea; andthought itwould be better tospeakopenlytoheraunt,thantorunsucharisk.Butagainstthis there were objections;andshefinallyresolvedthatitcould be the last resource, ifherprivateenquiriesastotheabsence of the family wereunfavourablyanswered.

Accordingly, when sheretiredatnight,sheaskedthechambermaid whetherPemberley were not a veryfineplace,whatwasthenameofitsproprietor,and,withnolittle alarm, whether thefamily were down for thesummer? A most welcomenegative followed the lastquestion; and her alarmsbeingnow removed, shewasat leisure to feel a great dealof curiosity to see the house

herself;andwhen thesubjectwas revived the nextmorning, and she was againapplied to, could readilyanswer,andwithaproperairof indifference, that she hadnot really any dislike to thescheme.To Pemberley, therefore,

theyweretogo.

VolumetheThird

Chapter1

Elizabeth, as they drovealong, watched for the firstappearance of PemberleyWoods with someperturbation; and when atlength they turned in at thelodge, her spirits were in ahighflutter.

The park was very large,andcontainedgreatvarietyofground. They entered it inone of its lowest points, anddrove for some time througha beautiful wood stretchingoverawideextent.Elizabeth’s mind was too

full for conversation, but shesaw and admired everyremarkable spot and point ofview. They graduallyascended forhalfamile,and

then found themselves at thetop of a considerableeminence, where the woodceased, and the eye wasinstantly caught byPemberleyHouse,situatedonthe opposite side of a valley,into which the road withsome abruptness wound. Itwasa large,handsome,stonebuilding, standing well onrisingground,andbackedbya ridge of high woody hills;andinfrontastreamofsome

natural importance wasswelled into greater, butwithout any artificialappearance. Its banks wereneither formal nor falselyadorned. Elizabeth wasdelighted.Shehadneverseena place forwhich nature haddone more, or where naturalbeauty had been so littlecounteracted by an awkwardtaste. They were all of themwarmintheiradmiration;andatthatmomentshefeltthatto

be mistress of Pemberleymightbesomething!They descended the hill,

crossedthebridge,anddroveto the door; and, whileexamining the nearer aspectof the house, all herapprehension of meeting itsowner returned. She dreadedlest the chambermaid hadbeen mistaken. On applyingto see the place,11 they wereadmitted into the hall; and

Elizabeth, as they waited forthe housekeeper, had leisuretowonderatherbeingwhereshewas.The housekeeper came; a

respectable looking elderlywoman, much less fine, andmore civil, than she had anynotion of finding her. Theyfollowed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room,handsomely fitted up.

Elizabeth, after slightlysurveying it, went to awindowtoenjoyitsprospect.Thehill,crownedwithwood,from which they haddescended, receivingincreasedabruptnessfromthedistance, was a beautifulobject. Every disposition ofthegroundwasgood;andshelooked on the whole scene,the river, the trees scatteredonitsbanks,andthewindingof the valley, as far as she

could trace it, with delight.As they passed into otherrooms, these objects weretakingdifferentpositions;butfrom every window therewerebeautiestobeseen.Therooms were lofty andhandsome,andtheirfurnituresuitabletothefortuneoftheirproprietor;butElizabethsaw,with admiration of his taste,that itwas neither gaudy noruselessly fine,—with less ofsplendour, and more real

elegance,thanthefurnitureofRosings.“And of this place,”

thought she, “I might havebeen mistress! With theseroomsImightnowhavebeenfamiliarlyacquainted!Insteadofviewingthemasastranger,Imighthaverejoicedinthemasmyown,andwelcomedtothemasvisitorsmyuncleandaunt. But, no,” recollectingherself, “that couldnever be;

my uncle and aunt wouldhavebeenlosttome;Ishouldnot have been allowed toinvitethem.”This was a lucky

recollection—it saved herfromsomethinglikeregret.She longed to enquire of

the housekeeper whether hermasterwerereallyabsent,buthad not courage for it. Atlength,however, thequestionwas asked by her uncle; and

she turned away with alarm,whileMrs. Reynolds replied,thathewas;adding,“Butweexpecthimto-morrow,withalarge party of friends.” Howrejoiced was Elizabeth thattheirownjourneyhadnotbyany circumstance beendelayedaday.Herauntnowcalledher to

look at a picture. Sheapproached, and saw thelikeness of Mr. Wickham,

suspended, amongst severalother miniatures, over themantel-piece.Her aunt askedher, smilingly,howshe likedit. The housekeeper cameforward,andtoldthemitwasthe picture of a younggentleman,thesonofherlatemaster’s steward, who hadbeenbroughtupbyhimathisown expense. “He is nowgone into the army,” sheadded;“butIamafraidhehasturnedoutverywild.”

Mrs. Gardiner looked ather niece with a smile, butElizabethcouldnotreturnit.“And that,” said Mrs.

Reynolds,pointingtoanotherof the miniatures, “is mymaster—andverylikehim.Itwas drawn at the same timeas the other—about eightyearsago.”“Ihaveheardmuchofyour

master’s fine person,” saidMrs.Gardiner, lookingat the

picture; “it is a handsomeface.But,Lizzy,youcan telluswhetheritislikeornot.”Mrs. Reynolds’s respect

for Elizabeth seemed toincreaseon this intimationofherknowinghermaster.“Does that young lady

knowMr.Darcy?”Elizabeth coloured, and

said,“Alittle.”“Anddonotyouthinkhim

a very handsome gentleman,

ma’am?”“Yes,veryhandsome.”“IamsureIknownoneso

handsome; but in the galleryupstairsyouwillseeafiner,larger picture of him thanthis. This room was my latemaster’s favourite room, andthese miniatures are just astheyused tobe then.Hewasveryfondofthem.”This accounted to

ElizabethforMr.Wickham’s

beingamongthem.Mrs. Reynolds then

directedtheirattentiontooneof Miss Darcy, drawn whenshewasonlyeightyearsold.“And is Miss Darcy as

handsome as her brother?”saidMr.Gardiner.“Oh yes—the handsomest

young lady that ever wasseen; and so accomplished!She plays and sings all daylong. In the next room is a

new instrument just comedownforher—apresentfrommy master: she comes hereto-morrowwithhim.”Mr. Gardiner, whose

manners were easy andpleasant, encouraged hercommunicativeness by hisquestions and remarks: Mrs.Reynolds, either from prideor attachment, had evidentlygreat pleasure in talking ofhermasterandhissister.

“Is your master much atPemberley in the course oftheyear?”“Not so much as I could

wish, sir: but I dare say hemayspendhalfhistimehere;and Miss Darcy is alwaysdown for the summermonths.”Except, thought Elizabeth,

whenshegoestoRamsgate.“If your master would

marry,youmightseemoreof

him.”“Yes, sir; but I do not

knowwhenthatwillbe. Idonotknowwhoisgoodenoughforhim.”Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner

smiled. Elizabeth could nothelpsaying,“It isverymuchto his credit, I am sure, thatyoushouldthinkso.”“I say no more than the

truth, and what every bodywill say that knows him,”

replied the other. Elizabeththought thiswasgoingprettyfar; and she listened withincreasing astonishment asthe housekeeper added, “Ihave never had a crosswordfrom him in my life, and Ihave known him ever sincehewasfouryearsold.”This was praise of all

others most extraordinary,most opposite to her ideas.That he was not a good-

tempered man had been herfirmest opinion. Her keenestattention was awakened: shelongedtohearmore;andwasgrateful to her uncle forsaying,—“Thereareveryfewpeople

of whom so much can besaid.Youareluckyinhavingsuchamaster.”“Yes,sir,IknowIam.IfI

weretogothroughtheworld,Icouldnotmeetwithabetter.

But I have always observed,that they who are good-natured when children, aregood-naturedwhentheygrowup; and he was always thesweetest-tempered, mostgenerous-hearted boy in theworld.”Elizabeth almost stared at

her.“CanthisbeMr.Darcy?”thoughtshe.“His father was an

excellent man,” said Mrs.

Gardiner.“Yes, ma’am, that he was

indeed; and his son will bejust like him—just as affabletothepoor.”Elizabeth listened,

wondered, doubted, and wasimpatient for more. Mrs.Reynolds could interest heronnootherpoint.Sherelatedthe subjects of the pictures,thedimensionsof the rooms,and thepriceof the furniture

in vain.Mr.Gardiner, highlyamusedbythekindoffamilyprejudice, to which heattributed her excessivecommendationofhermaster,soonledagaintothesubject;andshedweltwithenergyonhis many merits, as theyproceeded together up thegreatstaircase.“He is the best landlord,

andthebestmaster,”saidshe,“that ever lived.Not like the

wild youngmen now-a-days,who think of nothing butthemselves. There is not oneofhis tenantsor servantsbutwhat will give him a goodname. Some people call himproud; but I am sure I neversaw any thing of it. To myfancy, it is only because hedoesnotrattleawaylikeotheryoungmen.”“In what an amiable light

doesthisplacehim!”thought

Elizabeth.“Thisfineaccountofhim,”

whispered her aunt, as theywalked, “is not quiteconsistentwith his behaviourtoourpoorfriend.”“Perhaps we might be

deceived.”“That is not very likely;

ourauthoritywastoogood.”On reaching the spacious

lobby above, they wereshown into a very pretty

sitting-room, lately fitted upwith greater elegance andlightness than the apartmentsbelow; and were informedthat it was but just done togive pleasure toMissDarcy,whohadtakenalikingtotheroom, when last atPemberley.“He is certainly a good

brother,” said Elizabeth, asshe walked towards one ofthewindows.

Mrs. Reynolds anticipatedMiss Darcy’s delight, whenshe should enter the room.“And this is always the waywith him,” she added.“Whatevercangivehissisterany pleasure, is sure to bedone in a moment. There isnothing he would not do forher.”The picture gallery, and

two or three of the principalbedrooms, were all that

remainedtobeshown.Intheformer were many goodpaintings;butElizabethknewnothing of the art; and fromsuch as had been alreadyvisible below, she hadwillingly turned to look atsome drawings of MissDarcy’s, in crayons, whosesubjects were usually moreinteresting, and also moreintelligible.In the gallery there were

many family portraits, butthey could have little to fixthe attention of a stranger.Elizabethwalked on in questof the only face whosefeatures would be known toher. At last it arrested her—and she beheld a strikingresemblance of Mr. Darcy,with such a smile over theface, as she remembered tohave sometimes seen, whenhe looked at her. She stoodseveral minutes before the

picture, in earnestcontemplation, and returnedtoitagainbeforetheyquittedthe gallery. Mrs. Reynoldsinformed them, that it hadbeen taken in his father’slifetime.Therewas certainly at this

moment,inElizabeth’smind,a more gentle sensationtowards the original than shehad ever felt in theheight oftheir acquaintance. The

commendation bestowed onhimbyMrs.Reynoldswasofnotriflingnature.Whatpraiseis more valuable than thepraise of an intelligentservant? As a brother, alandlord, a master, sheconsidered how manypeople’s happiness were inhis guardianship! Howmuchof pleasure or pain it was inhis power to bestow! Howmuchofgoodorevilmustbedonebyhim!Everyideathat

hadbeenbrought forwardbythe housekeeper wasfavourable to his character;and as she stood before thecanvass, on which he wasrepresented, and fixed hiseyes upon herself, shethought of his regard with adeeper sentiment of gratitudethanithadeverraisedbefore:she remembered its warmth,and softened its improprietyofexpression.

Whenallof thehouse thatwas open to generalinspection had been seen,they returned down stairs;and, taking leave of thehousekeeper, were consignedovertothegardener,whometthematthehalldoor.As they walked across the

lawn towards the river,Elizabethturnedbacktolookagain; her uncle and auntstopped also: and while the

formerwasconjecturingastothe date of the building, theowner of it himself suddenlycame forward from the road,which led behind it to thestables.They were within twenty

yards of each other, and soabrupt was his appearance,that it was impossible toavoid his sight. Their eyesinstantlymet, and the cheeksofeachwereoverspreadwith

the deepest blush. Heabsolutely started, and for amoment seemed immovablefrom surprise; but shortlyrecovering himself, advancedtowards the party, and spoketoElizabeth,ifnotintermsofperfectcomposure,atleastofperfectcivility.She had instinctively

turnedaway;butstoppingonhis approach, received hiscompliments with an

embarrassment impossible tobe overcome. Had his firstappearance, or hisresemblance to the picturetheyhadjustbeenexamining,beeninsufficienttoassuretheother two that they now sawMr. Darcy, the gardener’sexpression of surprise, onbeholding his master, mustimmediately have told it.Theystoodalittlealoofwhilehewas talking to their niece,who, astonished and

confused, scarcely dared lifthereyestohisface,andknewnotwhatanswershereturnedtohiscivilenquiriesafterherfamily. Amazed at thealterationofhismannersincethey last parted, everysentence that he uttered wasincreasing herembarrassment; and everyideaoftheimproprietyofherbeingfoundthererecurringtohermind, the fewminutes inwhich they continued

together were some of themost uncomfortable of herlife. Nor did he seem muchmoreatease:whenhespoke,his accent had none of itsusual sedateness; and herepeated his enquiries as tothe time of her having leftLongbourn,andofherstayinDerbyshire, so often, and inso hurried a way, as plainlyspoke the distraction of histhoughts.

At length, every ideaseemed to fail him; andafterstanding a few momentswithout saying a word, hesuddenly recollected himself,andtookleave.Theothersthenjoinedher,

and expressed theiradmiration of his figure; butElizabeth heard not a word,and,whollyengrossedbyherown feelings, followed themin silence. She was

overpowered by shame andvexation. Her coming therewasthemostunfortunate,themost ill-judged thing in theworld! How strange must itappear to him! In what adisgraceful lightmight it notstrikesovainaman!Itmightseemas if shehadpurposelythrown herself in his wayagain! Oh! why did shecome? or, why did he thuscome a day before he wasexpected?Hadtheybeenonly

ten minutes sooner, theyshouldhavebeenbeyond thereach of his discrimination;for it was plain that he wasthat moment arrived, thatmoment alighted from hishorse or his carriage. Sheblushedagainandagainoverthe perverseness of themeeting. And his behaviour,so strikingly altered,—whatcoulditmean?Thatheshouldeven speak to her wasamazing!—but to speak with

such civility, to enquire afterher family! Never in her lifehad she seen his manners solittle dignified, never had hespoken with such gentlenessas on this unexpectedmeeting.What a contrast didit offer to his last address inRosings’ Park, when he puthis letter into her hand! Sheknew not what to think, orhowtoaccountforit.They had now entered a

beautifulwalk by the side ofthewater,andeverystepwasbringingforwardanoblerfallofground,orafinerreachofthewoodstowhichtheywereapproaching:butitwassometime before Elizabeth wassensible of any of it; and,though she answeredmechanically to the repeatedappealsofheruncleandaunt,andseemedtodirecthereyesto such objects as theypointedout,shedistinguished

no part of the scene. Herthoughts were all fixed onthat one spot of PemberleyHouse,whicheveritmightbe,where Mr. Darcy then was.She longed to know what atthat moment was passing inhismind; inwhatmanner hethought of her, and whether,in defiance of every thing,she was still dear to him.Perhaps he had been civilonly because he felt himselfat ease; yet there had been

that in his voice, which wasnotlikeease.Whetherhehadfelt more of pain or ofpleasure in seeing her, shecouldnottell,buthecertainlyhad not seen her withcomposure.At length, however, the

remarks of her companionson her absence of mindroused her, and she felt thenecessity of appearing morelikeherself.

They entered the woods,and,biddingadieutotheriverforawhile,ascendedsomeofthe higher grounds; whence,inspotswheretheopeningofthe trees gave the eye powerto wander, were manycharmingviewsofthevalley,the opposite hills, with thelong range of woodsoverspreading many, andoccasionally part of thestream. Mr. Gardinerexpressed a wish of going

round the whole park, butfeared it might be beyond awalk. With a triumphantsmile, they were told, that itwastenmilesround.Itsettledthe matter; and they pursuedtheaccustomedcircuit;whichbrought them again, aftersome time, in a descentamonghangingwoods,totheedgeofthewater,andoneofits narrowest parts. Theycrosseditbyasimplebridge,in character with the general

airofthescene:itwasaspotless adorned than any theyhad yet visited; and thevalley, here contracted into aglen, allowed room only forthestream,andanarrowwalkamidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it.Elizabeth longed to exploreits windings; but when theyhad crossed the bridge, andperceived their distance fromthe house, Mrs. Gardiner,who was not a great walker,

could go no farther, andthought only of returning tothe carriage as quickly aspossible. Her niece was,therefore, obliged to submit,and they took their waytowards the house on theopposite side of the river, inthenearestdirection;buttheirprogress was slow, for Mr.Gardiner,thoughseldomabletoindulgethetaste,wasveryfond of fishing, and was somuch engaged in watching

the occasional appearance ofsome trout in the water, andtalking to the man aboutthem, that he advanced butlittle.Whilstwanderingoninthis slow manner, they wereagain surprised, andElizabeth’s astonishmentwasquite equal to what it hadbeen at first, by the sight ofMr.Darcyapproachingthem,andat nogreat distance.Thewalkbeingherelessshelteredthan on the other side,

allowed them to see himbefore they met. Elizabeth,however astonished, was atleast more prepared for aninterview than before, andresolved to appear and tospeak with calmness, if hereally intended tomeet them.For a few moments, indeed,she felt that he wouldprobably strike into someother path. The idea lastedwhile a turning in the walkconcealed him from their

view;theturningpast,hewasimmediately before them.With a glance she saw, thathehadlostnoneofhisrecentcivility; and, to imitate hispoliteness, she began as theymet to admire the beauty oftheplace;butshehadnotgotbeyond the words“delightful,”and“charming,”when some unluckyrecollections obtruded, andshe fancied that praise ofPemberleyfromhermightbe

mischievouslyconstrued.Hercolour changed, and she saidnomore.Mrs. Gardiner was

standing a little behind; andonherpausing,heaskedher,if she would do him thehonourof introducinghim toherfriends.Thiswasastrokeof civility forwhich shewasquite unprepared; and shecouldhardlysuppressasmile,at his being now seeking the

acquaintance of some ofthose very people, againstwhomhispridehadrevolted,inhisoffer toherself. “Whatwill behis surprise,” thoughtshe, “when he knows whotheyare!He takes themnowforpeopleoffashion.”The introduction,however,

was immediately made; andas she named theirrelationship to herself, shestoleaslylookathim,tosee

how he bore it; and was notwithouttheexpectationofhisdecampingasfastashecouldfrom such disgracefulcompanions. That he wassurprised by the connectionwas evident: he sustained it,however,with fortitude; and,so far from going away,turned back with them, andentered into conversationwithMr. Gardiner. Elizabethcould not but be pleased,couldnotbut triumph.Itwas

consoling, that he shouldknow she had some relationsforwhom therewas no needto blush. She listened mostattentively to all that passedbetween them,andgloried inevery expression, everysentence of her uncle, whichmarked his intelligence, histaste,orhisgoodmanners.The conversation soon

turned upon fishing; and sheheard Mr. Darcy invite him,

with the greatest civility, tofish there as often as hechose, while he continued inthe neighbourhood, offeringat the same time to supplyhim with fishing tackle, andpointingoutthosepartsofthestream where there wasusually most sport. Mrs.Gardiner, who was walkingarm in arm with Elizabeth,gaveheralookexpressiveofherwonder.

Elizabeth said nothing, but itgratifiedher exceedingly; thecompliment must be all forherself. Her astonishment,however, was extreme; andcontinually was sherepeating, “Why is he soaltered? From what can itproceed?Itcannotbeforme,it cannot be formy sake thathismannersarethussoftened.My reproofs at Hunsfordcouldnotworksuchachangeasthis.Itisimpossiblethathe

shouldstillloveme.”Afterwalkingsometimein

this way, the two ladies infront, the two gentlemenbehind, on resuming theirplaces,afterdescendingtothebrink of the river for thebetter inspection of somecurious water-plant, therechanced to be a littlealteration. It originated inMrs.Gardiner,who, fatiguedby the exercise of the

morning, found Elizabeth’sarm inadequate to hersupport, and consequentlypreferred her husband’s. Mr.Darcy took her place by herniece, and they walked ontogether. After a shortsilence, the lady first spoke.Shewishedhimtoknowthatshe had been assured of hisabsence before she came tothe place, and accordinglybegan by observing, that hisarrival had been very

unexpected;—“for yourhousekeeper,” she added,“informed us that youwouldcertainly not be here till to-morrow; and, indeed, beforewe left Bakewell, weunderstood thatyouwerenotimmediately expected in thecountry.” He acknowledgedthetruthofitall;andsaidthatbusinesswithhisstewardhadoccasioned his comingforward a few hours beforethe rest of the party with

whomhehadbeentravelling.“They will join me earlytomorrow,” he continued,“and among them are somewho will claim anacquaintance with you,—Mr.Bingleyandhissisters.”Elizabethansweredonlyby

a slight bow. Her thoughtswere instantlydrivenback tothe timewhenMr.Bingley’sname had been lastmentionedbetweenthem;and

if she might judge from hiscomplexion,hismindwasnotverydifferentlyengaged.“There is also one other

person in the party,” hecontinuedafterapause,“whomore particularly wishes tobe known to you. Will youallow me, or do I ask toomuch, to introducemy sisterto your acquaintance duringyourstayatLambton?”The surprise of such an

applicationwas great indeed;it was too great for her toknow in what manner sheacceded to it. Sheimmediately felt thatwhatever desire Miss Darcymight have of beingacquaintedwith her,must bethe work of her brother, andwithout looking farther, itwas satisfactory; it wasgratifying to know that hisresentmenthadnotmadehimthinkreallyillofher.

They now walked on insilence;eachofthemdeepinthought. Elizabeth was notcomfortable; that wasimpossible; but she wasflattered and pleased. Hiswishof introducinghis sisterto her was a compliment ofthe highest kind. They soonoutstripped the others; andwhen they had reached thecarriage, Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner were half a quarterofamilebehind.

He then asked her towalkinto the house—but shedeclaredherselfnottired,andthey stood together on thelawn. At such a time, muchmight have been said, andsilence was very awkward.Shewanted to talk, but thereseemedanembargooneverysubject. At last sherecollected that she had beentravelling, and they talked ofMatlock and Dovedale withgreat perseverance. Yet time

andherauntmovedslowly—andherpatienceandherideaswere nearly worn out beforethe tête-à-tête was over. OnMr. and Mrs. Gardiner’scoming up, they were allpressed to go into the houseand take some refreshment;but this was declined, andtheypartedoneachsidewiththe utmost politeness. Mr.Darcy handed the ladies intothe carriage, and when itdroveoff,Elizabeth sawhim

walking slowly towards thehouse.The observations of her

uncle and aunt now began;andeachofthempronouncedhim to be infinitely superiorto any thing they hadexpected. “He is perfectlywell behaved, polite, andunassuming,”saidheruncle.“Thereissomethingalittle

stately in him, to be sure,”replied her aunt; “but it is

confinedtohisair,andisnotunbecoming. I can now saywith the housekeeper, thatthoughsomepeoplemaycallhim proud, I have seen nothingofit.”“I was never more

surprised than by hisbehaviour to us. Itwasmorethan civil; it was reallyattentive; and there was nonecessity for such attention.His acquaintance with

Elizabethwasverytrifling.”“To be sure, Lizzy,” said

her aunt, “he is not sohandsome as Wickham; orrather,hehasnotWickham’scountenance, for his featuresare perfectly good. But howcame you to tell us that hewassodisagreeable?”Elizabeth excused herself

aswellasshecould;saidthatshehadlikedhimbetterwhentheymetinKentthanbefore,

and that she had never seenhim so pleasant as thismorning.“But,perhaps,hemaybea

little whimsical in hiscivilities,” replied her uncle.“Your great men often are;and,therefore,Ishallnottakehimathiswordaboutfishing,as hemight change hismindanotherday,andwarnmeoffhisgrounds.”Elizabethfeltthattheyhad

entirely mistaken hischaracter,butsaidnothing.“From what we have seen

of him,” continued Mrs.Gardiner,“Ireallyshouldnothave thought that he couldhave behaved in so cruel away by any body, as he hasdone by poor Wickham. Hehas not an ill-natured look.On the contrary, there issomething pleasing about hismouth when he speaks. And

there is something of dignityin his countenance, thatwould not give one anunfavourable idea of hisheart. But, to be sure, thegoodladywhoshowedusthehouse, did give him a mostflaming character! I couldhardly help laughing aloudsometimes.Butheisaliberalmaster,Isuppose,andthat inthe eye of a servantcomprehendseveryvirtue.”

Elizabeth here felt herselfcalledontosaysomethinginvindication of his behaviourto Wickham; and, therefore,gave them to understand, inas guarded a manner as shecould, that by what she hadheard from his relations inKent, his actions werecapable of a very differentconstruction; and that hischaracterwasbynomeanssofaulty, nor Wickham’s soamiable, as they had been

considered in Hertfordshire.In confirmation of this, sherelated the particulars of allthe pecuniary transactions inwhich they had beenconnected, without actuallynaming her authority, butstating it tobesuchasmightbereliedon.Mrs. Gardiner was

surprised and concerned: butas they were nowapproaching the scene of her

former pleasures, every ideagave way to the charm ofrecollection;and shewas toomuchengagedinpointingoutto her husband all theinteresting spots in itsenvirons, to think of anything else. Fatigued as shehad been by the morning’swalk, they had no soonerdinedthanshesetoffagaininquest of her formeracquaintance,andtheeveningwas spent in the satisfactions

of an intercourse renewedafter many years’discontinuance.Theoccurrencesoftheday

were too full of interest toleave Elizabeth muchattentionforanyofthesenewfriends; and she could donothing but think, and thinkwithwonder, ofMr.Darcy’scivility,and,aboveall,ofhiswishing her to be acquaintedwithhissister.

Chapter2

Elizabeth had settled it thatMr. Darcy would bring hissistertovisithertheverydayafterherreachingPemberley;and was, consequently,resolvednottobeoutofsightof the inn the whole of thatmorning. But her conclusion

was false; for on the verymorning after their ownarrival at Lambton thesevisitorscame.Theyhadbeenwalking about the placewithsome of their new friends,andwere just returned to theinn to dress themselves fordiningwith the same family,when the soundofacarriagedrew them to awindow, andthey saw a gentleman andladyinacurriclebbdrivingup

the street. Elizabeth,immediately recognising thelivery,guessedwhatitmeant,andimpartednosmalldegreeofsurprisetoherrelations,byacquainting them with thehonour which she expected.Her uncle and aunt were allamazement; and theembarrassmentofhermanneras she spoke, joined to thecircumstanceitself,andmanyof the circumstances of thepreceding day, opened to

them a new idea on thebusiness. Nothing had eversuggested it before, but theynow felt that there was noother way of accounting forsuch attentions from such aquarter than by supposing apartiality for their niece.While these newly-bornnotionswere passing in theirheads, the perturbation ofElizabeth’s feelings wasevery moment increasing.Shewas quite amazed at her

own discomposure; but,amongst other causes ofdisquiet, she dreaded lest thepartiality of the brothershouldhavesaidtoomuchinher favour; and more thancommonly anxious to please,she naturally suspected thatevery power of pleasingwouldfailher.She retreated from the

window, fearful of beingseen; and as she walked up

and down the room,endeavouring to composeherself, saw such looks ofenquiring surprise in heruncleandauntasmadeeverythingworse.MissDarcyandherbrother

appeared,andthisformidableintroduction tookplace.Withastonishment did Elizabethseethathernewacquaintancewas at least as muchembarrassedasherself.Since

her being at Lambton, shehad heard that Miss Darcywas exceedingly proud; buttheobservationofaveryfewminutes convinced her thatshe was only exceedinglyshy. She found it difficult toobtain even aword from herbeyondamonosyllable.Miss Darcy was tall, and

on a larger scale thanElizabeth; and, though littlemore than sixteen, her figure

was formed, and herappearance womanly andgraceful. She was lesshandsome than her brother,buttherewassenseandgood-humour in her face, and hermanners were perfectlyunassuming and gentle.Elizabeth, who had expectedto find in her as acute andunembarrassedanobserveraseverMr.Darcyhadbeen,wasmuch relieved by discerningsuchdifferentfeelings.

They had not been longtogether before Darcy toldher that Bingley was alsocoming to wait on her; andshehadbarelytimetoexpressher satisfaction, and preparefor such a visitor, whenBingley’s quick step washeard on the stairs, and in amomentheenteredtheroom.All Elizabeth’s anger againsthim had been long doneaway; but, had she still feltany, it could hardly have

stood its ground against theunaffected cordiality withwhich he expressed himselfon seeing her again. Heenquiredinafriendly,thoughgeneral,way,afterherfamily,and looked and spoke withthesamegoodhumouredeasethathehadeverdone.ToMr. andMrs. Gardiner

he was scarcely a lessinteresting personage than toherself.Theyhadlongwished

to see him. The whole partybeforethem,indeed,excitedalively attention. Thesuspicions which had justarisenofMr.Darcyandtheirniece, directed theirobservation towards eachwith an earnest, thoughguarded, enquiry; and theysoon drew from thoseenquiries the full convictionthatoneofthematleastknewwhat it was to love. Of thelady’s sensations they

remainedalittleindoubt;butthat the gentleman wasoverflowing with admirationwasevidentenough.Elizabeth,onher side,had

much to do. She wanted toascertain the feelingsofeachofhervisitors, shewanted tocompose her own, and tomakeherselfagreeabletoall;andinthelatterobject,whereshe feared most to fail, shewasmostsureofsuccess,for

those to whom sheendeavoured to give pleasurewere prepossessed in herfavour. Bingley was ready,Georgiana was eager, andDarcy determined, to bepleased.In seeing Bingley, her

thoughtsnaturallyflewtohersister; and oh! how ardentlydidshelongtoknowwhetheranyof hisweredirected in alike manner. Sometimes she

couldfancythathetalkedlessthanonformeroccasions,andonceor twicepleasedherselfwith the notion that as helooked at her, he was tryingto trace a resemblance. But,though this might beimaginary, she could not bedeceived as to his behaviourtoMissDarcy,whohadbeenset up as a rival to Jane. Nolook appeared on either sidethat spoke particular regard.Nothing occurred between

them that could justify thehopes of his sister. On thispoint she was soon satisfied;and two or three littlecircumstances occurred erethey parted, which, in heranxious interpretation,denoted a recollection ofJane, not untinctured bytenderness, and a wish ofsaying more that might leadtothementionofher,hadhedared.Heobserved toher, ata moment when the others

were talking together, and ina tone which had somethingof real regret, that it “was avery long time since he hadhad the pleasure of seeingher;” and, before she couldreply, he added, “It is aboveeight months. We have notmet since the 26th ofNovember,whenwewerealldancing together atNetherfield.”Elizabeth was pleased to

findhismemorysoexact;andhe afterwards took occasionto ask her, when unattendedtobyanyoftherest,whetherall her sisters were atLongbourn. There was notmuch in the question, nor inthe preceding remark; butthere was a look and amanner which gave themmeaning.It was not often that she

could turn her eyes on Mr.

Darcy himself; butwhenevershe did catch a glimpse, shesaw an expression of generalcomplaisance, and in all thathe said, she heard an accentso far removed fromhauteurordisdainofhiscompanions,as convinced her that theimprovement of mannerswhich she had yesterdaywitnessed, howevertemporaryitsexistencemightprove, had at least outlivedone day.When she saw him

thus seeking theacquaintance, and courtingthe good opinion of peoplewithwhomany intercourseafew months ago would havebeen a disgrace; when shesaw him thus civil, not onlyto herself, but to the veryrelationswhomhehadopenlydisdained, and recollectedtheir last lively scene inHunsford Parsonage, thedifference,thechangewassogreat, and struck so forcibly

on her mind, that she couldhardly restrain herastonishment from beingvisible. Never, even in thecompany of his dear friendsat Netherfield, or hisdignifiedrelationsatRosings,hadsheseenhimsodesirousto please, so free from self-consequence or unbendingreserve, as now, when noimportance could result fromthesuccessofhisendeavours,and when even the

acquaintance of those towhom his attentions wereaddressed,would drawdowntheridiculeandcensureoftheladiesbothofNetherfieldandRosings.Their visitors stayed with

themabovehalfanhour;andwhen they arose to depart,Mr.Darcycalledonhissistertojoinhiminexpressingtheirwish of seeingMr. andMrs.Gardiner,andMissBennet,to

dinner at Pemberley, beforethey left the country. MissDarcy, though with adiffidence which marked herlittle in the habit of givinginvitations, readily obeyed.Mrs. Gardiner looked at herniece, desirous of knowinghowshe,whomtheinvitationmostconcerned,feltdisposedas to its acceptance, butElizabeth had turned awayher head. Presuming,however, that this studied

avoidance spoke rather amomentary embarrassmentthan any dislike of theproposal, and seeing in herhusband, who was fond ofsociety, a perfectwillingnessto accept it, she ventured toengage for her attendance,andthedayafterthenextwasfixedon.Bingley expressed great

pleasure in the certainty ofseeing Elizabeth again,

havingstillagreatdealtosaytoher,andmanyenquiriestomake after all theirHertfordshire friends.Elizabeth, construing all thisinto a wish of hearing herspeak of her sister, waspleased; and on this account,aswellassomeothers,foundherself, when their visitorsleft them, capable ofconsidering the lasthalfhourwith some satisfaction,though while it was passing

the enjoyment of it had beenlittle. Eager to be alone, andfearful of enquiries or hintsfrom her uncle and aunt, shestayed with them only longenough to hear theirfavourable opinion ofBingley, and then hurriedawaytodress.But she had no reason to

fearMr. andMrs.Gardiner’scuriosity; it was not theirwish to force her

communication. It wasevident that she was muchbetter acquainted with Mr.Darcy than they had beforeany idea of; it was evidentthathewasverymuchinlovewith her. They saw much tointerest,butnothingtojustifyenquiry.OfMr.Darcyitwasnowa

matter of anxiety to thinkwell; and, as far as theiracquaintance reached, there

was no fault to find. Theycouldnotbeuntouchedbyhispoliteness; and had theydrawn his character fromtheir own feelings and hisservant’s report, without anyreference to any otheraccount, the circle inHertfordshire to which hewas known would not haverecognised it for Mr. Darcy.There was now an interest,however, in believing thehousekeeper; and they soon

became sensible, that theauthority of a servant, whohadknownhimsincehewasfour years old, and whoseown manners indicatedrespectability, was not to behastily rejected. Neither hadany thing occurred in theintelligence of theirLambtonfriends that could materiallylessen its weight. They hadnothing to accuse himof butpride; prideheprobablyhad,and if not, itwould certainly

beimputedbytheinhabitantsofasmallmarkettownwherethefamilydidnotvisit.Itwasacknowledged, however, thathewasaliberalman,anddidmuchgoodamongthepoor.With respect to Wickham,

the travellerssoonfound thathewasnotheldthereinmuchestimation; for though thechiefofhisconcernswiththeson of his patron wereimperfectly understood, it

was yet a well-known factthat, on his quittingDerbyshire,hehad leftmanydebts behindhim,whichMr.Darcyafterwardsdischarged.As for Elizabeth, her

thoughts were at Pemberleythis evening more than thelast; and the evening, thoughas it passed it seemed long,was not long enough todetermine her feelingstowardsone in thatmansion;

andshelayawaketwowholehours, endeavouring tomakethem out. She certainly didnot hate him.No; hatred hadvanished long ago, and shehad almost as long beenashamed of ever feeling adislikeagainsthimthatcouldbe so called. The respectcreated by the conviction ofhisvaluablequalities, thoughat first unwillingly admitted,had for some time ceased tobe repugnant to her feelings;

and it was now heightenedinto somewhatofa friendliernature by the testimony sohighly in his favour, andbringing forward hisdisposition in so amiable alight, which yesterday hadproduced. But above all,above respect and esteem,therewasamotivewithinherofgood-willwhichcouldnotbe overlooked. It wasgratitude;—gratitude, notmerelyforhavingonceloved

her, but for loving her stillwellenoughtoforgiveallthepetulance and acrimony ofher manner in rejecting him,andall theunjustaccusationsaccompanying her rejection.He who, she had beenpersuaded, would avoid heras his greatest enemy,seemed, on this accidentalmeeting, most eager topreserve the acquaintance,and without any indelicatedisplay of regard, or any

peculiarity of manner, wheretheir two selves only wereconcerned,was soliciting thegood opinion of her friends,and bent on making herknown to his sister. Such achange in aman of somuchpride excited not onlyastonishment but gratitude—for to love, ardent love, itmust be attributed; and, assuch, its impression on herwas of a sort to beencouraged, as by no means

unpleasing, though it couldnot be exactly defined. Sherespected, she esteemed, shewasgratefultohim,shefeltareal interest in his welfare;andsheonlywantedtoknowhow far she wished thatwelfare to depend uponherself, andhowfar itwouldbe for the happiness of boththat she should employ thepower, which her fancy toldher she still possessed, ofbringingontherenewalofhis

addresses.It had been settled in the

evening, between the auntandniece,thatsuchastrikingcivility as Miss Darcy’s, incoming to them on the veryday of her arrival atPemberley, for she hadreached it only to a latebreakfast, ought to beimitated, though it could notbeequalled,bysomeexertionof politeness on their side;

and, consequently, that itwouldbehighlyexpedient towaitonher atPemberley thefollowing morning. Theywere, therefore, to go.Elizabeth was pleased;though, when she askedherself the reason, she hadverylittletosayinreply.Mr. Gardiner left them

soon after breakfast. Thefishing scheme had beenrenewedthedaybefore,anda

positiveengagementmadeofhis meeting some of thegentlemen at Pemberley bynoon.

Chapter3

Convinced as Elizabeth nowwas that Miss Bingley’sdislike of her had originatedin jealousy, she could nothelp feeling how veryunwelcomeherappearanceatPemberley must be to her,

andwascurioustoknowwithhow much civility on thatlady’s side the acquaintancewouldnowberenewed.On reaching the house,

theywere shown through thehall into the saloon,bc whosenorthern aspect rendered itdelightful for summer. Itswindows, opening to theground, admitted a mostrefreshing view of the highwoodyhillsbehindthehouse,

andof thebeautifuloaksandSpanishchestnutswhichwerescattered over theintermediatelawn.In this room they were

receivedbyMissDarcy,whowas sitting there with Mrs.Hurst andMiss Bingley, andtheladywithwhomshelivedin London. Georgiana’sreception of them was verycivil, but attended with allthat embarrassment which,

though proceeding fromshynessandthefearofdoingwrong, would easily give tothose who felt themselvesinferiorthebeliefofherbeingproud and reserved, Mrs.Gardiner and her niece,however, did her justice, andpitiedher.By Mrs. Hurst and Miss

Bingley they were noticedonly by a courtesy; and ontheir being seated, a pause,

awkwardassuchpausesmustalways be, succeeded for afew moments. It was firstbroken by Mrs. Annesley, agenteel, agreeable lookingwoman, whose endeavour tointroduce some kind ofdiscourse proved her to bemore truly well-bred thaneither of the others; andbetween her and Mrs.Gardiner, with occasionalhelp from Elizabeth, theconversation was carried on.

Miss Darcy looked as if shewishedforcourageenoughtojoin in it; and sometimes didventure a short sentence,when there was least dangerofitsbeingheard.Elizabethsoonsawthatshe

was herself closely watchedbyMissBingley,andthatshecould not speak a word,especially to Miss Darcy,without calling her attention.This observation would not

have prevented her fromtryingtotalktothelatter,hadthey not been seated at aninconvenientdistance;butshewasnotsorrytobesparedthenecessityofsayingmuch:herown thoughts wereemploying her. She expectedevery moment that some ofthe gentlemen would enterthe room: she wished, shefeared, that themaster of thehouse might be amongstthem; and whether she

wishedor feared itmost, shecould scarcely determine.After sitting in thismanneraquarter of an hour, withouthearingMissBingley’svoice,Elizabeth was roused byreceiving from her a coldenquiryafterthehealthofherfamily. She answered withequal indifference andbrevity,andtheothersaidnomore.The next variation which

their visit afforded wasproduced by the entrance ofservantswithcoldmeat,cake,andavarietyofall the finestfruits in season; but this didnot takeplace till aftermanya significant look and smilefromMrs. Annesley to MissDarcy had been given, toremindherofherpost.Therewasnowemployment for thewhole party; for though theycould not all talk, they couldall eat; and the beautiful

pyramids of grapes,nectarines,andpeaches,sooncollected them round thetable.While thus engaged,

Elizabeth had a fairopportunity of decidingwhether she most feared orwished for the appearance ofMr. Darcy, by the feelingswhich prevailed on hisentering the room; and then,though but a moment before

she had believed her wishesto predominate, she began toregretthathecame.He had been some time

withMr.Gardiner,who,withtwo or three other gentlemenfrom thehouse,wasengagedbytheriver,andhadlefthimonly on learning that theladies of the family intendeda visit to Georgiana thatmorning. No sooner did heappear, thanElizabethwisely

resolved to be perfectly easyand unembarrassed;—aresolutionthemorenecessaryto be made, but perhaps notthemoreeasilykept,becauseshesawthatthesuspicionsofthe whole party wereawakened against them, andthattherewasscarcelyaneyewhich did not watch hisbehaviourwhenhefirstcameinto the room. In nocountenance was attentivecuriosity so strongly marked

asinMissBingley’s, inspiteof the smiles whichoverspreadherfacewhenevershe spoke to one of itsobjects; for jealousy had notyet made her desperate, andher attentions to Mr. Darcywerebynomeansover.MissDarcy, on her brother’sentrance, exerted herselfmuch more to talk; andElizabeth saw that he wasanxious for his sister andherself togetacquainted,and

forwarded, as much aspossible, every attempt atconversation on either side.Miss Bingley saw all thislikewise; and, in theimprudenceofanger,tookthefirst opportunity of saying,withsneeringcivility,—“Pray, Miss Eliza, are not

the———shire militiaremoved from Meryton?Theymust be a great loss toyourfamily.”

In Darcy’s presence shedared not mentionWickham’s name; butElizabeth instantlycomprehended that he wasuppermost in her thoughts;and the various recollectionsconnectedwith him gave hera moment’s distress; but,exertingherselfvigorously torepel the ill-natured attack,she presently answered thequestion in a tolerablydisengaged tone. While she

spoke, an involuntary glanceshowed her Darcy with aheightened complexion,earnestly looking at her, andhis sister overcome withconfusion, and unable to liftup her eyes. Had MissBingleyknownwhatpainshewas then giving her belovedfriend, she undoubtedlywould have refrained fromthe hint; but she had merelyintended to discomposeElizabeth, by bringing

forward the ideaof aman towhom she believed herpartial, to make her betray asensibilitywhichmightinjureher in Darcy’s opinion, and,perhaps, to remind the latterof all the follies andabsurdities by which somepart of her family wereconnected with that corps.Not a syllable had everreached her of Miss Darcy’smeditated elopement. To nocreaturehaditbeenrevealed,

where secrecy was possible,excepttoElizabeth;andfromallBingley’s connections herbrother was particularlyanxious to conceal it, fromthat very wish whichElizabeth had long agoattributed to him, of theirbecoming hereafter her own.Hehadcertainlyformedsucha plan; and without meaningthat it should affect hisendeavour to separate himfrom Miss Bennet, it is

probable that it might addsomething to his livelyconcernforthewelfareofhisfriend.Elizabeth’s collected

behaviour, however, soonquieted his emotion; and asMiss Bingley, vexed anddisappointed, dared notapproachnearertoWickham,Georgiana also recovered intime,thoughnotenoughtobeable to speak any more. Her

brother,whoseeyeshefearedto meet, scarcely recollectedher interest in the affair; andthe very circumstance whichhadbeendesignedtoturnhisthoughts from Elizabeth,seemedtohavefixedthemonher more and morecheerfully.Theirvisitdidnotcontinue

long after the question andanswerabovementioned;andwhile Mr. Darcy was

attending them to theircarriage, Miss Bingley wasventing her feelings incriticisms on Elizabeth’sperson, behaviour, and dress.ButGeorgianawouldnotjoinher. Her brother’srecommendation was enoughto insure her favour: hisjudgment could not err; andhe had spoken in such termsof Elizabeth, as to leaveGeorgianawithout the powerof findingherotherwise than

lovely and amiable. WhenDarcy returned to the saloon,Miss Bingley could not helprepeatingtohimsomepartofwhat she had been saying tohissister.“HowveryillElizaBennet

looks this morning, Mr.Darcy,”shecried:“Ineverinmylifesawanyonesomuchaltered as she is since thewinter. She is grown sobrownandcoarse!Louisaand

I were agreeing that weshould not have known heragain.”However little Mr. Darcy

might have liked such anaddress,hecontentedhimselfwith coolly replying, that heperceived no other alterationthan her being rather tanned,—nomiraculousconsequenceoftravellinginthesummer.“For my own part,” she

rejoined,“Imustconfessthat

I never could see any beautyin her. Her face is too thin;her complexion has nobrilliancy; and her featuresare not at all handsome. Hernosewantscharacter;thereisnothing marked in its lines.Her teeth are tolerable, butnot out of the commonway;and as for her eyes, whichhave sometimes been calledso fine, I never couldperceive any thingextraordinary in them. They

have a sharp, shrewish look,whichIdonotlikeatall;andinherairaltogether,thereisaself-sufficiency withoutfashion,whichisintolerable.”PersuadedasMissBingley

was that Darcy admiredElizabeth, this was not thebest method ofrecommending herself; butangry people are not alwayswise;andinseeinghimatlastlook somewhat nettled, she

had all the success sheexpected. He was resolutelysilent, however; and, from adetermination ofmaking himspeak,shecontinued,—“Iremember,whenwefirst

knew her in Hertfordshire,how amazed we all were tofind that she was a reputedbeauty; and I particularlyrecollect your saying onenight, after they had beendining at Netherfield, ‘She a

beauty! I should as soon callher mother a wit.’ Butafterwards she seemed toimproveonyou,andIbelieveyou thought her rather prettyatonetime.”“Yes,” repliedDarcy,who

could contain himself nolonger, “but that was onlywhenIfirstknewher;foritismany months since I haveconsidered her as one of thehandsomest women of my

acquaintance.”He then went away, and

Miss Bingley was left to allthe satisfaction of havingforced him to saywhat gavenooneanypainbutherself.Mrs. Gardiner and

Elizabeth talked of all thathad occurred during theirvisit,astheyreturned,exceptwhat had particularlyinterested them both. Thelooksandbehaviourofevery

body they had seen werediscussed, except of theperson who had mostlyengaged their attention.Theytalked of his sister, hisfriends,hishouse,hisfruit,ofevery thing but himself; yetElizabeth was longing toknow what Mrs. Gardinerthought of him, and Mrs.Gardiner would have beenhighlygratifiedbyherniece’sbeginningthesubject.

Chapter4

Elizabeth had been a gooddeal disappointed in notfinding a letter from Jane ontheir firstarrivalatLambton;and this disappointment hadbeen renewedon each of themornings that had now beenspent there; but on the third

her repining was over, andher sister justified, by thereceiptoftwolettersfromheratonce,ononeofwhichwasmarked that it had beenmis-sentelsewhere.Elizabethwasnotsurprisedatit,asJanehadwritten the directionremarkablyill.They had just been

preparing to walk as theletterscamein;andheruncleandaunt,leavinghertoenjoy

them in quiet, set off bythemselves.Theonemis-sentmust be first attended to; ithad been written five daysago.Thebeginningcontainedan account of all their littleparties and engagements,withsuchnewsasthecountryafforded; but the latter half,whichwas dated a day later,and written in evidentagitation, gave moreimportant intelligence. Itwastothiseffect:—

“Since writing the above,dearest Lizzy, something hasoccurred of a mostunexpected and seriousnature; but I am afraid ofalarming you—be assuredthat we are all well. What Ihave to say relates to poorLydia. An express came attwelve last night, just as wewere all gone to bed, fromColonelForster, to informusthat she was gone off to

Scotland 12 with one of hisofficers; to own the truth,with Wickham! Imagine oursurprise.ToKitty,however,itdoes not seem so whollyunexpected. I am very, verysorry. So imprudent a matchon both sides! But I amwilling to hope the best, andthat his character has beenmisunderstood. Thoughtlessand indiscreet I can easilybelievehim,butthisstep(and

let us rejoice over it) marksnothing bad at heart. Hischoice is disinterested atleast, for he must know myfather can give her nothing.Our poor mother is sadlygrieved. My father bears itbetter. How thankful am I,thatwe never let them knowwhat has been said againsthim; we must forget itourselves. They were offSaturday night about twelve,as is conjectured, but were

not missed till yesterdaymorningateight.Theexpresswassentoffdirectly.MydearLizzy, theymusthavepassedwithin ten miles of us.Colonel Forster gives usreason to expect him heresoon. Lydia left a few linesforhiswife,informingheroftheir intention. I mustconclude,forIcannotbelongfrom my poor mother. I amafraidyouwillnotbeabletomake it out, but I hardly

knowwhatIhavewritten.”Without allowing herself

time for consideration, andscarcely knowing what shefelt, Elizabeth, on finishingthisletter,instantlyseizedtheother,andopeningitwiththeutmost impatience, read asfollows:ithadbeenwrittenaday later than the conclusionofthefirst.“By this time, my dearest

sister, you have receivedmy

hurriedletter;Iwishthismaybe more intelligible, butthoughnotconfinedfortime,myheadissobewilderedthatI cannot answer for beingcoherent. Dearest Lizzy, Ihardly know what I wouldwrite,butIhavebadnewsforyou,anditcannotbedelayed.Imprudent as a marriagebetween Mr. Wickham andourpoorLydiawouldbe,wearenowanxioustobeassuredithastakenplace,forthereis

but too much reason to feartheyarenotgonetoScotland.Colonel Forster cameyesterday, having leftBrighton the day before, notmanyhoursafter theexpress.ThoughLydia’sshortlettertoMrs. F. gave them tounderstand that they weregoing to Gretna Green,something was dropped byDenny expressing his beliefthatW. never intended to gothere,ortomarryLydiaatall,

which was repeated toColonel F., who, instantlytakingthealarm,setofffromB., intending to trace theirroute. He did trace themeasily to Clapham,bd but nofarther; for on entering thatplace, they removed into ahackney-coach, anddismissed the chaise thatbrought them from Epsom.Allthatisknownafterthisis,that they were seen to

continue the London road. Iknownotwhattothink.Aftermaking every possibleenquiry on that sideLondon,Colonel F. came on intoHertfordshire, anxiouslyrenewing them at all theturnpikes, and at the inns inBarnet and Hatfield butwithout any success,—nosuchpeoplehadbeenseentopass through. With thekindest concern he came onto Longbourn, and broke his

apprehensions to us in amannermostcreditabletohisheart. I am sincerely grievedfor him and Mrs. F.; but noone can throw any blame onthem. Our distress, my dearLizzy, is very great. Myfatherandmotherbelievetheworst,butIcannotthinksoillof him. Many circumstancesmight make it more eligiblefor them to be marriedprivately in town than topursue their first plan; and

even ifhe could form such adesign against a youngwoman of Lydia’sconnections, which is notlikely, can I suppose her solost to every thing?Impossible! I grieve to find,however, that Colonel F. isnot disposed to depend upontheir marriage: he shook hishead when I expressed myhopes,andsaidhe fearedW.was not aman to be trusted.My poormother is really ill,

and keeps her room. Couldsheexertherself, itwouldbebetter, but this is not to beexpected;andastomyfather,Ineverinmylifesawhimsoaffected.PoorKittyhasangerfor having concealed theirattachment; but as it was amatter of confidence, onecannot wonder. I am trulyglad, dearest Lizzy, that youhave been spared somethingof these distressing scenes;butnow,as the first shock is

over, shall I own that I longfor your return? I am not soselfish, however, as to pressforit,ifinconvenient.Adieu!Itakeupmypenagaintodo,what I have just told you Iwouldnot;but circumstancesare such, that I cannot helpearnestly begging you all tocome here as soon aspossible. I know my dearuncleandauntsowell, thatIamnotafraidofrequestingit,thoughIhavestill something

moretoaskoftheformer.Myfather is going to Londonwith Colonel Forsterinstantly, to try to discoverher.What he means to do, Iam sure I know not; but hisexcessive distress will notallow him to pursue anymeasureinthebestandsafestway, and Colonel Forster isobliged to be at Brightonagain to-morrow evening. Insuch an exigencemy uncle’sadvice and assistance would

be every thing in the world;he will immediatelycomprehendwhatImustfeel,and I rely upon hisgoodness.”“Oh! where, where is my

uncle?” cried Elizabeth,darting from her seat as shefinished the letter, ineagerness to follow him,without losing a moment ofthe time so precious; but asshe reached the door, it was

openedbyaservant,andMr.Darcy appeared. Her paleface and impetuous mannermadehimstart,andbeforehecouldrecoverhimselfenoughtospeak, she, inwhosemindeveryideawassupersededbyLydia’s situation, hastilyexclaimed, “I beg yourpardon,butImustleaveyou.ImustfindMr.Gardiner thismoment on business thatcannotbedelayed;Ihavenotaninstanttolose.”

“Good God! what is thematter?” cried he,withmorefeeling than politeness; thenrecollecting himself, “I willnot detain you a minute; butletme, or let the servant, goafterMr. andMrs. Gardiner.Youarenotwellenough;youcannotgoyourself.”Elizabethhesitated,buther

kneestrembledunderher,andshe felt how little would begained by her attempting to

pursuethem.Callingbacktheservant, therefore, shecommissionedhim,thoughinso breathless an accent asmade her almostunintelligible, to fetch hismaster and mistress homeinstantly.On his quitting the room,

she sat down, unable tosupport herself, and lookingso miserably ill, that it wasimpossibleforDarcytoleave

her,ortorefrainfromsaying,in a tone of gentleness andcommiseration, “Let me callyour maid. Is there nothingyou could take to give youpresent relief? A glass ofwine; shall I get you one?Youareveryill.”“No, I thank you,” she

replied, endeavouring torecover herself. “There isnothingthematterwithme.Iam quite well, I am only

distressed by some dreadfulnews which I have justreceivedfromLongbourn.”She burst into tears as she

alluded to it, and for a fewminutes could not speakanother word. Darcy, inwretched suspense, couldonly say somethingindistinctly of his concern,and observe her incompassionate silence. Atlength she spoke again. “I

have just had a letter fromJane, with such dreadfulnews. It cannot be concealedfrom any one. My youngestsisterhasleftallherfriends—has eloped; has thrownherself into thepowerof—ofMr.Wickham.Theyaregoneoff together from Brighton.You know him too well todoubt the rest. She has nomoney, no connections,nothingthatcantempthimto—sheislostforever.”

Darcy was fixed inastonishment. “When Iconsider,”sheadded,inayetmore agitated voice, “that Imight have prevented it! Iwhoknewwhathewas.HadIbut explained somepart of itonly—some part of what Ilearnt, to my own family!Had his character beenknown, this could not havehappened.Butitisall,alltoolatenow.”

“I am grieved, indeed,”cried Darcy: “grieved—shocked. But is it certain,absolutelycertain?”“Oh yes! They left

Brighton together on Sundaynight,andweretracedalmostto London, but not beyond:theyarecertainlynotgonetoScotland.”“Andwhat has been done,

what has been attempted, torecoverher?”

“My father is gone toLondon,andJanehaswrittentobegmyuncle’s immediateassistance, and we shall beoff, I hope, in half an hour.But nothing can be done; Iknow very well that nothingcan be done. How is such aman to be worked on? Howare they even to bediscovered? I have not thesmallesthope.Itiseverywayhorrible!”

Darcy shook his head insilentacquiescence.“Whenmyeyeswereopen

tohisrealcharacter.Oh!hadIknownwhatIought,whatIdaredtodo!ButIknewnot—I was afraid of doing toomuch. Wretched, wretchedmistake!”Darcymadenoanswer.He

seemed scarcely to hear her,and was walking up anddown the room in earnest

meditation; his browcontracted, his air gloomy.Elizabeth soonobserved, andinstantly understood it. Herpower was sinking; everythingmust sink under such aproof of family weakness,such an assurance of thedeepest disgrace. She couldneitherwondernorcondemn,but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothingconsolatory to her bosom,afforded no palliation of her

distress. It was, on thecontrary,exactlycalculatedtomakeherunderstandherownwishes;andneverhadshesohonestly felt that she couldhave loved him, as now,whenalllovemustbevain.But self, though it would

intrude, could not engrossher. Lydia—the humiliation,the misery she was bringingon them all,—soonswallowed up every private

care; and covering her facewith her handkerchief,Elizabeth was soon lost toevery thing else; and, after apauseofseveralminutes,wasonlyrecalledtoasenseofhersituation by the voice of hercompanion,who,inamannerwhich, though it spokecompassion, spoke likewiserestraint, said, “I am afraidyou have been long desiringmy absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of

my stay, but real, thoughunavailingconcern.WouldtoHeaven that any thing couldbeeither saidordoneonmypart, that might offerconsolation to such distress.But I will not torment youwithvainwishes,whichmayseem purposely to ask foryourthanks.Thisunfortunateaffairwill, Ifear,preventmysister’shavingthepleasureofseeing you at Pemberley to-day.”

“Oh yes. Be so kind as toapologise for us to MissDarcy. Say that urgentbusiness calls us homeimmediately. Conceal theunhappy truthas longas it ispossible. I know it cannotbelong.”He readily assured her of

his secrecy, again expressedhis sorrow for her distress,wished it a happierconclusion than there was at

present reason to hope, and,leaving his compliments forher relations, with only oneserious, parting look, wentaway.As he quitted the room,

Elizabeth felt howimprobable it was that theyshould ever see each otheragain on such terms ofcordialityashadmarkedtheirseveral meetings inDerbyshire; andas she threw

a retrospective glance overthe whole of theiracquaintance, so full ofcontradictions and varieties,sighed at the perverseness ofthose feelings which wouldnow have promoted itscontinuance, and wouldformerly have rejoiced in itstermination.Ifgratitudeandesteemare

good foundations ofaffection, Elizabeth’s change

of sentiment will be neitherimprobable nor faulty.But ifotherwise, if the regardspringing from such sourcesis unreasonable or unnatural,in comparison of what is sooften described as arising ona first interview with itsobject, and even before twowords have been exchanged,nothing can be said in herdefence, except that she hadgiven somewhat of a trial tothe latter method, in her

partiality for Wickham, andthat its ill success might,perhaps,authorisehertoseekthe other less interestingmode of attachment. Be thatas it may, she saw him gowith regret; and in this earlyexample of what Lydia’sinfamy must produce, foundadditional anguish as shereflected on that wretchedbusiness. Never, sincereading Jane’s second letter,hadsheentertainedahopeof

Wickham’smeaningtomarryher. No one but Jane, shethought, could flatter herselfwith such an expectation.Surprise was the least of allher feelings on thisdevelopment. While thecontents of the first letterremained on her mind, shewas all surprise, allastonishment, that Wickhamshouldmarry a girl,whom itwas impossible he couldmarry for money; and how

Lydia could ever haveattached him had appearedincomprehensible.Butnowitwas all too natural. For suchan attachment as this, shemighthavesufficientcharms;and though she did notsuppose Lydia to bedeliberately engaging in anelopement, without theintentionofmarriage,shehadnodifficultyinbelievingthatneither her virtue nor herunderstandingwouldpreserve

herfromfallinganeasyprey.She had never perceived,

while the regiment was inHertfordshire, thatLydia hadanypartialityforhim;butshewasconvincedthatLydiahadwanted only encouragementtoattachherself toanybody.Sometimes one officer,sometimes another, had beenher favourite, as theirattentions raised them in heropinion. Her affections had

been continually fluctuating,but never without an object.The mischief of neglect andmistaken indulgence towardssuchagirl—oh!howacutelydidshenowfeelit.Shewaswildtobeathome

—to hear, to see, to be uponthespottosharewithJaneinthe cares that must now fallwholly upon her, in a familyso deranged; a father absent,a mother incapable of

exertion, and requiringconstant attendance; andthoughalmostpersuaded thatnothing could be done forLydia, her uncle’sinterference seemed of theutmostimportance,andtillheentered the room the miseryofherimpatiencewassevere.Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner hadhurried back in alarm,supposing, by the servant’saccount, that their niece wastaken suddenly ill; but

satisfying them instantly onthat head, she eagerlycommunicated the cause oftheir summons, reading thetwo letters aloud, anddwelling on the postscript ofthe last with tremblingenergy, though Lydia hadnever been a favourite withthem.Mr. andMrs.Gardinercould not but be deeplyafflicted.NotLydiaonly,butallwere concerned in it; andafterthefirstexclamationsof

surprise and horror, Mr.Gardiner readily promisedeveryassistanceinhispower.Elizabeth, though expectingno less, thanked him withtears of gratitude; and allthree being actuated by onespirit, every thing relating totheir journey was speedilysettled.Theyweretobeoffassoonaspossible.“ButwhatistobedoneaboutPemberley?”cried Mrs. Gardiner. “Johntold us Mr. Darcy was here

whenyousentforus;—wasitso?”“Yes; and I told him we

shouldnotbeabletokeepourengagement. That is allsettled.”“What is all settled?”

repeatedtheother,assheraninto her room to prepare.“And are they upon suchterms as for her to disclosetherealtruth!Oh,thatIknewhowitwas!”

But wishes were vain; or,at best, could serve only toamuse her in the hurry andconfusion of the followinghour. Had Elizabeth been atleisure to be idle, she wouldhaveremainedcertainthatallemployment was impossibletoonesowretchedasherself;but she had her share ofbusiness as well as her aunt,and amongst the rest therewerenotestobewrittentoalltheirfriendsatLambton,with

falseexcusesfortheirsuddendeparture.Anhour,however,saw the whole completed;and Mr. Gardiner,meanwhile,havingsettledhisaccount at the inn, nothingremained to be done but togo;andElizabeth,afterallthemiseryofthemorning,foundherself, in a shorter space oftime than she could havesupposed, seated in thecarriage, and on the road toLongbourn.

Chapter5

I have been thinking it overagain, Elizabeth,” said heruncle,astheydrovefromthetown; “and really, uponserious consideration, I ammuch more inclined than Iwas to judge as your eldestsister does of the matter. It

appears to me so veryunlikely that any youngmanshould form such a designagainst a girl who is by nomeans unprotected orfriendless, and who wasactually staying in hisColonel’s family, that I amstrongly inclined to hope thebest.Couldheexpectthatherfriends would not stepforward? Could he expect tobe noticed again by theregiment, after such an

affront to Colonel Forster?His temptation is notadequatetotherisk.”“Do you really think so?”

cried Elizabeth, brighteningupforamoment.“Upon my word,” said

Mrs.Gardiner,“Ibegintobeof your uncle’s opinion. It isreallytoogreataviolationofdecency,honour,andinterest,for him to be guilty of it. Icannot think so very ill of

Wickham.Canyou,yourself,Lizzy,sowhollygivehimup,as to believe him capable ofit?”“Notperhapsofneglecting

hisowninterest.Butofeveryother neglect I can believehim capable. If, indeed, itshould be so! But I dare nothopeit.WhyshouldtheynotgoontoScotland,ifthathadbeenthecase?”“In thefirstplace,” replied

Mr. Gardiner, “there is noabsolute proof that they arenotgonetoScotland.”“Oh, but their removing

from the chaise into ahackney coach is such apresumption! And, besides,no traces of themwere to befoundontheBarnetroad.”“Well, then,—supposing

them to be in London. Theymay be there, though for thepurpose of concealment, for

no more exceptionablepurpose. It is not likely thatmoney should be veryabundantoneitherside;anditmight strike them that theycould bemore economically,though less expeditiously,married in London, than inScotland.”“Butwhy all this secrecy?

Why any fear of detection?Why must their marriage beprivate?Ohno,no,thisisnot

likely. His most particularfriend, you see by Jane’saccount,waspersuadedofhisnever intending tomarryher.Wickhamwill nevermarry awomanwithoutsomemoney.Hecannotaffordit.Andwhatclaims has Lydia, whatattractions has she beyondyouth, health, and goodhumour,thatcouldmakehimfor her sake forego everychance of benefiting himselfbymarryingwell?Astowhat

restraint theapprehensionsofdisgrace in the corps mightthrow on a dishonourableelopementwithher, I amnotable to judge; for I knownothing of the effects thatsuch a step might produce.But as to your otherobjection, I am afraid it willhardly hold good. Lydia hasno brothers to step forward;and he might imagine, frommy father’s behaviour, fromhis indolence and the little

attention he has ever seemedto give to what was goingforwardinhisfamily,thathewould do as little, and thinkaslittleaboutit,asanyfathercoulddo,insuchamatter.”“But can you think that

Lydiaissolosttoeverythingbutloveofhim,astoconsenttolivewithhimonanyothertermsthanmarriage?”“It does seem, and it is

most shocking, indeed,”

replied Elizabeth, with tearsin her eyes, “that a sister’ssenseofdecencyandvirtueinsuch a point should admit ofdoubt.But,really,Iknownotwhattosay.PerhapsIamnotdoing her justice. But she isvery young: she has neverbeen taught to think onserious subjects; and for thelast half year, nay, for atwelvemonth, she has beengiven up to nothing butamusement and vanity. She

has been allowed to disposeof her time in the most idleand frivolousmanner, and toadoptanyopinionsthatcamein her way. Since the———shire were first quartered inMeryton, nothing but love,flirtation, and officers, havebeen in her head. She hasbeendoingeverythinginherpower, by thinking andtalkingonthesubject,togivegreater—what shall I call it?susceptibility to her feelings;

which are naturally livelyenough.AndweallknowthatWickhamhaseverycharmofperson and address that cancaptivateawoman.”“But you see that Jane,”

saidheraunt,“doesnotthinkso ill of Wickham, as tobelieve him capable of theattempt.”“Of whom does Jane ever

think ill? And who is there,whatever might be their

former conduct, that shewould believe capable ofsuch an attempt, till it wereproved against them? ButJane knows, as well as I do,whatWickham really is.Weboth know that he has beenprofligate in every sense oftheword.Thathehasneitherintegrity nor honour.That heisasfalseanddeceitfulasheisinsinuating.”“And do you really know

allthis?”criedMrs.Gardiner,whose curiosity as to themode of her intelligencewasallalive.“I do, indeed,” replied

Elizabeth, colouring. “I toldyou the other day of hisinfamous behaviour to Mr.Darcy; and you, yourself,when last at Longbourn,heard in what manner hespoke of the man who hadbehaved with such

forbearance and liberalitytowards him. And there areother circumstances which Iamnotatliberty—whichitisnotworthwhile torelate;buthis lies about the wholePemberleyfamilyareendless.From what he said of MissDarcy, I was thoroughlyprepared to see a proud,reserved, disagreeable girl.Yet he knew to the contraryhimself. He must know thatshe was as amiable and

unpretending as we havefoundher.”“But does Lydia know

nothing of this? can she beignorantofwhatyouandJaneseemsowelltounderstand?”“Oh yes!—that, that is the

worst of all. Till I was inKent, and saw somuch bothofMr.DarcyandhisrelationColonel Fitzwilliam, I wasignorant of the truth myself.And when I returned home

the———shire was to leaveMeryton in a week orfortnight’s time. As that wasthe case, neither Jane, towhomIrelatedthewhole,norI, thought it necessary tomake our knowledge public;for of what use could itapparentlybetoanyone,thatthe good opinion, which allthe neighbourhood had ofhim, should then beoverthrown? And even whenit was settled that Lydia

should go withMrs. Forster,the necessity of opening hereyes to his character neveroccurred to me. That shecould be in any danger fromthe deception never enteredmy head. That such aconsequence as this shouldensue,youmayeasilybelievewas far enough from mythoughts.”“Whentheyallremovedto

Brighton, therefore, you had

no reason, I suppose, tobelieve them fond of eachother?”“Not the slightest. I can

remember no symptom ofaffection on either side; andhad any thing of the kindbeenperceptible,youmustbeaware that ours is not afamily on which it could bethrown away. When first heentered the corps, she wasready enough to admire him;

butsoweallwere.EverygirlinornearMerytonwasoutofher senses about him for thefirsttwomonths:butheneverdistinguished her by anyparticular attention; and,consequently, after amoderate period ofextravagant and wildadmiration,herfancyforhimgave way, and others of theregiment, who treated herwith more distinction, againbecameherfavourites.”

It may be easily believed,thathowever littleofnoveltycouldbeaddedtotheirfears,hopes, and conjectures, onthis interestingsubject,by itsrepeated discussion, no othercould detain them from itlong,duringthewholeof thejourney. From Elizabeth’sthoughts itwasnever absent.Fixed thereby thekeenestofallanguish,self-reproach,shecouldfindnointervalofeaseorforgetfulness.

They travelled asexpeditiouslyaspossible;andsleeping one night on theroad, reached Longbourn bydinnertime the next day. ItwasacomforttoElizabethtoconsider that Jane could nothave been wearied by longexpectations.The little Gardiners,

attracted by the sight of achaise, were standing on thesteps of the house, as they

entered the paddock; andwhenthecarriagedroveuptothe door, the joyful surprisethatlighteduptheirfacesanddisplayed itself over theirwhole bodies, in a variety ofcapers and frisks, was thefirst pleasing earnest of theirwelcome.Elizabeth jumped out; and

after giving each of them ahasty kiss, hurried into thevestibule, where Jane, who

came running down stairsfromhermother’sapartment,immediatelymether.Elizabeth, as she

affectionately embraced her,whilst tears filled theeyesofboth, lost not a moment inaskingwhetheranythinghadbeenheardofthefugitives.“Not yet,” replied Jane.

“Butnow thatmydearuncleis come, I hope every thingwillbewell.”

“Ismyfatherintown?”“Yes,hewentonTuesday,

asIwroteyouword.”“Andhaveyouheardfrom

himoften?”“Wehaveheardonlyonce.

He wrote me a few lines onWednesday, to say that hehad arrived in safety, and togivemehisdirections,whichI particularly begged him todo.Hemerelyadded, thatheshouldnotwriteagain,tillhe

had something of importancetomention.”“And my mother—how is

she?Howareyouall?”“My mother is tolerably

well, I trust; though herspiritsaregreatlyshaken.Sheis up stairs, and will havegreat satisfaction in seeingyou all. She does not yetleave her dressing-room.Mary and Kitty, thankHeaven!arequitewell.”

“But you—how are you?”cried Elizabeth. “You lookpale. How much you musthavegonethrough!”Her sister, however,

assured her of her beingperfectly well; and theirconversation,whichhadbeenpassing while Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner were engaged withtheir children, was now putanend toby theapproachofthe whole party. Jane ran to

her uncle and aunt, andwelcomed and thanked themboth, with alternate smilesandtears.When theywere all in the

drawing-room, the questionswhich Elizabeth had alreadyaskedwereofcourserepeatedby the others, and they soonfound that Jane had nointelligence to give. Thesanguine hope of good,however, which the

benevolence of her heartsuggested, had not yetdeserted her; she stillexpectedthatitwouldallendwell, and that everymorningwould bring some letter,either from Lydia or herfather, to explain theirproceedings, and, perhaps,announcethemarriage.Mrs. Bennet, to whose

apartment they all repaired,after a few minutes’

conversation together,received them exactly asmightbeexpected;withtearsand lamentations of regret,invectives against thevillanous conduct ofWickham, and complaints ofher own sufferings and illusage; blaming every bodybut the person to whose ill-judging indulgence theerrorsof her daughter must beprincipallyowing.

“If I had been able,” saidshe, “to carry my point ingoingtoBrightonwithallmyfamily, this would not havehappened; but poor dearLydia had nobody to takecare of her. Why did theForsterseverlethergooutoftheir sight? I am sure therewas some great neglect orotheron their side, for she isnotthekindofgirltodosucha thing, if she had beenwelllookedafter.Ialwaysthought

they were very unfit to havethe charge of her; but I wasover-ruled, as I always am.Poor, dear child! And nowhere’sMr.Bennetgoneaway,and I know he will fightWickham,whereverhemeetshim, and then he will bekilled,andwhatistobecomeof us all? The Collinses willturnusout,beforehe iscoldin his grave; and if you arenot kind to us, brother, I donotknowwhatweshalldo.”

Theyall exclaimedagainstsuch terrific ideas; and Mr.Gardiner, after generalassurancesofhisaffectionforher and all her family, toldher that he meant to be inLondon the very next day,andwould assistMr. Bennetin every endeavour forrecoveringLydia.“Do not give way to

useless alarm,” added he:“though it is right to be

prepared for the worst, thereisnooccasiontolookonitascertain.It isnotquiteaweeksince they leftBrighton. In afewdaysmore,wemaygainsome news of them; and tillwe know that they are notmarried, and have no designof marrying, do not let usgive the matter over as lost.As soon as I get to town, Ishall go to my brother, andmake him come home withme to Gracechurch Street,

and then we may consulttogether as to what is to bedone.”“Oh, my dear brother,”

replied Mrs. Bennet, “that isexactly what I could mostwish for.Andnowdo,whenyou get to town, find themout, wherever they may be;and if they are not marriedalready, make them marry.And as for wedding clothes,donot let themwait for that,

but tell Lydia she shall haveas much money as shechooses to buy them, aftertheyaremarried.And,aboveall things, keep Mr. Bennetfrom fighting. Tell himwhatadreadfulstateIamin—thatI am frightened out of mywits; and have suchtremblings, such flutterings,all over me, such spasms inmy side, and pains in myhead, and such beatings atheart,thatIcangetnorestby

nightnorbyday.Andtellmydear Lydia not to give anydirections about her clothestill she has seen me, for shedoesnotknowwhich are thebestwarehouses.Oh,brother,how kind you are! I knowyouwillcontriveitall.”But Mr. Gardiner, though

he assured her again of hisearnest endeavours in thecause, could not avoidrecommendingmoderation to

her, as well in her hopes asher fears; and after talkingwith her in this manner tilldinnerwasontable, theylefthertoventallherfeelingsonthe housekeeper, whoattendedintheabsenceofherdaughters.Though her brother and

sister were persuaded thattherewasnorealoccasionforsuch a seclusion from thefamily, they did not attempt

to oppose it, for they knewthat she had not prudenceenough to hold her tonguebefore the servants, whilethey waited at table, andjudged itbetter thatoneonlyofthehousehold,andtheonewhom they couldmost trust,should comprehend all herfears and solicitude on thesubject.In the dining-room they

were soon joined by Mary

andKitty,who had been toobusily engaged in theirseparate apartments to maketheir appearance before. Onecamefromherbooks,andtheother from her toilette. Thefaces of both, however,weretolerablycalm;andnochangewas visible in either, exceptthat the loss of her favouritesister,ortheangerwhichshehad herself incurred in thebusiness, had givensomethingmoreoffretfulness

than usual to the accents ofKitty. As for Mary, she wasmistress enough of herself towhisper to Elizabeth, with acountenance of gravereflection, soon after theywereseatedattable,—“Thisisamostunfortunate

affair, and will probably bemuch talkedof.Butwemuststem the tide of malice, andpour into the woundedbosoms of each other the

balmofsisterlyconsolation.”Then, perceiving in

Elizabeth no inclination ofreplying, she added,“Unhappy as the event mustbe for Lydia, we may drawfrom it this useful lesson:—thatlossofvirtueinafemaleis irretrievable, thatone falsestep involves her in endlessruin, thatherreputationisnolessbrittlethanitisbeautiful,and that she cannot be too

much guarded in herbehaviour towards theundeservingoftheothersex.”Elizabethlifteduphereyes

in amazement, but was toomuchoppressed tomakeanyreply. Mary, however,continued to console herselfwith such kind of moralextractions from the evilbeforethem.In the afternoon, the two

elderMissBennetswereable

to be for half an hour bythemselves; and Elizabethinstantly availed herself ofthe opportunity of makinganyenquirieswhichJanewasequallyeagertosatisfy.Afterjoining in generallamentations over thedreadful sequel of this event,which Elizabeth consideredas all but certain, and MissBennetcouldnotassert tobewhollyimpossible,theformercontinued the subject, by

saying, “But tell me all andevery thing about it which Ihave not already heard.Giveme further particulars. WhatdidColonelForstersay?Hadthey no apprehension of anything before the elopementtook place? They must haveseenthemtogetherforever.”“Colonel Forster did own

that he had often suspectedsomepartiality, especiallyonLydia’s side, but nothing to

give him any alarm. I am sogrieved for him. Hisbehaviour was attentive andkind to the utmost. He wascoming to us, in order toassure us of his concern,before he had any idea oftheir not being gone toScotland: when thatapprehensionfirstgotabroad,ithastenedhisjourney.”“And was Denny

convinced that Wickham

would not marry? Did heknowoftheirintendingtogooff?HadColonelForsterseenDennyhimself?”“Yes;butwhenquestioned

by him Denny deniedknowing any thing of theirplan, andwould not give hisreal opinion about it. He didnot repeat his persuasion oftheir notmarrying, and fromthat Iaminclined tohopehemight have been

misunderstoodbefore.”“And till Colonel Forster

camehimself,notoneofyouentertained a doubt, Isuppose,of theirbeing reallymarried?”“How was it possible that

suchanideashouldenterourbrains?Ifeltalittleuneasy—a little fearful of my sister’shappiness with him inmarriage,becauseIknewthathis conduct had not been

alwaysquite right.My fatherand mother knew nothing ofthat, they only felt howimprudentamatchitmustbe.Kittythenowned,withaverynatural triumph on knowingmore than the restofus, thatin Lydia’s last letter she hadprepared her for such a step.She had known, it seems, oftheir being in lovewith eachothermanyweeks.”“But not before they went

toBrighton?”“No,Ibelievenot.”“And did Colonel Forster

appear to think ill ofWickham himself? Does heknowhisrealcharacter?”“Imustconfessthathedid

not speak so well ofWickhamasheformerlydid.He believed him to beimprudent and extravagant;and since this sad affair hastaken place, it is said that he

left Meryton greatly in debt:butIhopethismaybefalse.”“Oh, Jane, had we been

less secret, hadwe toldwhatwe knew of him, this couldnothavehappened!”“Perhaps it would have

been better,” replied hersister.“But to expose the former

faults of any person,withoutknowing what their presentfeelings were, seemed

unjustifiable. We acted withthebestintentions.”“Could Colonel Forster

repeat the particulars ofLydia’snotetohiswife?”“Hebroughtitwithhimfor

ustosee.”Jane then took it from her

pocket-book, and gave it toElizabeth. These were thecontents:—

“MYDEARHARRIET,

You will laugh whenyou know where I amgone, and I cannot helplaughing myself at yoursurprise to-morrowmorning,assoonasIammissed. I am going toGretnaGreen,andifyoucannotguesswithwho,Ishall think you asimpleton, for there isbutonemanintheworldI love, and he is anangel. I shouldnever be

happy without him, sothink it no harm to beoff. You need not sendthemwordatLongbournof my going, if you donot like it, for it willmake the surprise thegreater when I write tothem,andsignmynameLydiaWickham.Whatagood joke it will be! Ican hardly write forlaughing.Praymakemyexcuses to Pratt for not

keepingmyengagement,anddancingwithhimto-night.TellhimIhopehewill excusemewhenheknowsall,andtellhimIwill dance with him atthe next ball we meetwith great pleasure. Ishallsendformyclotheswhen I get toLongbourn; but I wishyou would tell Sally tomend a great slit in myworked muslin gown

before they are packedup. Good-by. Give mylovetoColonelForster.Ihope you will drink toourgoodjourney.YOURAFFECTIONATEFRIEND,LYDIABENNET.”

“Oh, thoughtless,thoughtless Lydia!” criedElizabeth when she hadfinished it. “What a letter is

this, to be written at such amoment!Butatleastitshowsthat she was serious in theobject of her journey.Whatever he mightafterwardspersuadeher to, itwasnotonhersideaschemeof infamy. My poor father!howhemusthavefeltit!”“I never saw any one so

shocked.He could not speaka word for full ten minutes.My mother was taken ill

immediately, and the wholehouseinsuchconfusion!”“Oh, Jane,” cried

Elizabeth, “was there aservant belonging to it whodidnotknowthewholestorybeforetheendoftheday?”“I do not know: I hope

therewas.But to be guardedat such a time is verydifficult. My mother was inhysterics; and though Iendeavoured to give her

everyassistanceinmypower,I am afraid I did not do somuch as I might have done!but the horror ofwhatmightpossibly happen almost tookfrommemyfaculties.”“Yourattendanceuponher

has been too much for you.Youdonotlookwell.OhthatI had been with you! youhave had every care andanxietyuponyourselfalone.”“MaryandKittyhavebeen

very kind, and would haveshared in every fatigue, I amsure, but I did not think itrightforeitherofthem.Kittyis slight and delicate, andMarystudiessomuchthatherhoursofreposeshouldnotbebrokeninon.MyauntPhilipscame to Longbourn onTuesday,aftermyfatherwentaway; andwas sogoodas tostay till Thursday with me.She was of great use andcomfort to us all, and Lady

Lucashasbeenverykind:shewalked here on Wednesdaymorning to condole with us,and offered her services, orany of her daughters, if theycouldbeofusetous.”“She had better have

stayed at home,” criedElizabeth: “perhaps shemeantwell,but,undersuchamisfortuneasthis,onecannotsee too little of one’sneighbours. Assistance is

impossible; condolence,insufferable. Let themtriumphoverusatadistance,andbesatisfied.”She then proceeded to

enquire into the measureswhichherfatherhadintendedto pursue,while in town, fortherecoveryofhisdaughter.“He meant, I believe,”

repliedJane,“togotoEpsom,the place where they lastchanged horses, see the

postilions,andtryifanythingcouldbemadeoutfromthem.His principal object must betodiscoverthenumberofthehackney coach which tookthem from Clapham. It hadcome with a fare fromLondon; and as he thoughtthe circumstance of agentleman and lady’sremoving from one carriageinto another might beremarked, he meant to makeenquiries at Clapham. If he

could any how discover atwhathousethecoachmanhadbefore set down his fare, hedeterminedtomakeenquiriesthere,andhoped itmightnotbe impossible to find out thestand and number of thecoach. I do not know of anyother designs that he hadformed;buthewas insuchahurry to be gone, and hisspirits so greatlydiscomposed, that I haddifficulty in finding out even

somuchasthis.”

Chapter6

The whole party were inhopes of a letter from Mr.Bennet thenextmorning,butthe post came in withoutbringing a single line fromhim.His familyknewhim tobe,onallcommonoccasions,

amostnegligentanddilatorycorrespondent; but at such atime they had hoped forexertion.Theywereforcedtoconclude, that he had nopleasing intelligence to send,but even of that they wouldhave been glad to be certain.Mr.Gardinerhadwaitedonlyfor the letters before he setoff.When he was gone, they

were certain at least of

receiving constantinformation of what wasgoing on; and their unclepromised, at parting, toprevail on Mr. Bennet toreturn to Longbourn as soonas he could, to the greatconsolationofhissister,whoconsidered it as the onlysecurityforherhusband’snotbeingkilledinaduel.Mrs. Gardiner and the

children were to remain in

Hertfordshire a few dayslonger, as the former thoughther presence might beserviceabletohernieces.Sheshared in their attendance onMrs.Bennet,andwasagreatcomforttothemintheirhoursof freedom. Their other auntalso visited them frequently,andalways,as she said,withthe design of cheering andheartening them up, though,as she never came withoutreportingsomefresh instance

of Wickham’s extravaganceor irregularity, she seldomwent away without leavingthemmoredispiritedthanshefoundthem.All Meryton seemed

striving to blacken the manwho,butthreemonthsbefore,had been almost an angel oflight. He was declared to beindebt toeverytradesmaninthe place, and his intrigues,all honouredwith the title of

seduction,hadbeenextendedinto every tradesman’sfamily. Every body declaredthat he was the wickedestyoungman in theworld;andeverybodybegantofindout,that they had alwaysdistrusted the appearance ofhis goodness. Elizabeth,though she did not creditabove half ofwhatwas said,believed enough tomake herformer assurance of hersister’sruinstillmorecertain;

and even Jane,who believedstill lessof it,becamealmosthopeless, more especially asthe time was now come,when, if they had gone toScotland, which she hadnever before entirelydespairedof, theymust inallprobabilityhavegainedsomenewsofthem.Mr. Gardiner left

Longbourn on Sunday; onTuesday, his wife received a

letter fromhim: it told them,that on his arrival he hadimmediately found out hisbrother,andpersuadedhimtocome to Gracechurch Street.ThatMr.Bennethadbeen toEpsom and Clapham, beforehis arrival, but withoutgaining any satisfactoryinformation; and that he wasnowdeterminedtoenquireatall the principal hotels intown, asMr. Bennet thoughtit possible they might have

gonetooneofthem,ontheirfirst coming to London,before they procuredlodgings. Mr. Gardinerhimself did not expect anysuccess from this measure;but as his brother was eagerinit,hemeanttoassisthiminpursuing it. He added, thatMr. Bennet seemed whollydisinclinedatpresenttoleaveLondon, and promised towrite again very soon. Therewas also a postscript to this

effect:—“I have written to Colonel

Forster to desire him to findout,ifpossible,fromsomeoftheyoungman’s intimates inthe regiment, whetherWickhamhasanyrelationsorconnections who would belikelytoknowinwhatpartofthe town he has nowconcealed himself. If therewere any one that one couldapplyto,withaprobabilityof

gainingsuchaclueasthat, itmight be of essentialconsequence. At present wehave nothing to guide us.Colonel Forster will, I daresay, do every thing in hispower to satisfy us on thishead. But, on secondthoughts,perhapsLizzycouldtell us what relations he hasnow living better than anyotherperson.”Elizabethwasatnoloss to

understand fromwhence thisdeference for her authorityproceeded; but it was not inher power to give anyinformationofsosatisfactorya nature as the complimentdeserved.Shehadneverheardofhis

having had any relations,except a father and mother,bothofwhomhadbeendeadmany years. It was possible,however, that some of his

companions in the———shire might be able to givemoreinformation;andthoughshewasnotvery sanguine inexpecting it, the applicationwas a something to lookforwardto.Every day at Longbourn

wasnowadayofanxiety;butthemostanxiouspartofeachwas when the post wasexpected. The arrival ofletters was the first grand

object of every morning’simpatience. Through letters,whateverofgoodorbadwasto be told would becommunicated, and everysucceedingdaywasexpectedto bring some news ofimportance.But before they heard

again from Mr. Gardiner, aletter arrived for their father,fromadifferentquarter,fromMr. Collins; which, as Jane

had received directions toopenall thatcameforhiminhis absence, she accordinglyread; and Elizabeth, whoknew what curiosities hisletters always were, lookedoverher,andreaditlikewise.Itwasasfollows:—

“MYDEARSIR,“I feel myself called

upon, by ourrelationship, and my

situation in life, tocondolewithyouon thegrievous affliction youarenowsufferingunder,of which we wereyesterday informed by aletter fromHertfordshire. Beassured,mydearsir,thatMrs.Collins andmyselfsincerely sympathisewith you, and all yourrespectable family, inyour present distress,

which must be of thebitterest kind, becauseproceedingfromacausewhich no time canremove. No argumentsshall be wanting on mypart,thatcanalleviatesosevere a misfortune; orthat may comfort you,under a circumstancethat must be, of allothers,mostafflictingtoa parent’s mind. Thedeath of your daughter

would have been ablessing13incomparisonof this. And it is themore to be lamented,because there is reasonto suppose, as my dearCharlotte informs me,that this licentiousnessof behaviour in yourdaughter has proceededfrom a faulty degree ofindulgence; though, atthe same time, for the

consolation of yourselfand Mrs. Bennet, I aminclinedtothinkthatherowndispositionmustbenaturally bad, or shecould not be guilty ofsuch an enormity, at soearlyanage.Howsoeverthat may be, you aregrievously to be pitied,in which opinion I amnot only joined byMrs.Collins, but likewise byLady Catherine and her

daughter, to whom Ihave related the affair.They agree with me inapprehending that thisfalse step in onedaughter will beinjurious to the fortunesof all the others; forwho, as Lady Catherineherself condescendinglysays, will connectthemselves with such afamily? And thisconsideration leads me,

moreover, to reflect,with augmentedsatisfaction,ona certainevent of lastNovember;for had it beenotherwise, I must havebeeninvolvedinallyoursorrowanddisgrace.Letmeadviseyou,then,mydear sir, to consoleyourself as much aspossible, to throw offyour unworthy childfrom your affection for

ever, and leave her toreap the fruits of herownheinousoffence.“I AM, DEAR SIR,”&C.&C.

Mr.Gardinerdidnotwriteagain, till hehad receivedananswerfromColonelForster;and thenhehadnothingof apleasantnaturetosend.ItwasnotknownthatWickhamhada single relation with whomhe kept up any connection,

anditwascertainthathehadno near one living. Hisformeracquaintancehadbeennumerous; but since he hadbeen in themilitia, it didnotappear that he was on termsof particular friendship withany of them. There was noone, therefore, who could bepointed out as likely to giveanynewsofhim.And in thewretched state of his ownfinances, there was a verypowerful motive for secrecy,

in addition to his fear ofdiscovery by Lydia’srelations; for it had justtranspired that he had leftgamingdebtsbehindhimtoavery considerable amount.Colonel Forster believed thatmorethanathousandpoundswould be necessary to clearhis expenses at Brighton.Heowedagooddealinthetown,but his debts of honourbewere still more formidable.

Mr.Gardiner didnot attemptto conceal these particularsfrom the Longbourn family;Jane heard themwith horror.“A gamester!” she cried.“Thisiswhollyunexpected;Ihadnotanideaofit.”Mr.Gardineradded, inhis

letter, that theymight expecttoseetheirfatherathomeonthefollowingday,whichwasSaturday. Rendered spiritlessby the ill success of all their

endeavours,hehadyieldedtohis brother-in-law’s entreatythat he would return to hisfamily,andleaveittohimtodo whatever occasion mightsuggest to be advisable forcontinuing their pursuit.When Mrs. Bennet was toldofthis,shedidnotexpresssomuch satisfaction as herchildren expected,considering what her anxietyforhislifehadbeenbefore.

“What!ishecominghome,andwithoutpoorLydia?”shecried.“SurehewillnotleaveLondon before he has foundthem. Who is to fightWickham, and make himmarry her, if he comesaway?”AsMrs.Gardinerbegan to

wish to be at home, it wassettled that she and herchildrenshouldgotoLondonat the same time that Mr.

Bennet came from it. Thecoach, therefore, took themthe first stage of theirjourney, and brought itsmasterbacktoLongbourn.Mrs. Gardiner went away

in all the perplexity aboutElizabeth and herDerbyshirefriend that had attended herfrom that part of the world.His name had never beenvoluntarily mentioned beforethem by her niece; and the

kind of half-expectationwhich Mrs. Gardiner hadformed, of their beingfollowedbyaletterfromhim,had ended in nothing.Elizabeth had received nonesince her return, that couldcomefromPemberley.The present unhappy state

of the family rendered anyother excuse for the lownessof her spirits unnecessary;nothing, therefore, could be

fairly conjectured from that,thoughElizabeth,whowasbythis time tolerably wellacquainted with her ownfeelings,was perfectly awarethat, had she known nothingof Darcy, she could haveborne the dread of Lydia’sinfamy somewhat better. Itwould have spared her, shethought, one sleepless nightoutoftwo.WhenMr. Bennet arrived,

he had all the appearance ofhis usual philosophiccomposure. He said as littleas he had ever been in thehabit of saying; made nomention of the business thathad taken him away, and itwas some time before hisdaughters had courage tospeakofit.It was not till the

afternoon, when he joinedthem at tea, that Elizabeth

ventured to introduce thesubject; and then, on herbriefly expressingher sorrowfor what he must haveendured, he replied, “Saynothing of that. Who shouldsufferbutmyself?Ithasbeenmyowndoing,andIoughttofeelit.”“You must not be too

severeuponyourself,”repliedElizabeth.“You may well warn me

against such an evil. Humannature issoprone to fall intoit!No,Lizzy, letme once inmylifefeelhowmuchIhavebeentoblame.Iamnotafraidof being overpowered by theimpression. Itwillpassawaysoonenough.”“Do you suppose them to

beinLondon?”“Yes; where else can they

besowellconcealed?”“AndLydiausedtowantto

gotoLondon,”addedKitty.“She is happy, then,” said

her father, drily; “and herresidence therewill probablybeofsomeduration.”Then,after a short silence,

he continued, “Lizzy, I bearyou no ill-will for beingjustifiedinyouradvicetomelastMay, which, consideringthe event, shows somegreatnessofmind.”They were interrupted by

Miss Bennet, who came tofetchhermother’stea.“This is a parade,” cried

he, “which does one good; itgives such an elegance tomisfortune! Another day Iwilldothesame;Iwillsit inmy library, in my nightcapand powdering gown,bf andgiveasmuchtroubleasIcan,—or perhaps I may defer ittillKittyrunsaway.”“I am not going to run

away, papa,” said Kitty,fretfully;“ifI shouldevergoto Brighton, I would behavebetterthanLydia.”“You go to Brighton! I

wouldnottrustyousonearitas East Bourne, for fiftypounds! No, Kitty, I have atlastlearnttobecautious,andyouwillfeeltheeffectsofit.Noofficerisevertoentermyhouseagain,noreventopassthroughthevillage.Ballswill

be absolutely prohibited,unlessyoustandupwithoneof your sisters. And you arenever tostiroutofdoors, tillyou can prove that you havespent ten minutes of everydayinarationalmanner.”Kitty, who took all these

threats in a serious light,begantocry.“Well, well,” said he, “do

notmakeyourselfunhappy.Ifyou are a good girl for the

nexttenyears,Iwilltakeyouto a review at the end ofthem.”

Chapter7

Twodays afterMr.Bennet’sreturn, as Jane and Elizabethwere walking together in theshrubbery behind the house,they saw the housekeepercoming towards them, andconcluding that she came tocall them to their mother,

wentforwardtomeether;butinstead of the expectedsummons, when theyapproached her, she said toMiss Bennet, “I beg yourpardon, madam, forinterruptingyou,butIwasinhopes you might have gotsome good news from town,so I took the liberty ofcomingtoask.”“What do youmean,Hill?

We have heard nothing from

town.”“Dearmadam,” criedMrs.

Hill, in great astonishment,“don’t you know there is anexpresscomeformasterfromMr. Gardiner? He has beenhere this half hour, andmasterhashadaletter.”Away ran the girls, too

eager to get in to have timefor speech.They ran throughthe vestibule into thebreakfast-room; from thence

to the library;—their fatherwasinneither;andtheywereon the point of seeking himup stairs with their mother,when they were met by thebutler,whosaid,—“Ifyouare lookingformy

master,ma’am,heiswalkingtowardsthelittlecopse.”Upon this information,

they instantly passed throughthe hall once more, and ranacross the lawn after their

father, who was deliberatelypursuing his way towards asmallwoodononesideofthepaddock.Jane,whowasnotsolight,

nor so much in the habit ofrunning as Elizabeth, soonlagged behind, while hersister, panting for breath,came up with him, andeagerlycriedout,—“Oh, papa, what news?

what news? have you heard

frommyuncle?”“Yes, I have had a letter

fromhimbyexpress.”“Well,andwhatnewsdoes

itbring—goodorbad?”“What is there of good to

beexpected?”saidhe, takingthe letter from his pocket;“but perhaps you would liketoreadit.”Elizabeth impatiently

caught it fromhishand. Janenowcameup.

“Read it aloud,” said theirfather, “for I hardly knowmyselfwhatitisabout.”

GRACECHURCHSTREET,MONDAY,AUGUST2.“MY DEARBROTHER,At last I am able to

sendyousometidingsofmy niece, and such as,upon the whole, I hopewill give you

satisfaction. Soon afteryouleftmeonSaturday,I was fortunate enoughto find out in what partof London they were.Theparticulars I reservetillwemeet.Itisenoughto know they arediscovered: I have seenthemboth——”

“Then it is as I alwayshoped,” cried Jane: “they aremarried!”

Elizabethreadon:“I have seen them both.They are not married,nor can I find therewasany intention of beingso;butifyouarewillingto perform theengagements which Ihave ventured to makeon your side, I hope itwill not be long beforethey are. All that isrequired of you is, to

assure to your daughter,by settlement, her equalshare of the fivethousand pounds,secured among yourchildren after thedecease of yourself andmy sister; and,moreover, to enter intoan engagement ofallowing her, duringyour life, one hundredpounds per annum.These are conditions

which,consideringeverything,Ihadnohesitationincomplyingwith,asfaras I thought myselfprivileged, for you. Ishall send this byexpress, that no timemay be lost in bringingme your answer. Youwill easily comprehend,from these particulars,that Mr. Wickham’scircumstancesarenotsohopeless as they are

generallybelievedtobe.The world has beendeceived in that respect;and I am happy to say,there will be some littlemoney, even when allhisdebtsaredischarged,to settleonmyniece, inaddition to her ownfortune.If,asIconcludewill be the case, yousend me full powers toact in your namethroughout thewhole of

this business, I willimmediately givedirections toHaggerstonfor preparing a propersettlement. There willnot be the smallestoccasion for yourcoming to town again;therefore stay quietly atLongbourn, and dependon my diligence andcare. Send back youranswer as soon as youcan, and be careful to

write explicitly. Wehave judged it best thatmy niece should bemarriedfromthishouse,ofwhichIhopeyouwillapprove. She comes tous today. I shall writeagain as soon as anythingmoreisdeterminedon.Yours,&c.EDW.GARDINER.”

“Is it possible?” criedElizabeth, when she had

finished. “Can it be possiblethathewillmarryher?”“Wickham is not so

undeserving,then,aswehavethought him,” said her sister.“My dear father, Icongratulateyou.”“And have you answered

theletter?”saidElizabeth.“No; but it must be done

soon.”Mostearnestlydidshethen

entreat him to lose no more

timebeforehewrote.“Oh, my dear father,” she

cried, “come back and writeimmediately. Consider howimportanteverymomentisinsuchacase.”“Let me write for you,”

said Jane, “if you dislike thetroubleyourself.”“Idislikeitverymuch,”he

replied; “but it must bedone.”And so saying, he turned

back with them, and walkedtowardsthehouse.“And may I ask?” said

Elizabeth; “but the terms, Isuppose, must be compliedwith.”“Compliedwith!Iamonly

ashamed of his asking solittle.”“Andtheymustmarry!Yet

heissuchaman.”“Yes, yes, they must

marry. There is nothing else

tobedone.Buttherearetwothings that Iwantverymuchtoknow:—oneis,howmuchmoney your uncle has laiddown to bring it about; andthe other, how I am ever topayhim.”“Money!my uncle!” cried

Jane, “what do you mean,sir?”“Imeanthatnomaninhis

senseswouldmarryLydiaonso slight a temptation as one

hundred a year during mylife, and fifty after I amgone.”“That is very true,” said

Elizabeth; “though it had notoccurred to me before. Hisdebts to be discharged, andsomethingstilltoremain!Oh,itmustbemyuncle’sdoings!Generous, good man, I amafraid he has distressedhimself. A small sum couldnotdoallthis.”

“No,” said her father.“Wickham’safoolifhetakesher with a farthing less thantenthousandpounds:Ishouldbesorrytothinksoillofhim,in the very beginning of ourrelationship.”“Ten thousand pounds!

Heaven forbid! How is halfsuchasumtoberepaid?”Mr. Bennet made no

answer; and each of them,deep in thought, continued

silent till they reached thehouse.Theirfatherthenwenttothelibrarytowrite,andthegirls walked into thebreakfast-room.“And they are really to be

married!” cried Elizabeth, assoon as they were bythemselves. “How strangethisis!Andforthiswearetobethankful.Thattheyshouldmarry, small as is theirchance of happiness, and

wretched as is his character,weare forced to rejoice!Oh,Lydia!”“I comfort myself with

thinking,” replied Jane, “thathecertainlywouldnotmarryLydia, if he had not a realregard for her. Though ourkind uncle has donesomething towards clearinghim,Icannotbelievethattenthousandpounds,oranythinglikeit,hasbeenadvanced.He

has children of his own, andmay have more. How couldhe spare half ten thousandpounds?”“If we are ever able to

learn what Wickham’s debtshave been,” said Elizabeth,“and howmuch is settled onhissideonoursister,weshallexactly know what Mr.Gardiner has done for them,because Wickham has notsixpence of his own. The

kindness of my uncle andaunt can never be requited.Their taking her home, andaffording her their personalprotection and countenance,is such a sacrifice to heradvantage as years ofgratitude cannot enoughacknowledge. By this timeshe is actually with them! Ifsuchgoodnessdoesnotmakeher miserable now, she willnever deserve to be happy!Whatameetingforher,when

shefirstseesmyaunt!”“We must endeavour to

forget all that has passed oneither side,” said Jane: “Ihope and trust they will yetbe happy. His consenting tomarry her is a proof, I willbelieve, that he is come to aright way of thinking. Theirmutual affection will steadythem; and I flatter myselftheywillsettlesoquietly,andlive in so rational a manner,

as may in time make theirpastimprudenceforgotten.”“Their conduct has been

such,” replied Elizabeth, “asneither you, nor I, nor anybody, can ever forget. It isuselesstotalkofit.”Itnowoccurredtothegirls

that their mother was in alllikelihood perfectly ignorantof what had happened. Theywenttothelibrary, therefore,and asked their father

whether he would not wishthemtomakeitknowntoher.Hewaswriting, and,withoutraising his head, coollyreplied,—“Justasyouplease.”“May we take my uncle’s

lettertoreadtoher?”“Take whatever you like,

andgetaway.”Elizabeth took the letter

from his writing-table, andthey went up stairs together.

Mary and Kitty were bothwith Mrs. Bennet: onecommunication would,therefore, do for all. After aslight preparation for goodnews, the letter was readaloud. Mrs. Bennet couldhardly contain herself. Assoon as Jane had read Mr.Gardiner’s hope of Lydia’sbeing soon married, her joyburst forth, and everyfollowing sentence added toits exuberance. Shewas now

inanirritationasviolentfromdelight as she had ever beenfidgety from alarm andvexation.To know that her daughterwould be married wasenough.Shewasdisturbedbyno fear for her felicity, norhumbled by anyremembrance of hermisconduct.“Mydear,dearLydia!”she

cried: “this is delightful

indeed!Shewillbemarried!Ishall see her again! She willbe married at sixteen! Mygood, kind brother! I knewhow itwould be—Iknewhewould manage every thing.HowIlongtoseeher!andtosee dear Wickham too! Butthe clothes, the weddingclothes! I will write to mysister Gardiner about themdirectly. Lizzy, my dear, rundown to your father, and askhim how much he will give

her. Stay, stay, I will gomyself. Ring the bell, Kitty,for Hill. I will put on mythingsinamoment.Mydear,dear Lydia! How merry weshall be together when wemeet!”Her eldest daughter

endeavoured to give somerelief to theviolenceof thesetransports, by leading herthoughts to the obligationswhich Mr. Gardiner’s

behaviourlaidthemallunder.“Forwemustattributethis

happy conclusion,” sheadded,“inagreatmeasuretohis kindness. We arepersuadedthathehaspledgedhimself to assist Mr.Wickhamwithmoney.”“Well,” cried her mother,

“it is all very right; whoshould do it but her ownuncle? If he had not had afamily of his own, I andmy

childrenmusthavehadallhismoney, you know; and it isthe first time we have everhad any thing from himexceptafewpresents.Well!Iamsohappy.Inashorttime,I shall have a daughtermarried. Mrs. Wickham!Howwell it sounds.Andshewas only sixteen last June.MydearJane,Iaminsuchaflutter, that I am sure I can’twrite; so I will dictate, andyou write for me. We will

settle with your father aboutthemoneyafterwards;butthethings should be orderedimmediately.”Shewasthenproceedingto

all the particulars of calico,muslin, and cambric, andwould shortly have dictatedsome very plentiful orders,had not Jane, though withsome difficulty, persuadedher towait tillherfatherwasat leisure to be consulted.

One day’s delay, sheobserved, would be of smallimportance; and her motherwas toohappy tobequite soobstinate as usual. Otherschemes, too, came into herhead.“I will go to Meryton,”

said she, “as soon as I amdressed, and tell the good,good news to my sisterPhilips.AndasIcomeback,Ican call on Lady Lucas and

Mrs. Long. Kitty, run downand order the carriage. Anairing would do me a greatdealofgood,Iamsure.Girls,canIdoanythingforyouinMeryton? Oh! here comesHill.My dearHill, have youheard the good news? MissLydiaisgoingtobemarried;andyoushallallhaveabowlof punch to make merry atherwedding.”Mrs.Hillbeganinstantlyto

express her joy. Elizabethreceived her congratulationsamongst the rest, and then,sickof thisfolly, tookrefugein her own room, that shemight think with freedom.Poor Lydia’s situation must,at best, be bad enough; butthat itwasnoworse,shehadneedtobethankful.Shefeltitso; and though, in lookingforward, neither rationalhappiness nor worldlyprosperity could be justly

expected for her sister, inlookingbacktowhattheyhadfeared, only two hours ago,she felt all the advantages ofwhattheyhadgained.

Chapter8

Mr. Bennet had very oftenwished, before this period ofhis life, that, instead ofspending his whole income,hehadlaidbyanannualsum,forthebetterprovisionofhischildren, and of his wife, ifshe survived him. He now

wisheditmorethanever.Hadhe done his duty in thatrespect, Lydia need not havebeenindebtedtoheruncleforwhatever of honour or creditcould now be purchased forher. The satisfaction ofprevailingononeofthemostworthlessyoungmeninGreatBritain to be her husbandmight then have rested in itsproperplace.He was seriously

concerned that a cause of solittle advantage to any oneshould be forwarded at thesole expense of his brother-in-law; and he wasdetermined, if possible, tofind out the extent of hisassistance, and to dischargethe obligation as soon as hecould.WhenfirstMr.Bennethad

married,economywasheldtobe perfectly useless; for, of

course, they were to have ason. This son was to join incuttingoff theentail,assoonas he should be of age, andthe widow and youngerchildrenwouldbythatmeansbe provided for. Fivedaughters successivelyentered the world,14 but yetthe son was to come; andMrs. Bennet, formany yearsafter Lydia’s birth, had beencertain that he would. This

event had at last beendespaired of, but it was thentoo late to be saving. Mrs.Bennet had no turn foreconomy; and her husband’slove of independence hadalone prevented theirexceedingtheirincome.Five thousand pounds was

settledbymarriagearticlesonMrs.Bennetandthechildren.But in what proportions itshould be divided amongst

the latter depended on thewill of the parents. Thiswasone point, with regard toLydia at least, which wasnow to be settled, and Mr.Bennet could have nohesitation in acceding to theproposalbeforehim.Intermsof grateful acknowledgmentfor the kindness of hisbrother, though expressedmost concisely, he thendeliveredonpaperhisperfectapprobation of all that was

done, and his willingness tofulfil the engagements thathad been made for him. Hehad never before supposedthat, could Wickham beprevailed on to marry hisdaughter, it would be donewithsolittleinconveniencetohimself as by the presentarrangement. He wouldscarcelybetenpoundsayeartheloser,bythehundredthatwas to be paid them; for,what with her board and

pocket allowance, and thecontinual presents in moneywhich passed to her throughher mother’s hands, Lydia’sexpenses had been very littlewithinthatsum.Thatitwouldbedonewith

such trifling exertion on hisside, too, was another verywelcome surprise; for hischief wish at present was tohave as little trouble in thebusiness as possible. When

the first transports of ragewhich had produced hisactivity in seeking her wereover,henaturally returned toall his former indolence. Hisletter was soon despatched;for though dilatory inundertaking business, hewasquick in its execution. Hebegged to know furtherparticulars of what he wasindebted to his brother; butwas too angry with Lydia tosendanymessagetoher.

The good news quicklyspreadthroughthehouse;andwith proportionate speedthroughtheneighbourhood.Itwas borne in the latter withdecentphilosophy.Tobesureit would have beenmore forthe advantage ofconversation,hadMissLydiaBennet come upon thetown;bg or, as the happiestalternative, been secludedfrom the world, in some

distant farm-house.But therewasmuch to be talked of, inmarrying her; and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceededbefore from all the spitefuloldladiesinMeryton,lostbutlittle of their spirit in thischange of circumstances,becausewith such a husbandher misery was consideredcertain.It was a fortnight since

Mrs. Bennet had been downstairs, but on this happy daysheagaintookherseatat thehead of her table, and inspirits oppressively high. Nosentiment of shame gave adamp to her triumph. Themarriageofadaughter,whichhad been the first object ofher wishes, since Jane wassixteen,wasnowonthepointof accomplishment, and herthoughts and her words ranwhollyonthoseattendantsof

elegantnuptials,finemuslins,new carriages, and servants.She was busily searchingthrough the neighbourhoodfor a proper situationbh forher daughter; and, withoutknowing or consideringwhattheir income might be,rejectedmany as deficient insizeandimportance.“HayeParkmightdo,”said

she, “if theGouldingswouldquit it, or the great house at

Stoke, if the drawing-roomwere larger; but Ashworth istoofaroff.Icouldnotbeartohave her ten miles fromme;and as for Purvis Lodge, theatticsaredreadful.”Herhusbandallowedherto

talk on without interruption,while the servants remained.But when they hadwithdrawn, he said to her,“Mrs. Bennet, before youtake any, or all of these

houses, for your son anddaughter, let us come to aright understanding. Intoonehouse in this neighbourhoodthey shall never haveadmittance. I will notencourage the imprudence ofeither, by receiving them atLongbourn.”A long dispute followed

this declaration; but Mr.Bennet was firm: it soon ledto another; and Mrs. Bennet

found, with amazement andhorror, that her husbandwould not advance a guineato buy clothes for hisdaughter. He protested thatshe should receive from himno mark of affectionwhatever on the occasion.Mrs. Bennet could hardlycomprehendit.Thathisangercould be carried to such apoint of inconceivableresentment as to refuse hisdaughter a privilege, without

which her marriage wouldscarcelyseemvalid,exceededall that she could believepossible.Shewasmore aliveto the disgrace, which herwant of new clothes mustreflect on her daughter’snuptials, thantoanysenseofshame at her eloping andliving with Wickham afortnight before they tookplace.Elizabeth was now most

heartily sorry that she had,from the distress of themoment, been led to makeMr. Darcy acquainted withtheir fears for her sister; forsince her marriage would soshortly give the propertermination to theelopement,theymighthopetoconcealitsunfavourable beginning fromall those who were notimmediatelyonthespot.She had no fear of its

spreadingfarther,throughhismeans. There were fewpeople onwhose secrecy shewouldhavemoreconfidentlydepended; but at the sametime therewasnoonewhoseknowledgeofasister’sfrailtywould have mortified her somuch. Not, however, fromanyfearofdisadvantagefromit individually to herself; forat any rate there seemed agulf impassable betweenthem. Had Lydia’s marriage

been concluded on the mosthonourable terms, it was notto be supposed that Mr.Darcywouldconnecthimselfwithafamily,wheretoeveryotherobjectionwouldnowbeadded an alliance andrelationship of the nearestkind with the man whom hesojustlyscorned.From such a connection

shecouldnotwonder thatheshould shrink. The wish of

procuring her regard, whichshehadassuredherselfofhisfeeling in Derbyshire, couldnot in rational expectationsurvive such a blow as this.She was humbled, she wasgrieved;sherepented,thoughshehardlyknewofwhat.Shebecamejealousofhisesteem,when she could no longerhope to be benefited by it.She wanted to hear of him,when there seemed the leastchance of gaining

intelligence. She wasconvincedthatshecouldhavebeenhappywithhim,whenitwas no longer likely theyshouldmeet.Whatatriumphforhim,as

she often thought, could heknow that the proposalswhich she had proudlyspurnedonlyfourmonthsagowould now have been gladlyand gratefully received! Hewasasgenerous,shedoubted

not, as the most generous ofhis sex. But while he wasmortal, there must be atriumph.She began now to

comprehend that he wasexactly the man who, indispositionandtalents,wouldmost suit her. Hisunderstanding and temper,thoughunlikeherown,wouldhaveansweredallherwishes.It was an union that must

havebeentotheadvantageofboth: by her ease andliveliness, his mind mighthave been softened, hismanners improved; and fromhis judgment, information,and knowledge of theworld,she must have receivedbenefitofgreaterimportance.But no such happy

marriagecouldnowteachtheadmiring multitude whatconnubial felicity reallywas.

An union of a differenttendency, and precluding thepossibility of the other, wassoon to be formed in theirfamily.How Wickham and Lydia

were to be supported intolerable independence shecould not imagine. But howlittle of permanent happinesscouldbelongtoacouplewhowere only brought togetherbecause their passions were

strongerthantheirvirtue,shecouldeasilyconjecture.Mr. Gardiner soon wrote

again to his brother. To Mr.Bennet’s acknowledgmentshe briefly replied, withassurancesofhiseagernesstopromotethewelfareofanyofhis family; and concludedwith entreaties that thesubject might never bementioned to him again. Theprincipal purport of his letter

was to inform them, thatMr.Wickham had resolved onquittingthemilitia.“It was greatly my wish

that he should do so,” headded, “as soon as hismarriagewasfixedon.AndIthinkyouwillagreewithme,in considering a removalfrom that corps as highlyadvisable,bothonhisaccountand my niece’s. It is Mr.Wickham’s intention to go

into the Regulars;bi and,among his former friends,there are still some who areableandwillingtoassisthimin the army. He has thepromise of an ensigncy inGeneral———’s regiment,nowquarteredinthenorth.Itis an advantage to have it sofar from this part of thekingdom.Hepromises fairly;and I hope among differentpeople,where theymayeach

have a character to preserve,they will both be moreprudent. I have written toColonel Forster, to informhim of our presentarrangements, and to requestthathewillsatisfythevariouscreditors ofMr.Wickham inand near Brighton withassurances of speedypayment, for which I havepledgedmyself.Andwillyougive yourself the trouble ofcarryingsimilar assurances to

his creditors in Meryton, ofwhom I shall subjoin a list,according to his information.Hehasgiveninallhisdebts;I hope at least he has notdeceived us. Haggerston hasourdirections,andallwillbecompleted in a week. Theywill then join his regiment,unlesstheyarefirstinvitedtoLongbourn; and I understandfrom Mrs. Gardiner that myniece is very desirous ofseeing you all before she

leaves the south.She iswell,and begs to be dutifullyremembered to you and hermother.—Yours,&c.“E.GARDINER.”

Mr. Bennet and hisdaughters saw all theadvantages of Wickham’sremoval from the———shire, as clearly as Mr.Gardiner could do. But Mrs.Bennet was not so well

pleasedwithit.Lydia’sbeingsettledinthenorth,justwhenshe had expected mostpleasure and pride in hercompany, for she had by nomeans given up her plan oftheir residing inHertfordshire, was a severedisappointment; and, besides,itwas such a pity thatLydiashould be taken from aregiment where she wasacquainted with every body,andhadsomanyfavourites.

“She is so fond of Mrs.Forster,” said she, “itwill bequite shocking to send heraway! And there are severalof the young men, too, thatshe likes very much. Theofficers may not be sopleasant in General———’sregiment.”His daughter’s request, for

such it might be considered,of being admitted into herfamily again, before she set

off for the north, received atfirstanabsolutenegative.ButJane and Elizabeth, whoagreed in wishing, for thesake of their sister’s feelingsand consequence, that sheshould be noticed on hermarriage by her parents,urgedhimsoearnestly,yetsorationally and so mildly, toreceive her and her husbandatLongbourn,assoonastheywere married, that he wasprevailed on to think as they

thought, and act as theywished.Andtheirmotherhadthe satisfaction of knowing,that she should be able toshowhermarrieddaughterinthe neighbourhood, beforeshewasbanishedtothenorth.When Mr. Bennet wroteagain to his brother,therefore, he sent hispermissionforthemtocome;and it was settled, that, assoon as the ceremony wasover, they should proceed to

Longbourn. Elizabeth wassurprised, however, thatWickham should consent tosuch a scheme; and, had sheconsulted only her owninclination, anymeetingwithhimwouldhavebeenthelastobjectofherwishes.

Chapter9

Their sister’s wedding dayarrived; and Jane andElizabeth felt for herprobably more than she feltfor herself. The carriagewassenttomeetthemat——,andthey were to return in it bydinner-time.Theirarrivalwas

dreaded by the elder MissBennets; and Jane moreespecially, who gave Lydiathe feelings which wouldhaveattendedherself,hadshebeen the culprit, and waswretched in the thought ofwhathersistermustendure.They came. The family

were assembled in thebreakfast-room to receivethem.Smilesdecked thefaceof Mrs. Bennet, as the

carriagedroveuptothedoor;her husband lookedimpenetrably grave; herdaughters, alarmed, anxious,uneasy.Lydia’svoicewasheardin

the vestibule; the door wasthrownopen,andsheranintotheroom.Hermothersteppedforwards, embraced her, andwelcomed her with rapture;gave her hand with anaffectionate smile to

Wickham, who followed hislady, and wished them bothjoy, with an alacrity whichshowed no doubt of theirhappiness.Their reception from Mr.

Bennet, to whom they thenturned, was not quite socordial. His countenancerathergainedinausterity;andhe scarcely opened his lips.The easy assurance of theyoung couple, indeed, was

enough to provoke him.Elizabeth was disgusted, andeven Miss Bennet wasshocked. Lydia was Lydiastill; untamed, unabashed,wild,noisy,andfearless.Sheturned from sister to sister,demanding theircongratulations; and when atlength they all sat down,looked eagerly round theroom, took notice of somelittle alteration in it, andobserved,withalaugh,thatit

was a great while since shehadbeenthere.Wickham was not at all

more distressed than herself;but hismannerswere alwaysso pleasing, that had hischaracter and his marriagebeenexactlywhattheyought,his smiles and his easyaddress, while he claimedtheirrelationship,wouldhavedelighted them all. Elizabethhad not before believed him

quiteequaltosuchassurance;but she sat down, resolvingwithin herself to draw nolimits in future to theimpudence of an impudentman. She blushed, and Janeblushed;butthecheeksofthetwo who caused theirconfusion suffered novariationofcolour.There was no want of

discourse. The bride and hermothercouldneitherof them

talk fast enough; andWickham, who happened tosit near Elizabeth, beganenquiring after hisacquaintance in thatneighbourhood,with a good-humoured ease, which shefelt very unable to equal inherreplies.Theyseemedeachof them to have the happiestmemories in the world.Nothing of the past wasrecollected with pain; andLydia led voluntarily to

subjects which her sisterswouldnothavealludedtofortheworld.“Only think of its being

three months,” she cried,“since Iwent away: it seemsbutafortnight,Ideclare;andyet there have been thingsenoughhappenedinthetime.Good gracious! when I wentaway, I am sure I had nomore idea of being marriedtillIcamebackagain!though

I thought it would be verygoodfunifIwas.”Her father lifted up his

eyes, Jane was distressed,Elizabethlookedexpressivelyat Lydia; but she,who neverheard nor saw any thing ofwhich she chose to beinsensible, gaily continued,“Oh, mamma, do the peoplehereabouts know I ammarried to-day? I was afraidthey might not; and we

overtook William Gouldingin his curricle, so I wasdetermined he should knowit, and so I letdown the sideglass next to him, and tookoffmygloveandletmyhandjust rest upon the windowframe, so that he might seethe ring, and then I bowedandsmiledlikeanything.”Elizabeth could bear it no

longer.Shegotupandranoutof the room;and returnedno

more, till she heard thempassingthroughthehalltothedining parlour. She thenjoined them soon enough tosee Lydia, with anxiousparade, walk up to hermother’srighthand,andhearher say to her eldest sister,“Ah, Jane, I take your placenow,andyoumustgolower,because I am a marriedwoman.”It was not to be supposed

that time would give Lydiathat embarrassment fromwhichshehadbeensowhollyfree at first. Her ease andgood spirits increased. Shelonged to see Mrs. Philips,the Lucases, and all theirotherneighbours,and tohearherself called “Mrs.Wickham” by each of them;and in the mean time shewentafterdinnertoshowherring and boast of beingmarried toMrs. Hill and the

twohousemaids.“Well, mamma,” said she,

when they were all returnedto the breakfast-room, “andwhat do you think of myhusband? Is not he acharmingman?Iamsuremysisters must all envy me. Ionlyhopetheymayhavehalfmygood luck.Theymust allgo to Brighton. That is theplacetogethusbands.Whatapityitis,mamma,wedidnot

allgo.”“Verytrue;andifIhadmy

willweshould.But,mydearLydia,Idon’tatall likeyourgoingsuchawayoff.Mustitbeso?”“Oh, Lord! yes; there is

nothing in that. I shall like itof all things. You and papa,and my sisters, must comedownandseeus.Weshallbeat Newcastle all the winter,and I dare say there will be

some balls, and I will takecare to get good partners forthemall.”“I should like it beyond

anything!”saidhermother.“And then when you go

away, youmay leave one ortwoofmysistersbehindyou;and I dare say I shall gethusbandsfor thembefore thewinterisover.”“I thank you formy share

ofthefavour,”saidElizabeth;

“butIdonotparticularlylikeyour way of gettinghusbands.”Their visitors were not to

remain above ten days withthem. Mr. Wickham hadreceived his commissionbeforeheleftLondon,andhewastojoinhisregimentattheendofafortnight.No one but Mrs. Bennet

regrettedthattheirstaywouldbesoshort;andshemadethe

most of the time by visitingaboutwith her daughter, andhaving very frequent partiesat home. These parties wereacceptable to all; to avoid afamily circle was even moredesirabletosuchasdidthinkthansuchasdidnot.Wickham’s affection for

LydiawasjustwhatElizabethhad expected to find it; notequaltoLydia’sforhim.Shehad scarcely needed her

present observation to besatisfied, from the reason ofthings, that their elopementhad been brought on by thestrength of her love ratherthan by his; and she wouldhavewonderedwhy,withoutviolently caring for her, hechosetoelopewithheratall,had she not felt certain thathis flight was renderednecessary by distress ofcircumstances; and if thatwerethecase,hewasnotthe

young man to resist anopportunity of having acompanion.Lydia was exceedingly

fondofhim.HewasherdearWickham on every occasion;no one was to be put incompetitionwithhim.Hedideverythingbestintheworld;and she was sure he wouldkillmorebirdsonthefirstofSeptemberthananybodyelseinthecountry.

One morning, soon aftertheir arrival, as she wassitting with her two eldersisters, she said to Elizabeth,—“Lizzy,Inevergaveyouan

account of my wedding, Ibelieve. You were not by,when I toldmamma, and theothers, all about it. Are notyou curious to hear how itwasmanaged?”“No, really,” replied

Elizabeth; “I think therecannotbetoolittlesaidonthesubject.”“La! You are so strange!

But I must tell you how itwent off. We were married,you know, at St. Clement’s,becauseWickham’s lodgingswere in that parish. And itwassettledthatweshouldallbe there by eleven o’clock.MyuncleandauntandIweretogotogether;andtheothers

weretomeetusatthechurch.Well,Mondaymorningcame,and I was in such a fuss! Iwassoafraid,youknow,thatsomething would happen toput it off, and then I shouldhave gone quite distracted.And there was my aunt, allthe time I was dressing,preaching and talking awayjust as if she was reading asermon. However, I did nothear above one word in ten,for I was thinking, you may

suppose, of my dearWickham. I longed to knowwhetherhewouldbemarriedinhisbluecoat.“Well, and so we

breakfasted at ten as usual: Ithought it would never beover; for, by the by, you areto understand, that my uncleand aunt were horridunpleasant all the time Iwaswith them. If you’ll believeme, I did not once put my

foot out of doors, though Iwasthereafortnight.Notoneparty, or scheme, or anything. To be sure, Londonwasratherthin,but,however,theLittleTheatrebjwasopen.Well, and so just as thecarriagecametothedoor,myuncle was called away uponbusiness to that horrid manMr. Stone. And then, youknow, when once they gettogether,thereisnoendofit.

Well, I was so frightened Ididnotknowwhat todo, formy uncle was to give meaway;andifwewerebeyondthe hour,bk we could not bemarried all day.But, luckily,he came back again in tenminutes’ time, and then weall set out. However, Irecollectedafterwards, that ifhehadbeenpreventedgoing,the wedding need not be putoff,forMr.Darcymighthave

doneaswell.”“Mr. Darcy!” repeated

Elizabeth, in utteramazement.“Oh yes! he was to come

there with Wickham, youknow. But gracious me! Iquite forgot! I ought not tohave said a word about it. Ipromised them so faithfully!What will Wickham say? Itwastobesuchasecret!”“If it was to be a secret,”

said Jane, “say not anotherwordonthesubject.Youmaydepend upon my seeking nofurther.”“Oh, certainly,” said

Elizabeth, though burningwith curiosity; “we will askyounoquestions.”“Thank you,” said Lydia;

“for if you did, I shouldcertainlytellyouall,andthenWickham would be soangry.”

On such encouragement toask, Elizabeth was forced toput it out of her power, byrunningaway.Buttoliveinignoranceon

such a pointwas impossible;or at least it was impossiblenottotryforinformation.Mr.Darcyhadbeenathersister’swedding. It was exactly ascene, and exactly amongpeople, where he hadapparently least to do, and

least temptation to go.Conjecturesastothemeaningof it, rapid andwild, hurriedinto her brain; but she wassatisfied with none. Thosethat best pleased her, asplacing his conduct in thenoblest light, seemed mostimprobable. She could notbear such suspense; andhastily seizing a sheet ofpaper, wrote a short letter toher aunt, to request anexplanation of what Lydia

had dropped, if it werecompatible with the secrecywhichhadbeenintended.“You may readily

comprehend,” she added,“whatmycuriositymustbetoknow how a personunconnected with any of us,and, comparatively speaking,a stranger to our family,should have been amongstyouatsuchatime.Praywriteinstantly, and let me

understandit—unlessitis,forvery cogent reasons, toremain in the secrecy whichLydia seems to thinknecessary; and then I mustendeavourtobesatisfiedwithignorance.”“Not that I shall though,”

she added toherself, and shefinished the letter; “and, mydear aunt, if you do not tellme inanhonourablemanner,Ishallcertainlybereducedto

tricks and stratagems to finditout.”Jane’s delicate sense of

honour would not allow herto speak to Elizabethprivately of what Lydia hadletfall;Elizabethwasgladofit:—till it appeared whetherher enquiries would receiveany satisfaction, she hadrather be without aconfidante.

Chapter10

Elizabethhad the satisfactionofreceivingananswertoherletteras soonas shepossiblycould. She was no sooner inpossessionofit,thanhurryinginto the little copse, whereshe was least likely to beinterrupted, she sat down on

one of the benches, andprepared tobehappy; for thelengthoftheletterconvincedher that it did not contain adenial.

“GRACECHURCHSTREET,SEPT.6.“MYDEARNIECE,I have just received

your letter, and shalldevote this wholemorningtoansweringit,as I foresee that a little

writing will notcomprisewhat Ihave totell you. I must confessmyselfsurprisedbyyourapplication; I did notexpect it from you.Don’t think me angry,however, for I onlymean to let you know,that I had not imaginedsuch enquiries to benecessary on your side.If you do not choose tounderstand me, forgive

my impertinence. Youruncle is as muchsurprised as I am; andnothingbut thebeliefofyour being a partyconcerned would haveallowedhimtoactashehasdone.But ifyouarereally innocent andignorant,Imustbemoreexplicit.Ontheverydayof my coming homefrom Longbourn, youruncle had a most

unexpected visitor. Mr.Darcy called, and wasshutupwithhimseveralhours. It was all overbefore I arrived; so mycuriosity was not sodreadfully racked asyours seems to havebeen. He came to tellMr.Gardinerthathehadfound out where yoursister andMr.Wickhamwere, and that he hadseen and talked with

them both—Wickhamrepeatedly, Lydia once.FromwhatIcancollect,he left Derbyshire onlyone day after ourselves,and came to town withtheresolutionofhuntingfor them. The motiveprofessed was hisconviction of its beingowing to himself thatWickham’sworthlessness had notbeen so well known, as

tomakeitimpossibleforany young woman ofcharacter to love orconfide in him. Hegenerously imputed thewhole to his mistakenpride, and confessed,that he had beforethoughtitbeneathhimtolay his private actionsopen to the world. Hischaracter was to speakfor itself. He called it,therefore, his duty to

step forward, andendeavour to remedy anevil which had beenbroughtonbyhimself.Ifhehadanothermotive,Iam sure it would neverdisgrace him. He hadbeensomedays in townbefore he was able todiscover them; but hehad something to directhis search, which wasmore than we had; andtheconsciousnessofthis

was another reason forhis resolving to followus. There is a lady, itseems, a Mrs. Younge,whowas some timeagogoverness to MissDarcy, and wasdismissed from herchargeonsomecauseofdisapprobation, thoughhedidnotsaywhat.Shethen took a large housein Edward Street,bl and

has since maintainedherself by lettinglodgings. This Mrs.Younge was, he knew,intimately acquaintedwith Wickham; and hewent to her forintelligence of him, assoon as he got to town.But it was two or threedaysbeforehecouldgetfrom her what hewanted. She would notbetray her trust, I

suppose,withoutbriberyand corruption, for shereally did know whereher friend was to befound. Wickham,indeed, had gone to heron their first arrival inLondon, and had shebeen able to receivethem into her house,they would have takenup their abodewith her.At length, however, ourkind friend procured the

wished-for direction.Theywere in——Street.He saw Wickham, andafterwards insisted onseeing Lydia. His firstobject with her, heacknowledged,hadbeento persuade her to quither present disgracefulsituation, and return toher friends as soon asthey could be prevailedon to receive her,offeringhisassistanceas

far as it would go. Buthe found Lydiaabsolutely resolved onremaining where shewas.She cared for noneof her friends; shewanted no help of his;she would not hear ofleaving Wickham. Shewas sure they shouldbemarried some time orother, and it did notmuch signify when.Since such were her

feelings, it onlyremained,he thought, tosecure and expedite amarriage, which, in hisvery first conversationwithWickham,heeasilylearnthadneverbeenhisdesign. He confessedhimself obliged to leavethe regiment on accountofsomedebtsofhonourwhich were verypressing; and scruplednot to lay all the ill

consequencesofLydia’sflight on her own follyalone. He meant toresign his commissionimmediately; and as tohis future situation, hecould conjecture verylittle about it. He mustgo somewhere, but hedidnotknowwhere,andheknewhe shouldhavenothing to live on. Mr.Darcyaskedwhyhedidnot marry your sister at

once? Though Mr.Bennet was notimaginedtobeveryrich,hewouldhavebeenabletodosomethingforhim,and his situation musthave been benefited bymarriage. But he found,in reply to thisquestion,that Wickham stillcherished the hope ofmore effectuallymakinghis fortune bymarriage,in some other country.

Under suchcircumstances, however,he was not likely to beproof against thetemptationof immediaterelief. They met severaltimes, for there wasmuch to be discussed.Wickham, of course,wanted more than hecould get; but at lengthwas reduced to bereasonable. Every thingbeing settled between

them, Mr. Darcy’s nextstep was to make youruncleacquaintedwithit,and he first called inGracechurch Street theevening before I camehome.ButMr.Gardinercould not be seen; andMr. Darcy found, onfurther enquiry, thatyourfatherwasstillwithhim, but would quittown the next morning.He did not judge your

father to be a personwhom he could soproperly consult as youruncle, and thereforereadilypostponedseeinghim till after thedeparture of the former.He did not leave hisname, and till the nextday it was only knownthat a gentleman hadcalled on business. OnSaturdayhecameagain.Your father was gone,

youruncleathome,and,asIsaidbefore,theyhada great deal of talktogether.Theymetagainon Sunday, and then Isaw him too. It was notall settled beforeMonday: as soon as itwas, the express wassent off to Longbourn.Butourvisitorwasveryobstinate.Ifancy,Lizzy,thatobstinacyis therealdefect of his character

after all. He has beenaccused of many faultsat different times; butthis is the true one.Nothingwas to be donethat he did not dohimself; though I amsure(andIdonotspeakit to be thanked,therefore say nothingabout it) your unclewouldmostreadilyhavesettled the whole. Theybattled it together for a

long time, which wasmore than either thegentleman or ladyconcernedinitdeserved.But at last your unclewas forced to yield, andinsteadofbeingallowedtobeofusetohisniece,was forced to put upwith only having theprobable credit of it,which went sorelyagainst the grain; and Ireallybelieveyour letter

this morning gave himgreatpleasure,becauseitrequired an explanationthat would rob him ofhis borrowed feathers,and give the praisewhere it was due. But,Lizzy, this must go nofurther than yourself, orJaneatmost.Youknowpretty well, I suppose,what has been done forthe young people. Hisdebts are to be paid,

amounting, I believe, toconsiderablymorethanathousand pounds,another thousand inaddition to her ownsettleduponher,andhiscommission purchased.The reason why all thiswas to be done by himalone, was such as Ihavegivenabove.Itwasowing to him, to hisreserve and want ofproper consideration,

that Wickham’scharacter had been somisunderstood, andconsequentlythathehadbeen received andnoticed as he was.Perhaps there was sometruth in this; though Idoubt whether hisreserve, or any body’sreserve, can beanswerablefortheevent.But in spite of all thisfine talking, my dear

Lizzy, you may restperfectly assured thatyour uncle would neverhave yielded, if we hadnot given him credit foranother interest in theaffair.Whenallthiswasresolved on, he returnedagaintohisfriends,whowere still staying atPemberley; but it wasagreedthatheshouldbein London once morewhen the wedding took

place, and all moneymatters were then toreceive the last finish. Ibelieve I have now toldyou every thing. It is arelation which you tellme is to give you greatsurprise;Ihopeatleastitwill not afford you anydispleasure. Lydia cametous,andWickhamhadconstant admission tothe house. He wasexactly what he had

been when I knew himin Hertfordshire; but Iwould not tell you howlittleIwassatisfiedwithher behaviourwhile shestaidwithus,ifIhadnotperceived, by Jane’sletter last Wednesday,that her conduct oncoming home wasexactly of a piece withit, and therefore what Inow tell you can giveyou no fresh pain. I

talked to her repeatedlyin the most seriousmanner, representing toher the wickedness ofwhat she had done, andall the unhappiness shehad brought on herfamily. If she heardme,itwasbygoodluck,forIam sure she did notlisten. I was sometimesquiteprovoked;butthenI recollected my dearElizabeth and Jane, and

for their sakes hadpatience with her. Mr.Darcy was punctual inhis return,and,asLydiainformed you, attendedthe wedding. He dinedwithusthenextday,andwas to leave townagainon Wednesday orThursday. Will you bevery angrywithme,mydearLizzy, if I take thisopportunity of saying(what I was never bold

enough to say before)how much I like him?Hisbehaviour toushas,ineveryrespect,beenaspleasing as when wewere in Derbyshire. Hisunderstanding andopinions all please me;he wants nothing but alittle more liveliness,and that, if he marryprudently, his wife mayteachhim.Ithoughthimvery sly; he hardly ever

mentioned your name.But slyness seems thefashion. Pray forgiveme, if I have been verypresuming,oratleastdonot punish me so far asto excludeme fromP. Ishall never be quitehappytillIhavebeenallround the park. A lowphaetonwithanicelittlepair of ponies would bethe very thing. But Imustwritenomore.The

children have beenwanting me this halfhour.“YOURS, VERYSINCERELY,“M.GARDINER.”

The contents of this letterthrewElizabeth into a flutterof spirits, in which it wasdifficulttodeterminewhetherpleasure or pain bore thegreatestshare.Thevagueandunsettled suspicions which

uncertainty had produced ofwhat Mr. Darcy might havebeen doing to forward hersister’smatchwhich she hadfeared to encourage, as anexertion of goodness toogreat to be probable, and atthe same time dreaded to bejust, from the pain ofobligation, were provedbeyond their greatest extentto be true! He had followedthem purposely to town, hehad taken on himself all the

trouble and mortificationattendant on such a research;in which supplication hadbeen necessary to a womanwhomhemustabominateanddespise, and where he wasreduced to meet, frequentlymeet, reason with, persuade,and finally bribe the manwhomhealwaysmostwishedto avoid, and whose veryname it was punishment tohim to pronounce. He haddoneall this for agirlwhom

he could neither regard noresteem.Herheartdidwhisperthat he had done it for her.But it was a hope shortlychecked by otherconsiderations; and she soonfelt that even her vanity wasinsufficient,whenrequiredtodepend on his affection forher, for a woman who hadalready refused him, as ableto overcome a sentiment sonatural as abhorrence againstrelationship with Wickham.

Brother-in-law of Wickham!Every kind of pride mustrevolt from the connection.He had, to be sure, donemuch. She was ashamed tothink howmuch. But he hadgiven a reason for hisinterference, which asked noextraordinary stretch ofbelief. It was reasonable thathe should feel he had beenwrong; he had liberality, andhe had the means ofexercising it; and though she

wouldnotplaceherselfashisprincipal inducement, shecould perhaps believe, thatremaining partiality for hermightassisthisendeavoursina cause where her peace ofmind must be materiallyconcerned. It was painful,exceedingly painful, to knowthat they were underobligations to a person whocould never receive a return.They owed the restoration ofLydia, her character, every

thingtohim.Ohhowheartilydid she grieve over everyungracious sensation she hadeverencouraged,everysaucyspeech she had ever directedtowards him. For herself shewas humbled; but she wasproudof him,—proud that ina cause of compassion andhonour he had been able toget thebetterofhimself.Sheread over her aunt’scommendation of him againand again. It was hardly

enough; but it pleased her.She was even sensible ofsomepleasure, thoughmixedwith regret, on finding howsteadfastly both she and herunclehadbeenpersuadedthataffection and confidencesubsisted betweenMr.Darcyandherself.She was roused from her

seat and her reflections, bysome one’s approach; and,before she could strike into

another path, she wasovertakenbyWickham.“I am afraid I interrupt

yoursolitaryramble,mydearsister?” said he, as he joinedher.“You certainly do,” she

replied with a smile; “but itdoes not follow that theinterruption must beunwelcome.”“I shouldbe sorry, indeed,

if it were. We were always

goodfriends,andnowwearebetter.”“True. Are the others

comingout?”“I do not know. Mrs.

Bennet and Lydia are goingin the carriage to Meryton.Andso,mydearsister,Ifind,fromouruncleandaunt, thatyou have actually seenPemberley.”She replied in the

affirmative.

“I almost envy you thepleasure, and yet I believe itwouldbetoomuchforme,orelseIcouldtakeitinmywayto Newcastle. And you sawthe old housekeeper, Isuppose?PoorReynolds, shewas alwaysvery fondofme.But of course she did notmentionmynametoyou.”“Yes,shedid.”“Andwhatdidshesay?”“That you were gone into

the army, and shewas afraidhad—not turned outwell.Atsuch a distance as that, youknow, things are strangelymisrepresented.”“Certainly,” he replied,

biting his lips. Elizabethhoped she had silenced him;but he soon afterwards said,—“I was surprised to see

Darcyintownlastmonth.Wepassed each other several

times. I wonder what he canbedoingthere.”“Perhaps preparing for his

marriage with Miss DeBourgh,” said Elizabeth. “Itmust be something particularto takehim thereat this timeofyear.”“Undoubtedly.Didyousee

him while you were atLambton? I thought Iunderstood from theGardinersthatyouhad.”

“Yes; he introduced us tohissister.”“Anddoyoulikeher?”“Verymuch.”“I have heard, indeed, that

sheisuncommonlyimprovedwithinthisyearortwo.WhenI last saw her, she was notvery promising. I am verygladyoulikedher.Ihopeshewillturnoutwell.”“I dare say she will; she

has got over the most trying

age.”“Didyougobythevillage

ofKympton?”“I do not recollect thatwe

did.”“I mention it because it is

the living which I ought tohave had. A most delightfulplace! Excellent parsonagehouse! It would have suitedmeineveryrespect.”“How should you have

likedmakingsermons?”

“Exceedingly well. Ishould have considered it aspart of my duty, and theexertion would soon havebeen nothing. One ought notto repine; but, to be sure, itwouldhavebeensuchathingfor me! The quiet, theretirement of such a life,would have answered all myideasofhappiness!Butitwasnot to be.Did you ever hearDarcy mention thecircumstancewhen youwere

inKent?”“I have heard from

authority,which I thoughtasgood, that it was left youconditionallyonly,andat thewillofthepresentpatron.”“Youhave!Yes, therewas

something in that; I told youso from the first, you mayremember.”“Idid hear, too, that there

was a time when sermon-making was not so palatable

to you as it seems to be atpresent; that you actuallydeclared your resolution ofnever taking orders, and thatthe business had beencompromisedaccordingly.”“You did! and it was not

wholly without foundation.You may remember what Itold you on that point, whenfirstwetalkedofit.”They were now almost at

thedoorofthehouse,forshe

hadwalked fast to get rid ofhim; and unwilling, for hersister’ssake, toprovokehim,sheonlysaid inreply,withagoodhumouredsmile,—“Come,Mr.Wickham,we

are brother and sister, youknow. Do not let us quarrelabout the past. In future, Ihope we shall be always ofonemind.”She held out her hand: he

kissed it with affectionate

gallantry, though he hardlyknew how to look, and theyenteredthehouse.

Chapter11

Mr. Wickham was soperfectly satisfied with thisconversation, that he neveragain distressed himself, orprovoked his dear sisterElizabeth, by introducing thesubject of it; and she waspleased to find that she had

said enough to keep himquiet.ThedayofhisandLydia’s

departure soon came, andMrs. Bennet was forced tosubmittoaseparation,which,as her husband by nomeansentered into her scheme oftheir all going to Newcastle,waslikelytocontinueatleastatwelvemonth.“Oh, my dear Lydia,” she

cried, “when shall we meet

again?”“Oh, Lord! I don’t know.

Not these twoor threeyears,perhaps.”“Write to me very often,

mydear.”“AsoftenasIcan.Butyou

know married women havenevermuch time forwriting.My sisters may write tome.They will have nothing elsetodo.”Mr. Wickham’s adieus

weremuchmore affectionatethan his wife’s. He smiled,looked handsome, and saidmanyprettythings.“He is as fine a fellow,”

said Mr. Bennet, as soon asthey were out of the house,“as ever I saw. He simpers,and smirks, and makes loveto us all. I am prodigiouslyproudofhim.IdefyevenSirWilliam Lucas himself toproduceamorevaluableson-

in-law.”The loss of her daughter

made Mrs. Bennet very dullforseveraldays.“I often think,” said she,

“that there is nothing so badaspartingwithone’s friends.Oneseemssoforlornwithoutthem.”“This is the consequence

yousee,madam,ofmarryinga daughter,” said Elizabeth.“It must make you better

satisfied that your other fouraresingle.”“It is no such thing.Lydia

does not leave me becauseshe is married; but onlybecause her husband’sregimenthappenstobesofaroff. If that had been nearer,she would not have gone sosoon.”But the spiritless condition

which this event threw herintowasshortlyrelieved,and

hermindopenedagaintotheagitation of hope, by anarticle of news, which thenbegan to be in circulation.The housekeeper atNetherfield had receivedorders to prepare for thearrival of her master, whowascomingdowninadayortwo,toshootthereforseveralweeks.Mrs.Bennetwasquitein the fidgets. She looked atJane, and smiled, and shookherhead,byturns.

“Well, well, and so Mr.Bingley is coming down,sister” (for Mrs. Philips firstbroughtherthenews).“Well,somuchthebetter.NotthatIcare about it, though. He isnothingtous,youknow,andIamsureIneverwanttoseehim again. But, however, heis very welcome to come toNetherfield,ifhelikesit.Andwho knows what mayhappen?Butthatisnothingtous. You know, sister, we

agreed long ago never tomentionawordaboutit.Andso, it is quite certain he iscoming?”“You may depend on it,”

replied the other, “for Mrs.Nichols was in Meryton lastnight: I saw her passing by,and went out myself onpurpose to know the truth ofit;andshetoldmethatitwascertainly true. He comesdown on Thursday, at the

latest, very likely onWednesday.Shewasgoingtothebutcher’s,shetoldme,onpurpose to order in somemeatonWednesday,andshehasgotthreecoupleofducksjustfittobekilled.”Miss Bennet had not been

able to hear of his comingwithout changing colour. Itwas many months since shehad mentioned his name toElizabeth; but now, as soon

as they were alone together,shesaid,—“I saw you look atme to-

day, Lizzy, when my aunttold us of the present report;and I know I appeareddistressed; but don’t imagineitwasfromanysillycause.Iwas only confused for themoment, because I felt that Ishould be looked at. I doassure you, that the newsdoesnotaffectmeeitherwith

pleasureorpain.Iamgladofone thing, that he comesalone; because we shall seethelessofhim.NotthatIamafraid ofmyself, but I dreadotherpeople’sremarks.”Elizabeth did not know

what to make of it. Had shenot seen him in Derbyshire,shemighthavesupposedhimcapableofcoming therewithnootherview thanwhatwasacknowledged; but she still

thought him partial to Jane,and she wavered as to thegreater probability of hiscomingtherewithhisfriend’spermission, or being boldenoughtocomewithoutit.“Yet it is hard,” she

sometimes thought, “that thispoor man cannot come to ahouse, which he has legallyhired,without raising all thisspeculation! Iwill leave himtohimself.”

In spite of what her sisterdeclared, and really believedto be her feelings, in theexpectation of his arrival,Elizabeth could easilyperceive that her spiritswereaffected by it. They weremore disturbed, moreunequal, than she had oftenseenthem.The subject which had

been so warmly canvassedbetweentheirparents,abouta

twelvemonth ago, was nowbroughtforwardagain.“As soon as ever Mr.

Bingley comes, my dear,”said Mrs. Bennet, “you willwaitonhimofcourse.”“No, no. You forced me

into visiting him last year,andpromisedifIwenttoseehim, he shouldmarry one ofmydaughters.Butitendedinnothing,andIwillnotbesentonafool’serrandagain.”

His wife represented tohimhowabsolutelynecessarysuch an attention would befrom all the neighbouringgentlemen,onhisreturningtoNetherfield.“ ’T is an etiquette I

despise,”saidhe.“Ifhewantsour society, let him seek it.He knows where we live. Iwill not spend my hours inrunning after my neighboursevery time theygoawayand

comebackagain.”“Well,allIknowis,thatit

will be abominably rude ifyoudonotwaitonhim.But,however, that shan’t preventmyaskinghimtodinehere,Iam determined. We musthave Mrs. Long and theGouldings soon. That willmake thirteenwithourselves,so therewill be just room attableforhim.”Consoled by this

resolution, shewas thebetterable to bear her husband’sincivility; though itwas verymortifying to know that herneighboursmight all seeMr.Bingley in consequence of itbeforetheydid.Asthedayofhisarrivaldrewnear,—“Ibegintobesorrythathe

comesatall,”saidJanetohersister.“Itwouldbenothing;Icould see him with perfectindifference;but Icanhardly

bear to hear it thusperpetually talked of. Mymother means well; but shedoes not know, no one canknow, how much I sufferfrom what she says. Happyshall I be when his stay atNetherfieldisover!”“I wish I could say any

thingtocomfortyou,”repliedElizabeth; “but it is whollyout of my power. You mustfeel it; and the usual

satisfaction of preachingpatience to a sufferer isdeniedme,becauseyouhavealwayssomuch.”Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs.

Bennet, through theassistance of servants,contrived to have the earliesttidingsofit,thattheperiodofanxietyandfretfulnessonherside might be as long as itcould. She counted the daysthat must intervene before

their invitationcouldbesent;hopeless of seeing himbefore. But on the thirdmorning after his arrival inHertfordshire, she saw himfrom her dressing-roomwindow enter the paddock,andridetowardsthehouse.Herdaughterswereeagerly

called to partake of her joy.Janeresolutelykeptherplaceat the table;butElizabeth, tosatisfy her mother, went to

the window—she looked,—shesawMr.Darcywithhim,and sat down again by hersister.“Thereisagentlemanwith

him, mamma,” said Kitty;“whocanitbe?”“Some acquaintance or

other, my dear, I suppose; IamsureIdonotknow.”“La!” replied Kitty, “it

looks just like that man thatused to be with him before.

Mr. what’s his name—thattall,proudman.”“Good gracious! Mr.

Darcy!—and so it does, Ivow.Well, any friendofMr.Bingley’s will always bewelcomehere tobe sure;butelseImustsaythatIhatetheverysightofhim.”Jane looked at Elizabeth

with surprise and concern.She knew but little of theirmeeting in Derbyshire, and

therefore felt for theawkwardness which mustattend her sister, in seeinghim almost for the first timeafter receiving hisexplanatory letter. Bothsisters were uncomfortableenough. Each felt for theother, and of course forthemselves; and their mothertalkedonofherdislikeofMr.Darcy, and her resolution tobe civil to him only as Mr.Bingley’s friend, without

beingheardbyeitherofthem.But Elizabeth had sources ofuneasiness which could notbe suspected by Jane, towhom she had never yet hadcourage to show Mrs.Gardiner’s letter, or to relateher own change of sentimenttowards him. To Jane, hecould be only a man whoseproposals she had refused,and whose merits she hadundervalued; but to her ownmore extensive information,

he was the person to whomthe whole family wereindebted for the first ofbenefits, and whom sheregarded herself with aninterest,ifnotquitesotender,atleastasreasonableandjust,aswhatJanefeltforBingley.Her astonishment at hiscoming—at his coming toNetherfield, to Longbourn,and voluntarily seeking heragain, was almost equal towhat she had know on first

witnessing his alteredbehaviourinDerbyshire.Thecolourwhichhadbeen

drivenfromherfacereturnedfor half a minute with anadditional glow, and a smileofdelightadded lustre tohereyes, as she thought for thatspace of time that hisaffection and wishes muststill be unshaken; but shewouldnotbesecure.“Let me first see how he

behaves,” said she; “it willthen be early enough forexpectation.”She sat intently at work,

striving to be composed, andwithout daring to lift up hereyes, till anxious curiositycarriedthemtothefaceofhersister, as the servant wasapproaching the door. Janelooked a little paler thanusual, but more sedate thanElizabeth had expected. On

the gentlemen’s appearing,her colour increased; yet shereceived them with tolerableease, andwith a propriety ofbehaviour equally free fromany symptom of resentment,or any unnecessarycomplaisance.Elizabeth said as little to

eitherascivilitywouldallow,and sat down again to herwork, with an eagernesswhich it did not often

command. She had venturedonlyoneglanceatDarcy.Helooked serious as usual; andshe thought, more as he hadbeen used to lock inHertfordshire,thanasshehadseen him at Pemberley. But,perhaps, he could not in hermother’spresencebewhathewas before her uncle andaunt.Itwasapainful,butnotanimprobable,conjecture.Bingley she had likewise

seenforaninstant,andinthatshortperiodsawhimlookingboth pleased andembarrassed. He wasreceivedbyMrs.Bennetwitha degree of civility whichmade her two daughtersashamed, especially whencontrasted with the cold andceremoniouspolitenessofhercourtesy and address of hisfriend.Elizabethparticularly,who

knewthathermotherowedtothe latter the preservation ofher favourite daughter fromirremediableinfamy,washurtand distressed to a mostpainful degree by adistinctionsoillapplied.Darcy, after enquiring of

her how Mr. and Mrs.Gardiner did, a questionwhich she could not answerwithout confusion, saidscarcely any thing. He was

not seated by her: perhapsthat was the reason of hissilence;butithadnotbeensoin Derbyshire. There he hadtalkedtoherfriends,whenhecouldnottoherself.Butnowseveral minutes elapsed,withoutbringingthesoundofhis voice; and whenoccasionally, unable to resistthe impulse of curiosity, sheraised her eyes to his face,she as often found himlooking at Jane as at herself,

and frequently on no objectbut the ground. Morethoughtfulness and lessanxiety to please, than whenthey last met, were plainlyexpressed. She wasdisappointed, and angrywithherselfforbeingso.“Could I expect it to be

otherwise?” said she. “Yetwhydidhecome?”Shewas in no humour for

conversationwithanyonebut

himself; and to him she hadhardlycouragetospeak.She enquired after his

sister,butcoulddonomore.“It is a long time, Mr.

Bingley, since you wentaway,”saidMrs.Bennet.Hereadilyagreedtoit.“I began to be afraid you

would never come backagain. People did say, youmeant to quit the placeentirely at Michaelmas; but,

however,Ihopeitisnottrue.A great many changes havehappened in theneighbourhood since youwent away. Miss Lucas ismarried and settled: and oneof my own daughters. Isupposeyouhaveheardofit;indeed,youmusthaveseenitin the papers. It was in theTimes and the Courier, Iknow; though it was not putin as it ought to be. It wasonly said, ‘Lately, George

Wickham,Esq.toMissLydiaBennet,’ without there beinga syllable said of her father,or the placewhere she lived,or any thing. It was mybrother Gardiner’s drawingup,too,andIwonderhowhecame to make such anawkward business of it. Didyouseeit?”Bingleyrepliedthathedid,

andmadehiscongratulations.Elizabethdarednotliftupher

eyes.HowMr.Darcylooked,therefore,shecouldnottell.“It is a delightful thing, to

be sure, to have a daughterwell married,” continued hermother; “but at the sametime,Mr. Bingley, it is veryhard to have her taken awayfrom me. They are gonedown to Newcastle, a placequitenorthward,itseems,andtheretheyaretostay,Idonotknowhowlong.Hisregiment

is there; for I suppose youhaveheardofhis leaving the———shire,andofhisbeinggoneintotheRegulars.Thankheaven! he has some friends,though,perhaps,notsomanyashedeserves.”Elizabeth, who knew this

to be levelled at Mr. Darcy,wasinsuchmiseryofshame,thatshecouldhardlykeepherseat. It drew from her,however, the exertion of

speaking,which nothing elsehad so effectually donebefore; and she askedBingley,whetherhemeanttomakeanystay in thecountryat present. A few weeks, hebelieved.“When you have killed all

your own birds, Mr.Bingley,” saidhermother, “Ibeg you will come here andshoot asmany as you pleaseonMr.Bennet’smanor.Iam

sure he will be vastly happyto oblige you, and will saveall the best of the covies foryou.”Elizabeth’s misery

increased at suchunnecessary, such officiousattention!Were thesamefairprospecttoariseatpresent,ashadflatteredthemayearago,every thing, she waspersuaded, would behastening to the same

vexatious conclusion.At thatinstant she felt, that years ofhappiness could not makeJane or herself amends formoments of such painfulconfusion.“The first wish of my

heart,”saidshetoherself,“isnevermoretobeincompanywith either of them. Theirsocietycanaffordnopleasurethat will atone for suchwretchedness as this! Letme

never see either one or theotheragain!”Yet the misery, for which

years of happiness were tooffer no compensation,received soon afterwardsmaterial relief, fromobserving how much thebeautyofhersister rekindledthe admiration of her formerlover.Whenfirsthecamein,he had spoken to her butlittle; but every five minutes

seemedtobegivinghermoreofhisattention.Hefoundherashandsomeasshehadbeenlast year; as good-natured,andasunaffected,thoughnotquite so chatty. Jane wasanxious that no differenceshouldbeperceived inheratall, andwas really persuadedthat she talked as much asever; but her mind was sobusily engaged, that she didnot always know when shewassilent.

When the gentlemen rosetogoaway,Mrs.Bennetwasmindful of her intendedcivility,andtheywereinvitedand engaged to dine atLongbourn in a few days’time.“You are quite a visit in

my debt, Mr. Bingley,” sheadded;“forwhenyouwenttotown last winter, youpromised to take a familydinnerwithusassoonasyou

returned. I have not forgot,you see; and I assure you Iwas very much disappointedthat you did not come backandkeepyourengagement.”Bingleylookedalittlesilly

at this reflection, and saidsomething of his concern athaving been prevented bybusiness. They then wentaway.Mrs. Bennet had been

strongly inclined toask them

to stay and dine there thatday; but, though she alwayskept a very good table, shedid not think any thing lessthan two courses could begood enough for a man onwhom she had such anxiousdesigns,orsatisfytheappetiteandprideofonewhohadtenthousandayear.

Chapter12

As soon as they were gone,Elizabeth walked out torecover her spirits; or, inotherwords,todwellwithoutinterruptionon thosesubjectsthatmust deaden themmore.Mr. Darcy’s behaviourastonishedandvexedher.

“Why, if he came only tobe silent, grave, andindifferent,”saidshe,“didhecomeatall?”She could settle it in no

waythatgaveherpleasure.“Hecouldbestillamiable,

stillpleasingtomyuncleandaunt, when he was in town;and why not to me? If hefearsme,whycomehither?Ifhe no longer cares for me,why silent? Teasing, teasing

man! I will think no moreabouthim.”Her resolution was for a

short time involuntarily keptbytheapproachofhersister,who joined her with acheerful look which showedher better satisfiedwith theirvisitorsthanElizabeth.“Now,”saidshe,“that this

first meeting is over, I feelperfectly easy. I know myown strength, and I shall

never be embarrassed againby his coming. I am glad hedineshereonTuesday.Itwillthenbepubliclyseen,thatonboth sides we met only ascommon and indifferentacquaintance.”“Yes, very indifferent,

indeed,” said Elizabeth,laughingly. “Oh, Jane! takecare.”“My dear Lizzy, you

cannotthinkmesoweakasto

beindangernow.”“I think you are in very

great danger of making himasmuch in lovewith you asever.”They did not see the

gentlemenagaintillTuesday;andMrs.Bennet,inthemeanwhile, was givingway to allthehappyschemeswhichthegood-humour and commonpoliteness ofBingley, in halfanhour’svisit,hadrevived.

On Tuesday there was alarge party assembled atLongbourn;and the twowhowere most anxiouslyexpected,tothecreditoftheirpunctuality as sportsmen,were in very good time.When they repaired to thedining-room, Elizabetheagerly watched to seewhether Bingley would takethe place which, in all theirformer parties, had belongedto him, by her sister. Her

prudent mother, occupied bythe same ideas, forbore toinvite him to sit by herself.On entering the room, heseemed to hesitate; but Janehappened to look round, andhappened to smile: it wasdecided. He placed himselfbyher.Elizabeth, with a

triumphant sensation, lookedtowardshisfriend.Heboreitwith noble indifference; and

shewouldhaveimaginedthatBingley had received hissanctiontobehappy,hadshenot seen his eyes likewiseturned towards Mr. Darcy,with an expression of half-laughingalarm.His behaviour to her sister

was such during dinner-timeas showed an admiration ofher, which, though moreguarded than formerly,persuaded Elizabeth, that, if

leftwholly tohimself, Jane’shappiness, and his own,would be speedily secured.Thoughshedarednotdependupon the consequence, sheyet received pleasure fromobserving his behaviour. Itgave her all the animationthat her spirits could boast;for she was in no cheerfulhumour. Mr. Darcy wasalmost as far fromher as thetable could divide them. Hewas on one side of her

mother. She knew how littlesuch a situation would givepleasure to either, or makeeither appear to advantage.She was not near enough tohear any of their discourse;butshecouldseehowseldomtheyspoketoeachother,andhow formal and cold wastheir manner whenever theydid. Her mother’sungraciousness made thesenseofwhat theyowedhimmore painful to Elizabeth’s

mind; and she would, attimes,havegivenanythingtobeprivilegedtotellhim,thathis kindness was neitherunknown nor unfelt by thewholeofthefamily.She was in hopes that the

evening would afford someopportunity of bringing themtogether;thatthewholeofthevisit would not pass awaywithout enabling them toenter into somethingmoreof

conversation, than the mereceremonious salutationattending his entrance.Anxious and uneasy, theperiod which passed in thedrawing-room, before thegentlemen came, waswearisome and dull to adegree that almost made heruncivil. She looked forwardto their entrance as the pointon which all her chance ofpleasurefortheeveningmustdepend.

“Ifhedoesnotcometome,then,” said she, “I shall givehimupforever.”The gentlemen came; and

shethoughthelookedasifhewould have answered herhopes; but, alas! the ladieshadcrowded round the table,where Miss Bennet wasmaking tea, and Elizabethpouring out the coffee, in soclose a confederacy, thatthere was not a single

vacancy near her whichwould admit of a chair. Andon the gentlemen’sapproaching, one of the girlsmoved closer to her thanever, and said, in a whisper,—“Themenshan’tcomeand

partus,Iamdetermined.Wewantnoneofthem;dowe?”Darcyhadwalkedaway to

anotherpartoftheroom.Shefollowed him with her eyes,

enviedeveryonetowhomhespoke, had scarcely patienceenough to help any body tocoffee, and thenwasenragedagainst herself for being sosilly!“Amanwhohasoncebeen

refused!HowcouldIeverbefoolish enough to expect arenewal of his love? Is thereone among the sex whowould not protest againstsuch aweakness as a second

proposaltothesamewoman?There is no indignity soabhorrenttotheirfeelings!”She was a little revived,

however, by his bringingback his coffee cup himself;and she seized theopportunityofsaying,—“Is your sister at

Pemberleystill?”“Yes;shewillremainthere

tillChristmas.”“Andquitealone?Haveall

herfriendslefther?”“Mrs.Annesleyiswithher.

Theothershavebeengoneonto Scarboroughbm these threeweeks.”Shecould thinkofnothing

moretosay;butifhewishedto converse with her, hemighthavebettersuccess.Hestood by her, however, forsomeminutes,insilence;and,at last, on the young lady’swhispering to Elizabeth

again,hewalkedaway.When the tea things were

removed, and the card tablesplaced,theladiesallrose,andElizabethwas thenhoping tobesoon joinedbyhim,whenall her views wereoverthrown, by seeing himfall a victim to her mother’srapacity for whist players,and in a few moments afterseated with the rest of theparty. She now lost every

expectationofpleasure.Theywereconfinedfortheeveningat different tables, and shehadnothing tohope,but thathiseyesweresooftenturnedtowardshersideoftheroom,as to make him play asunsuccessfullyasherself.Mrs. Bennet had designed

to keep the two Netherfieldgentlementosupper;buttheircarriage was, unluckily,ordered before any of the

others, and she had noopportunity of detainingthem.“Well, girls,” said she, as

soon as they were left tothemselves,“whatsayyou tothe day? I think every thinghas passed off uncommonlywell,Iassureyou.Thedinnerwas aswell dressed as any Iever saw. The venison wasroasted to a turn—and everybody said, theynever saw so

fat a haunch. The soup wasfifty times better than whatwe had at the Lucases lastweek; and even Mr. Darcyacknowledged, that thepartridges were remarkablywell done; and I suppose hehastwoorthreeFrenchcooksatleast.And,mydearJane,Ineversawyoulookingreaterbeauty. Mrs. Long said sotoo, for I asked her whetheryoudidnot.Andwhatdoyouthinkshesaidbesides?

“ ‘Ah! Mrs. Bennet, weshall have her at Netherfieldat last!’Shedid, indeed.IdothinkMrs.Long isasgoodacreature as ever lived—andher nieces are very prettybehaved girls, and not at allhandsome: I like themprodigiously.”Mrs.Bennet, in short,was

in very great spirits: she hadseen enough of Bingley’sbehaviour to Jane to be

convinced thatshewouldgethim at last; and herexpectations of advantage toher family, when in a happyhumour, were so far beyondreason, that she was quitedisappointed at not seeinghim there again the next daytomakehisproposals.“It has been a very

agreeable day,” said MissBennet to Elizabeth. “Theparty seemed so well

selected,sosuitableonewiththe other. I hope we mayoftenmeetagain.”Elizabethsmiled.“Lizzy,youmustnotdoso.

Youmust not suspect me. Itmortifies me. I assure youthat I have now learnt toenjoy his conversation as anagreeableand sensibleyoungman, without having a wishbeyond it. I am perfectlysatisfied, from what his

manners now are, that henever had any design ofengaging my affection. It isonly that he is blessed withgreater sweetness of address,and a stronger desire ofgenerally pleasing, than anyotherman.”“You are very cruel,” said

her sister, “you will not letme smile, and are provokingmetoiteverymoment.”“How hard it is in some

casestobebelieved!”“And how impossible in

others!”“Butwhyshouldyouwish

to persuade me that I feelmorethanIacknowledge?”“ThatisaquestionwhichI

hardly know how to answer.We all love to instruct,though we can teach onlywhat is not worth knowing.Forgiveme;andifyoupersistin indifference, do not make

meyourconfidante.”

Chapter13

A few days after this visit,Mr.Bingleycalledagain,andalone.HisfriendhadlefthimthatmorningforLondon,butwas to return home in tendays time. He sat with themabove an hour, and was inremarkablygoodspirits.Mrs.

Bennet invited him to dinewith them; but, with manyexpressions of concern, heconfessed himself engagedelsewhere.“Next time you call,” said

she,“Ihopeweshallbemorelucky.”He should be particularly

happy at any time, &c. &c.;and if she would give himleave, would take an earlyopportunity of waiting on

them.“Can you come to-

morrow?”Yes,hehadnoengagement

at all for to-morrow; and herinvitation was accepted withalacrity.Hecame,andinsuchvery

good time, that the ladieswerenoneofthemdressed.Inran Mrs. Bennet to herdaughter’s room, in herdressing-gown, and with her

hairhalf finished,cryingout,—“MydearJane,makehaste

and hurry down.He is come—Mr.Bingleyiscome.Heis,indeed. Make haste, makehaste. Here, Sarah, come toMiss Bennet this moment,and help her on with hergown. Never mind MissLizzy’shair.”“Wewillbedownas soon

aswe can,” said Jane; “but I

dare say Kitty is forwarderthaneitherofus,forshewentupstairshalfanhourago.”“Oh!hangKitty!whathas

she to do with it? Come, bequick, be quick! where isyoursash,mydear?”But when her mother was

gone, Jane would not beprevailed on to go downwithoutoneofhersisters.Thesameanxietytogetby

themselves was visible again

intheevening.Aftertea,Mr.Bennet retired to the library,aswashiscustom,andMarywent up stairs to herinstrument. Two obstacles ofthe five being thus removed,Mrs. Bennet sat looking andwinking at Elizabeth andCatherine for a considerabletime, without making anyimpression on them.Elizabeth would not observeher; and when at last Kittydid,sheveryinnocentlysaid,

“Whatisthematter,mamma?Whatdoyoukeepwinkingatmefor?WhatamItodo?”“Nothing, child, nothing. I

did not wink at you.” Shethen sat still five minuteslonger; but unable to wastesuchapreciousoccasion,shesuddenly got up, and sayingtoKitty,—“Come here, my love, I

want to speak to you,” tookher out of the room. Jane

instantly gave a look atElizabeth which spoke herdistress at suchpremeditation, and herentreaty that she would notgiveintoit.Inafewminutes,Mrs. Bennet half opened thedoorandcalledout,—“Lizzy,mydear, Iwant to

speakwithyou.”Elizabethwasforcedtogo.“We may as well leave

them by themselves, you

know,” said her mother assoon as she was in the hall.“Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing-room.”Elizabethmade no attempt

toreasonwithhermother,butremained quietly in the halltill sheandKittywereoutofsight, then returned into thedrawing-room.Mrs.Bennet’s schemes for

this day were ineffectual.

Bingleywas every thing thatwas charming, except theprofessed lover of herdaughter. His ease andcheerfulness rendered him amost agreeable addition totheir evening party; and hebore with the ill-judgedofficiousness of the mother,and heard all her sillyremarks with a forbearanceandcommandofcountenanceparticularly grateful to thedaughter.

He scarcely needed aninvitation to stay supper; andbefore he went away, anengagement was formed,chiefly through his own andMrs.Bennet’smeans, for hiscomingnextmorningtoshootwithherhusband.Afterthisday,Janesaidno

moreofherindifference.Nota word passed between thesisters concerning Bingley;but Elizabeth went to bed in

thehappybelief thatallmustspeedilybeconcluded,unlessMr.Darcyreturnedwithinthestated time. Seriously,however, she felt tolerablypersuaded that all this musthave taken place with thatgentleman’sconcurrence.Bingley was punctual to

his appointment; and he andMr.Bennetspentthemorningtogether, as had been agreedon.Thelatterwasmuchmore

agreeablethanhiscompanionexpected. There was nothingof presumption or folly inBingley that could provokehis ridicule, or disgust himintosilence;andhewasmorecommunicative, and lesseccentric, than the other hadever seen him. Bingley ofcourse returned with him todinner; and in the eveningMrs. Bennet’s invention wasagain at work to get everybodyawayfromhimandher

daughter.Elizabeth,who hadalettertowrite,wentintothebreakfast-room for thatpurposesoonafter tea; forasthe others were all going tosit down to cards, she couldnot be wanted to counteracthermother’sschemes.Butonherreturningtothe

drawing-room, when herletter was finished, she saw,to her infinite surprise, therewas reason to fear that her

mother had been tooingeniousforher.Onopeningthe door, she perceived hersister and Bingley standingtogetheroverthehearth,asifengaged in earnestconversation;andhadthisledto no suspicion, the faces ofboth, as they hastily turnedround andmoved away fromeachother,wouldhavetolditall. Their situation wasawkward enough; but hersshe thought was still worse.

Notasyllablewasutteredbyeither; and Elizabeth was onthe point of going awayagain,whenBingley,who aswell as the other had satdown, suddenly rose, and,whispering a few words toher sister, ran out of theroom.Jane could have no

reserves from Elizabeth,whereconfidencewouldgivepleasure; and instantly

embracing her,acknowledged, with theliveliestemotion,thatshewasthe happiest creature in theworld.“ ’Tis too much!” she

added,“byfartoomuch.Idonotdeserveit.Oh,whyisnoteverybodyashappy?”Elizabeth’s congratulations

weregivenwithasincerity,awarmth, a delight, whichwords could but poorly

express. Every sentence ofkindness was a fresh sourceofhappinesstoJane.Butshewould not allow herself tostay with her sister, or sayhalf thatremainedtobesaid,forthepresent.“Imustgo instantly tomy

mother,” she cried. “I wouldnotonanyaccounttriflewithher affectionate solicitude,orallowher tohear it fromanyonebutmyself.Heisgoneto

myfatheralready.Oh,Lizzy,to know that what I have torelatewillgivesuchpleasureto all my dear family! howshall I bear so muchhappiness?”She thenhastenedaway to

her mother, who hadpurposelybrokenup thecardparty, and was sitting upstairswithKitty.Elizabeth,whowas leftby

herself, now smiled at the

rapidity and easewithwhichan affair was finally settled,thathadgiven themsomanyprevious months of surpriseandvexation.“Andthis,”saidshe,“isthe

endofallhisfriend’sanxiouscircumspection! of all hissister’s falsehood andcontrivance! the happiest,wisest, and most reasonableend!”In a few minutes she was

joined by Bingley, whoseconference with her fatherhad been short and to thepurpose.“Where is your sister?”

said he hastily, as he openedthedoor.“Withmymotherupstairs.

She will be down in amoment,Idaresay.”Hethenshutthedoor,and,

cominguptoher,claimedthegoodwishes and affection of

a sister. Elizabeth honestlyand heartily expressed herdelightintheprospectoftheirrelationship. They shookhands with great cordiality;and then, till her sister camedown,shehad to listen toallhe had to say of his ownhappiness, and of Jane’sperfections;andinspiteofhisbeingalover,Elizabethreallybelieved all his expectationsof felicity to be rationallyfounded,becausetheyhadfor

basis the excellentunderstanding, and super-excellent disposition of Jane,and a general similarity offeelingand tastebetweenherandhimself.It was an evening of no

common delight to them all;the satisfaction of MissBennet’s mind gave such aglow of sweet animation toher face, as made her lookhandsomer than ever. Kitty

simpered and smiled, andhoped her turn was comingsoon. Mrs. Bennet could notgiveherconsent,orspeakherapprobation in terms warmenoughtosatisfyherfeelings,though she talked to Bingleyof nothing else, for half anhour; and when Mr. Bennetjoined them at supper, hisvoice and manner plainlyshowed how really happy hewas.

Not a word, however,passed his lips in allusion toit, till their visitor took hisleave for the night; but assoon as he was gone, heturned to his daughter andsaid,—“Jane, I congratulate you.

You will be a very happywoman.”Janewenttohiminstantly,

kissed him, and thanked himforhisgoodness.

“You are a good girl,” hereplied, “and I have greatpleasure in thinking youwillbe so happily settled. I havenot a doubt of your doingvery well together. Yourtempers are by no meansunlike. You are each of youso complying, that nothingwill ever be resolved on; soeasy, that every servant willcheat you; and so generous,that you will always exceedyourincome.”

“Ihopenotso.Imprudenceor thoughtlessness in moneymatters would beunpardonableinme.”“Exceed their income!My

dear Mr. Bennet,” cried hiswife, “what are you talkingof?Why, he has four or fivethousand a year, and verylikely more.” Thenaddressingherdaughter,“Oh,my dear, dear Jane, I am sohappy! IamsureIshan’tget

a wink of sleep all night. Iknew how it would be. Ialways said itmust be so, atlast.Iwassureyoucouldnotbesobeautiful fornothing! Iremember, as soon as ever Isawhim,when he first cameintoHertfordshire lastyear, Ithoughthowlikelyitwasthatyou should come together.Oh, he is the handsomestyoung man that ever wasseen!”

Wickham, Lydia, were allforgotten. Jane was beyondcompetition her favouritechild. At that moment shecared for no other. Heryoungersisterssoonbegantomake interest with her forobjects of happiness whichshemightinfuturebeabletodispense.Marypetitionedfortheuse

of the library at Netherfield;and Kitty begged very hard

for a few balls there everywinter.Bingley, from this time,

was of course a daily visitorat Longbourn; comingfrequently before breakfast,and always remaining tillafter supper; unless whensome barbarous neighbour,who could not be enoughdetested, had given him aninvitationtodinner,whichhethought himself obliged to

accept.Elizabethhadnowbutlittle

time for conversation withher sister; for while he waspresent Janehadnoattentionto bestow on any one else:but she found herselfconsiderablyusefultobothofthem, in those hours ofseparation that mustsometimes occur. In theabsence of Jane, he alwaysattached himself to Elizabeth

for the pleasure of talking ofher; and when Bingley wasgone, Jane constantly soughtthesamemeansofrelief.“He has made me so

happy,” said she, oneevening, “by telling me thathewastotallyignorantofmybeing in town last spring! Ihadnotbelieveditpossible.”“I suspected as much,”

replied Elizabeth. “But howdidheaccountforit?”

“It must have been hissisters’ doing. They werecertainly no friends to hisacquaintancewithme,whichI cannot wonder at, since hemight have chosen so muchmoreadvantageouslyinmanyrespects. But when they see,as I trust theywill, that theirbrother is happy with me,they will learn to becontented,andweshallbeongood termsagain: thoughwecan never be what we once

weretoeachother.”“That is the most

unforgiving speech,” saidElizabeth, “that I ever heardyouutter.Goodgirl!Itwouldvex me, indeed, to see youagain the dupe of MissBingley’spretendedregard.”“Would you believe it,

Lizzy, that when he went totownlastNovemberhereallyloved me, and nothing but apersuasion of my being

indifferent would haveprevented his coming downagain?’“Hemade a littlemistake,

to be sure; but it is to thecreditofhismodesty.”Thisnaturally introduceda

panegyric from Jane on hisdiffidence,andthelittlevaluehe put on his own goodqualities.Elizabeth was pleased to

find,thathehadnotbetrayed

the interferenceofhis friend;for,thoughJanehadthemostgenerous and forgiving heartintheworld,sheknewitwasa circumstance which mostprejudiceheragainsthim.“I am certainly the most

fortunate creature that everexisted!” cried Jane. “Oh,Lizzy,whyamI thussingledfrommy family, and blessedabovethemall?IfIcouldbutsee you as happy! If there

were but such another manforyou!”“If you were to give me

forty suchmen Inevercouldbe so happy as you. Till Ihave your disposition, yourgoodness, I never can haveyour happiness. No, no, letme shift for myself; and,perhaps, if I have very goodluck,ImaymeetwithanotherMr.Collinsintime.”The situation of affairs in

the Longbourn family couldnot be long a secret. Mrs.Bennet was privileged towhisperittoMrs.Philips,andshe ventured, without anypermission,todothesamebyall her neighbours inMeryton.TheBennetswerespeedily

pronouncedtobetheluckiestfamily in the world; thoughonly a few weeks before,when Lydia had first run

away, they had beengenerally proved to bemarkedoutformisfortune.

Chapter14

One morning, about a weekafter Bingley’s engagementwith Jane had been formed,as he and the females of thefamily were sitting togetherin the dining-room, theirattentionwassuddenlydrawnto the window by the sound

of a carriage; and theyperceived a chaise and fourdriving up the lawn. It wastoo early in the morning forvisitors, and besides, theequipage did not answer tothat of any of theirneighbours. The horses werepost; andneither thecarriagenor the livery of the servantwhoprecededitwerefamiliarto them. As it was certain,however, that somebodywascoming, Bingley instantly

prevailed on Miss Bennet toavoid the confinement ofsuch an intrusion, and walkaway with him into theshrubbery.Theyboth setoff,and the conjectures of theremaining three continued,thoughwithlittlesatisfaction,tillthedoorwasthrownopen,and their visitor entered. Itwas Lady Catherine deBourgh.They were of course all

intendingtobesurprised:buttheir astonishment wasbeyondtheirexpectation;andon the part of Mrs. Bennetand Kitty, though she wasperfectly unknown to them,even inferior to whatElizabethfelt.She entered the roomwith

an air more than usuallyungracious, made no otherreplytoElizabeth’ssalutationthanaslightinclinationofthe

head, and sat down withoutsaying aword.Elizabethhadmentioned her name to hermother on her Ladyship’sentrance, though no requestof introduction had beenmade.Mrs. Bennet, all

amazement, though flatteredby having a guest of suchhighimportance,receivedherwith the utmost politeness.After sitting foramoment in

silence, she said,very stiffly,toElizabeth,—“Ihopeyouarewell,Miss

Bennet.That lady, Isuppose,isyourmother?”Elizabeth replied very

conciselythatshewas.“And that, I suppose, is

oneofyoursisters?”“Yes, madam,” said Mrs.

Bennet,delighted to speak toaLadyCatherine.“Sheismyyoungest girl but one. My

youngest of all is latelymarried, and my eldest issomewhereabouttheground,walking with a young man,who, I believe, will soonbecomeapartofthefamily.”“You have a very small

park here,” returned LadyCatherine, after a shortsilence.“It is nothing in

comparison of Rosings, myLady,Idaresay;but,Iassure

you,itismuchlargerthanSirWilliamLucas’s.”“This must be a most

inconvenient sitting room forthe evening in summer: thewindowsarefullwest.”Mrs. Bennet assured her

that theyneversat thereafterdinner;andthenadded,—“May I take the liberty of

asking your LadyshipwhetheryouleftMr.andMrs.Collinswell?”

“Yes, very well. I sawthemthenightbeforelast.”Elizabeth now expected

that she would produce aletter for her fromCharlotte,as it seemed the onlyprobable motive for hercalling. But no letterappeared, and she wascompletelypuzzled.Mrs. Bennet, with great

civility,beggedherLadyshiptotakesomerefreshment:but

Lady Catherine veryresolutely, and not verypolitely, declined eating anything; and then, rising up,saidtoElizabeth,—“Miss Bennet, there

seemedtobeaprettyishkindof a little wilderness on onesideofyourlawn.Ishouldbegladtotakeaturninit,ifyouwill favour me with yourcompany.”“Go, my dear,” cried her

mother, “and show herLadyship about the differentwalks. I think she will bepleasedwiththehermitage.”Elizabeth obeyed; and,

running into her own roomfor her parasol, attended hernoble guest down stairs. Asthey passed through the hall,Lady Catherine opened thedoors into the dining-parlourand drawing-room, andpronouncing them, after a

short survey, to be decentlookingrooms,walkedon.Her carriage remained at

the door, and Elizabeth sawthat her waiting-woman wasin it. They proceeded insilencealong thegravelwalkthat led to the copse;Elizabeth was determined tomake no effort forconversation with a womanwho was now more thanusually insolent and

disagreeable.“How could I ever think

her like her nephew?” saidshe,asshelookedinherface.Assoonastheyenteredthe

copse, LadyCatherine beganinthefollowingmanner:—“You can be at no loss,

Miss Bennet, to understandthe reason of my journeyhither. Your own heart, yourownconscience,musttellyouwhyIcome.”

Elizabeth looked withunaffectedastonishment.“Indeed,youaremistaken,

madam;Ihavenotbeenatallabletoaccountforthehonourofseeingyouhere.”“MissBennet,” repliedher

Ladyship, in an angry tone,“yououghttoknowthatIamnot to be trifled with. But,however insincere you maychoose to be, you shall notfindme so.Mycharacterhas

ever been celebrated for itssincerity and frankness; andinacauseofsuchmomentasthis, I shall certainly notdepart from it. A report of amostalarmingnaturereachedme twodaysago. Iwas told,that not only your sister wason the point of being mostadvantageously married, butthat you, thatMiss ElizabethBennet, would, in alllikelihood, be soonafterwards united to my

nephew, my own nephew,Mr.Darcy.Though Iknow itmust be a scandalousfalsehood,thoughIwouldnotinjure him so much as tosuppose the truth of itpossible, I instantly resolvedon setting off for this place,that I might make mysentimentsknowntoyou.”“If you believed it

impossible to be true,” saidElizabeth, colouring with

astonishment and disdain, “Iwonder you took the troubleofcomingsofar.Whatcouldyour Ladyship propose byit?”“At once to insist upon

having such a reportuniversallycontradicted.”“Your coming to

Longbourn,toseemeandmyfamily,” said Elizabethcoolly, “will be rather aconfirmationof it; if, indeed,

suchareportisinexistence.”“If!doyouthenpretendto

be ignorant of it? Has it notbeen industriously circulatedby yourselves? Do you notknow that such a report isspreadabroad?”“Ineverheardthatitwas.”“And can you likewise

declare, that there is nofoundationforit?”“Idonotpretendtopossess

equal frankness with your

Ladyship. You may askquestions which I shall notchoosetoanswer.”“This is not to be borne.

MissBennet,Iinsistonbeingsatisfied. Has he, has mynephew,madeyouanofferofmarriage?”“Your Ladyship has

declaredittobeimpossible.”“It ought to be so; itmust

beso,whileheretainstheuseof his reason. But your arts

and allurements may, in amoment of infatuation, havemade him forget what heowestohimselfandtoallhisfamily.Youmayhavedrawnhimin.”“If I have, I shall be the

lastpersontoconfessit.”“Miss Bennet, do you

know who I am? I have notbeen accustomed to suchlanguageasthis.Iamalmostthe nearest relation he has in

theworld, andamentitled toknow all his dearestconcerns.”“Butyouarenotentitledto

know mine; nor will suchbehaviouras thisever inducemetobeexplicit.”“Let me be rightly

understood. This match, towhich you have thepresumption to aspire, cannever take place. No, never.Mr. Darcy is engaged tomy

daughter. Now, what haveyoutosay?”“Only this,—that if he is

so,youcanhavenoreasontosupposehewillmakeanoffertome.”Lady Catherine hesitated

for a moment, and thenreplied,—“The engagement between

them is of a peculiar kind.Fromtheirinfancy,theyhavebeen intended foreachother.

It was the favourite wish ofhismother,aswellasofhers.While in their cradles, weplanned the union; and now,at the moment when thewishes of both sisters wouldbe accomplished, in theirmarriage, to be prevented bya young woman of inferiorbirth,ofnoimportanceintheworld,andwhollyunalliedtothe family! Do you pay noregard to the wishes of hisfriends? To his tacit

engagement with Miss DeBourgh? Are you lost toeveryfeelingofproprietyanddelicacy?Haveyounotheardmesay, that fromhisearliesthourshewasdestinedforhiscousin?”“Yes; and I had heard it

before. But what is that tome? If there is no otherobjection to my marryingyournephew,Ishallcertainlynot be kept from it by

knowing that hismother andaunt wished him to marryMiss De Bourgh. You bothdid asmuch as you could inplanning the marriage. Itscompletion depended onothers.IfMr.Darcyisneitherby honour nor inclinationconfinedtohiscousin,whyisnot he to make anotherchoice? and if I am thatchoice,whymaynotIaccepthim?”

“Because honour,decorum, prudence, nay,interest, forbid it. Yes, MissBennet, interest; for do notexpect to be noticed by hisfamily or friends, if youwilfully act against theinclinations of all. You willbe censured, slighted, anddespised, by every oneconnected with him. Youralliance will be a disgrace;yournamewillneverevenbementionedbyanyofus.”

“These are heavymisfortunes,” repliedElizabeth. “But the wife ofMr. Darcy must have suchextraordinary sources ofhappiness necessarilyattached to her situation, thatshe could, upon the whole,havenocausetorepine.”“Obstinate, headstrong

girl!Iamashamedofyou!Isthis your gratitude for myattentions to you last spring?

Is nothing due tome on thatscore?“Let us sit down. You are

to understand, Miss Bennet,that I came here with thedetermined resolution ofcarryingmypurpose;norwillIbedissuadedfromit.Ihavenot been used to submit toany person’s whims. I havenot been in the habit ofbrookingdisappointment.”“That will make your

Ladyship’s situation atpresent more pitiable; but itwillhavenoeffectonme.”“I will not be interrupted!

Hear me in silence. Mydaughter andmy nephew areformed for each other. Theyare descended, on thematernal side, from the samenoble line; and, on thefather’s, from respectable,honourable, and ancient,though untitled, families.

Theirfortuneonbothsidesissplendid. They are destinedforeachotherbythevoiceofevery member of theirrespective houses; and whatis to divide them?—theupstartpretensionsofayoungwoman without family,connections, or fortune! Isthis to be endured? But itmustnot,shallnotbe!Ifyouwere sensible of your owngood, youwould notwish toquit the sphere inwhich you

havebeenbroughtup.”“Inmarryingyournephew,

I should not consider myselfasquittingthatsphere.Heisagentleman; I am agentleman’s daughter; so farweareequal.”“True. You are a

gentleman’s daughter. Butwho was your mother?Whoareyourunclesandaunts?Donot imagine me ignorant oftheircondition.”

“Whatevermyconnectionsmay be,” said Elizabeth, “ifyour nephew does not objectto them, they can be nothingtoyou.”“Tellme, once for all, are

youengagedtohim?”Though Elizabeth would

not, for the mere purpose ofobliging Lady Catherine,have answered this question,shecouldnotbutsay,afteramoment’sdeliberation,—

“Iamnot.”Lady Catherine seemed

pleased.“Andwillyoupromiseme

never to enter into such anengagement?”“Iwillmakenopromiseof

thekind.”“Miss Bennet, I am

shocked and astonished. Iexpected to find a morereasonable young woman.But do not deceive yourself

into a belief that I will everrecede.Ishallnotgoawaytillyou have given me theassuranceIrequire.”“And I certainly never

shall give it. I am not to beintimidated into any thing sowholly unreasonable. YourLadyshipwantsMr.Darcytomarry your daughter; butwould my giving you thewished-for promise maketheir marriage at all more

probable? Supposing him tobeattached tome,wouldmyrefusing to accept his handmake him wish to bestow iton his cousin? Allow me tosay, LadyCatherine, that thearguments with which youhave supported thisextraordinary applicationhavebeenas frivolousas theapplication was ill-judged.You have widely mistakenmy character, if you think Ican be worked on by such

persuasionsasthese.Howfaryour nephew might approveof your interference in hisaffairs, I cannot tell; but youhave certainly no right toconcern yourself in mine. Imust beg, therefore, to beimportuned no farther on thesubject.”“Not so hasty, if you

please. I have by no meansdone. To all the objections IhavealreadyurgedIhavestill

another to add. I am nostranger to the particulars ofyour youngest sister’sinfamous elopement. I knowit all; that the young man’smarrying her was a patched-upbusiness,attheexpenseofyourfatheranduncle.Andissuchagirltobemynephew’ssister?Isherhusband,whoisthe son of his late father’ssteward, to be his brother?Heaven and earth!—of whatare you thinking? Are the

shades of Pemberley to bethuspolluted?”“You can now have

nothing further to say,” sheresentfully answered. “Youhave insulted me, in everypossible method. I must begtoreturntothehouse.”Andsheroseasshespoke.

LadyCatherinerosealso,andthey turned back. HerLadyship was highlyincensed.

“Youhavenoregard,then,for the honour and credit ofmy nephew! Unfeeling,selfish girl! Do you notconsider that a connectionwith you must disgrace himintheeyesofeverybody?”“Lady Catherine, I have

nothing further to say. Youknowmysentiments.”“You are then resolved to

havehim?”“Ihavesaidnosuchthing.

I am only resolved to act inthat manner, which will, inmy own opinion, constitutemy happiness, withoutreference to you, or to anyperson so whollyunconnectedwithme.”“It is well. You refuse,

then, to oblige me. Yourefuse to obey the claims ofduty, honour, and gratitude.You are determined to ruinhim in the opinion of all his

friends, and make him thecontemptoftheworld.”“Neither duty, nor honour,

nor gratitude,” repliedElizabeth, “has any possibleclaim on me, in the presentinstance. No principle ofeither would be violated bymymarriagewithMr.Darcy.And with regard to theresentment of his family, orthe indignation of the world,iftheformerwereexcitedby

hismarryingme,itwouldnotgive me one moment’sconcern—and the world ingeneralwouldhavetoomuchsensetojoininthescorn.”“And this is your real

opinion! This is your finalresolve! Very well. I shallnowknowhowtoact.Donotimagine, Miss Bennet, thatyour ambition will ever begratified.Icametotryyou.Ihopedtofindyoureasonable;

but depend upon it I willcarrymypoint.”In this manner Lady

Catherine talked on till theywere at the door of thecarriage, when, turninghastilyround,sheadded,—“I take no leave of you,

Miss Bennet. I send nocompliments to yourmother.You deserve no suchattention.Iammostseriouslydispleased.”

Elizabethmadenoanswer;and without attempting topersuade her Ladyship toreturn into thehouse,walkedquietly into it herself. Sheheardthecarriagedriveawayas she proceeded up stairs.Her mother impatiently mether at the door of thedressing-room, to ask whyLady Catherine would notcome in again and restherself.

“She did not choose it,”saidherdaughter;“shewouldgo.”“Sheisaveryfine-looking

woman! and her calling herewas prodigiously civil! forshe only came, I suppose, totell us the Collinses werewell. She is on her roadsomewhere, I dare say; andso, passing throughMeryton,thoughtshemightaswellcallon you. I suppose she had

nothing particular to say toyou,Lizzy?”Elizabeth was forced to

give into a little falsehoodhere; for to acknowledge thesubstance of theirconversationwasimpossible.

Chapter15

The discomposure of spiritswhich this extraordinaryvisitthrew Elizabeth into couldnot be easily overcome; norcould she for many hourslearn to think of it less thanincessantly. Lady Catherine,it appeared, had actually

taken the trouble of thisjourney fromRosings for thesole purpose of breaking offher supposed engagementwith Mr. Darcy. It was arational scheme to be sure!but from what the report oftheir engagement couldoriginate, Elizabeth was at aloss to imagine; till sherecollected thathis being theintimate friend of Bingley,and her being the sister ofJane, was enough, at a time

when the expectation of onewedding made every bodyeager for another, to supplythe idea. She had not herselfforgotten to feel that themarriage of her sister mustbring them more frequentlytogether.Andherneighboursat Lucas Lodge, therefore,(for through theircommunication with theCollinses, the report, sheconcluded,had reachedLadyCatherine,) had only set that

down as almost certain andimmediate which she hadlookedforwardtoaspossibleatsomefuturetime.In revolving Lady

Catherine’s expressions,however, she could not helpfeelingsomeuneasinessastothe possible consequence ofher persisting in thisinterference. From what shehad said of her resolution toprevent their marriage, it

occurredtoElizabeththatshemust meditate an applicationto her nephew; and how hemight take a similarrepresentation of the evilsattachedtoaconnectionwithher shedarednot pronounce.She knew not the exactdegreeofhisaffectionforhisaunt, or his dependence onher judgment, but it wasnatural to suppose that hethought much higher of herLadyship than she could do;

and it was certain, that inenumeratingthemiseriesofamarriage with one, whoseimmediate connections wereso unequal to his own, hisaunt would address him onhis weakest side. With hisnotions of dignity, he wouldprobably feel that thearguments, which toElizabeth had appearedweakand ridiculous, containedmuch good sense and solidreasoning.

If he had been waveringbefore, as to what he shoulddo, which had often seemedlikely,theadviceandentreatyof so near a relation mightsettle every doubt, anddetermine him at once to beas happy as dignityunblemishedcouldmakehim.In that case he would returnno more. Lady Catherinemight see him in her waythrough town; and hisengagement to Bingley of

coming again to Netherfieldmustgiveway.“If,therefore,anexcusefor

not keeping his promiseshould come to his friendwithin a few days,” sheadded, “I shall know how tounderstand it. I shall thengive over every expectation,every wish of his constancy.If he is satisfied with onlyregrettingme,whenhemighthave obtained my affections

and hand, I shall soon ceasetoregrethimatall.”The surprise of the rest of

the family, on hearing whotheir visitor had been, wasvery great: but theyobliginglysatisfieditwiththesame kind of suppositionwhich had appeased Mrs.Bennet’s curiosity; andElizabeth was spared frommuchteasingonthesubject.The next morning, as she

was going down stairs, shewas met by her father, whocameoutofhislibrarywithaletterinhishand.“Lizzy,” said he, “I was

going to look for you: comeintomyroom.”She followed him thither;

and her curiosity to knowwhat he had to tell her washeightenedbythesuppositionof its being in some mannerconnected with the letter he

held. It suddenly struck herthat it might be from LadyCatherine;andsheanticipatedwith dismay all theconsequentexplanations.She followed her father to

the fireplace, and they bothsatdown.Hethensaid,—“I have received a letter

this morning that hasastonished me exceedingly.As it principally concernsyourself, you ought to know

its contents. I did not knowbefore that I had twodaughters on the brink ofmatrimony. Let mecongratulate you on a veryimportantconquest.”Thecolournowrushedinto

Elizabeth’s cheeks in theinstantaneous conviction ofits being a letter from thenephew, instead of the aunt;and she was undeterminedwhether most to be pleased

that he explained himself atall,oroffendedthathis letterwas not rather addressed toherself, when her fathercontinued,—“You look conscious.

Young ladies have greatpenetrationinsuchmattersasthese; but I think Imaydefyeven your sagacity todiscover the name of youradmirer. This letter is fromMr.Collins.”

“From Mr. Collins! andwhatcanhehavetosay?”“Something very much to

the purpose, of course. Hebegins with congratulationson the approaching nuptialsof my eldest daughter, ofwhich, it seems, he has beentold by some of the good-natured, gossiping Lucases. Ishall not sport with yourimpatience by reading whathe says on that point. What

relates to yourself is asfollows:—‘Having thus offered you

thesincerecongratulationsofMrs. Collins and myself onthishappyevent, letmenowaddashorthintonthesubjectofanother,ofwhichwehavebeen advertised by the sameauthority. Your daughterElizabeth,itispresumed,willnot long bear the name ofBennet, afterhereldest sister

has resigned it; and thechosen partner of her fatemaybereasonablylookedupto as one of the mostillustrious personages in thisland.’“Can you possibly guess,

Lizzy,whoismeantbythis?‘This young gentleman is

blessed, in a peculiar way,with every thing the heart ofmortal can most desire,—splendid property, noble

kindred, and extensivepatronage.Yet, inspiteofallthese temptations, let mewarn my cousin Elizabeth,and yourself, of what evilsyou may incur by aprecipitate closure with thisgentleman’s proposals,which,ofcourse,youwillbeinclined to take immediateadvantageof.’“Haveyouanyidea,Lizzy,

who this gentleman is? But

nowitcomesout.“ ‘My motive for

cautioning you is as follows:—Wehavereasontoimaginethat his aunt,LadyCatherinedeBourgh, does not look onthe match with a friendlyeye.’“Mr.Darcy,yousee,isthe

man! Now, Lizzy, I think Ihavesurprisedyou.Couldhe,or the Lucases, have pitchedonanyman,withinthecircle

of our acquaintance, whosename would have given thelie more effectually to whattheyrelated?Mr.Darcy,whoneverlooksatanywomanbutto see a blemish, and whoprobablynever lookedatyouinhislife!Itisadmirable!”Elizabeth tried to join in

her father’s pleasantry, butcould only force one mostreluctantsmile.Neverhadhiswitbeendirectedinamanner

solittleagreeabletoher.“Areyounotdiverted?”“Ohyes.Prayreadon.”“ ‘After mentioning the

likelihoodof thismarriage toher Ladyship last night, sheimmediately, with her usualcondescension, expressedwhatshefeltontheoccasion;whenitbecameapparent,thaton the score of some familyobjections on the part of mycousin she would never give

her consent to what shetermed so disgraceful amatch.Ithoughtitmydutytogivethespeediestintelligenceof this tomycousin, thatsheandhernobleadmirermaybeawareofwhattheyareabout,and not run hastily into amarriagewhich has not beenproperly sanctioned.’ Mr.Collins, moreover, adds, ‘Iam truly rejoiced that mycousin Lydia’s sad businesshas been so well hushed up,

and am only concerned thattheir living together beforethe marriage took placeshould be so generallyknown. Imust not, however,neglect the duties of mystation, or refrain fromdeclaring my amazement, athearing thatyou received theyoungcoupleintoyourhouseassoonastheyweremarried.It was an encouragement ofvice; and had I been therectorofLongbourn,Ishould

very strenuously haveopposed it. You oughtcertainlytoforgivethemasaChristian, but never to admitthem in your sight, or allowtheir names to be mentionedin your hearing.’ That is hisnotion of Christianforgiveness! The rest of hisletter is only about his dearCharlotte’s situation, and hisexpectationofayoungolive-branch. But, Lizzy, you lookasifyoudidnotenjoyit.You

arenotgoingtobemissish, Ihope, and pretend to beaffronted at an idle report.For what do we live, but tomake sport for ourneighbours,andlaughattheminourturn?”“Oh,” cried Elizabeth, “I

am excessively diverted. Butitissostrange!”“Yes,thatiswhatmakesit

amusing. Had they fixed onanyotherman itwould have

been nothing; buthis perfectindifferenceandyourpointeddislikemakeitsodelightfullyabsurd!Muchas Iabominatewriting, I would not give upMr.Collins’scorrespondencefor any consideration. Nay,when I read a letter of his, Icannot help giving him thepreference even overWickham, much as I valuethe impudenceandhypocrisyof my son-in-law. And pray,Lizzy, what said Lady

Catherine about this report?Did she call to refuse herconsent?”To this question his

daughter replied only with alaugh; and as it had beenasked without the leastsuspicion, she was notdistressedbyhis repeating it.Elizabeth had never beenmore at a loss to make herfeelings appear what theywerenot. Itwasnecessary to

laughwhen shewould ratherhave cried. Her father hadmostcruellymortifiedherbywhat he said ofMr. Darcy’sindifference; and she coulddo nothing but wonder atsuchawantofpenetration,orfear that, perhaps, instead ofhisseeingtoolittle,shemighthavefanciedtoomuch.

Chapter16

Insteadofreceivinganysuchletter of excuse from hisfriend, as Elizabeth halfexpected Mr. Bingley to do,he was able to bring Darcywith him to Longbournbeforemanydayshadpassed

after Lady Catherine’s visit.The gentlemen arrived early;and, beforeMrs. Bennet hadtime to tell him of theirhaving seen his aunt, ofwhich her daughter sat inmomentary dread, Bingley,whowanted tobealonewithJane, proposed their allwalkingout.Itwasagreedto.Mrs. Bennet was not in thehabitofwalking,Marycouldnever spare time, but theremaining five set off

together. Bingley and Jane,however, soon allowed theothers to outstrip them.Theylagged behind, whileElizabeth, Kitty, and Darcywere to entertain each other.Verylittlewassaidbyeither;Kittywas toomuchafraidofhim to talk; Elizabeth wassecretly forming a desperateresolution; and, perhaps, hemightbedoingthesame.They walked towards the

Lucases, because Kittywished to call upon Maria;and as Elizabeth saw nooccasion for making it ageneral concern, when Kittyleftthem,shewentboldlyonwithhimalone.Nowwasthemoment for her resolution tobe executed; and, while hercourage was high, sheimmediatelysaid,—“Mr. Darcy, I am a very

selfish creature, and for the

sake of giving relief to myown feelings care not howmuch I may be woundingyours. I can no longer helpthanking you for yourunexampled kindness to mypoorsister.EversinceIhaveknown it I have been mostanxious to acknowledge toyou how gratefully I feel it.Were it known to the rest ofmy family I should not havemerely my own gratitude toexpress.”

“I am sorry, exceedinglysorry,” replied Darcy, in atoneofsurpriseandemotion,“that you have ever beeninformed of what may, in amistaken light, have givenyou uneasiness. I did notthink Mrs. Gardiner was solittletobetrusted.”“You must not blame my

aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessnessfirst betrayed tome that youhad been concerned in the

matter;and,ofcourse,Icouldnot rest till I knew theparticulars.Letmethankyouagain and again, in the nameof all my family, for thatgenerous compassion whichinducedyou to take somuchtrouble, and bear so manymortifications,forthesakeofdiscoveringthem.”“If youwill thankme,” he

replied,“letitbeforyourselfalone.Thatthewishofgiving

happiness to you might addforce to the otherinducementswhichledmeonI shall not attempt to deny.But your family owe menothing. Much as I respectthem,IbelieveIthoughtonlyofyou.”Elizabeth was too much

embarrassed to say a word.After a short pause, hercompanion added, “You aretoo generous to trifle with

me. If your feelings are stillwhattheywerelastApril,tellme so at once.My affectionsand wishes are unchanged;but one word from you willsilencemeonthissubjectforever.”Elizabeth, feeling all the

more than commonawkwardness and anxiety ofhis situation, now forcedherself to speak; andimmediately,thoughnotvery

fluently, gave him tounderstand, that hersentiments had undergone somaterial a change since theperiodtowhichhealluded,asto make her receive withgratitude and pleasure hispresent assurances. Thehappiness which this replyproducedwassuchashehadprobably never felt before;and he expressed himself onthe occasion as sensibly andaswarmlyasamanviolently

inlovecanbesupposedtodo.Had Elizabeth been able toencounterhiseyes,shemighthave seen how well theexpression of heart-feltdelight, diffused over hisface,becamehim:butthoughshe could not look she couldlisten; and he told her offeelingswhich, in provingofwhat importance she was tohim,madehisaffectioneverymomentmorevaluable.

They walked on withoutknowing in what direction.There was too much to bethought,andfelt,andsaid,forattentiontoanyotherobjects.Shesoonlearntthattheywereindebted for their presentgood understanding to theefforts of his aunt, who didcall on him in her returnthrough London, and thererelate her journey toLongbourn, its motive, andthe substance of her

conversation with Elizabeth;dwelling emphatically oneveryexpressionofthelatter,which, in her Ladyship’sapprehension, peculiarlydenotedherperverseness andassurance, in the belief thatsucharelationmustassistherendeavours to obtain thatpromise from her nephewwhich she had refused togive. But, unluckily for herLadyship, its effect had beenexactlycontrariwise.

“Ittaughtmetohope,”saidhe, “as I had scarcely everallowed myself to hopebefore. I knew enough ofyourdispositiontobecertain,thathadyoubeenabsolutely,irrevocably decided againstme, you would haveacknowledged it to LadyCatherine frankly andopenly.”Elizabeth coloured and

laughedas she replied, “Yes,

you know enough of myfrankness to believe mecapableofthat.Afterabusingyou so abominably to yourface, I couldhaveno scruplein abusing you to all yourrelations.”“What did you say of me

that I did not deserve? Forthoughyouraccusationswereill-founded, formed onmistaken premises, mybehaviour to you at the time

had merited the severestreproof. Itwasunpardonable.I cannot think of it withoutabhorrence.”“We will not quarrel for

the greater share of blameannexedtothatevening,”saidElizabeth. “The conduct ofneither, if strictly examined,will be irreproachable; butsince then we have both, Ihope,improvedincivility.”“I cannot be so easily

reconciled to myself. Therecollection of what I thensaid, of my conduct, mymanners, my expressionsduringthewholeofit,isnow,and has been many months,inexpressibly painful to me.Yourreproof,sowellapplied,Ishallneverforget:‘Hadyoubehaved in a moregentleman-like manner.’Thosewereyourwords.Youknow not, you can scarcelyconceive, how they have

tortured me; though it wassometime,Iconfess,beforeIwas reasonable enough toallowtheirjustice.”“I was certainly very far

fromexpectingthemtomakesostronganimpression.Ihadnot the smallest idea of theirbeing ever felt in such away.”“I can easily believe it.

You thoughtme then devoidof everyproper feeling, I am

sureyoudid.Theturnofyourcountenance I shall neverforget, as you said that Icouldnothaveaddressedyouin any possible way thatwould induce you to acceptme.”“Oh, do not repeat what I

thensaid.Theserecollectionswill not do at all. I assureyou, that I have long beenmostheartilyashamedofit.”Darcymentionedhisletter.

“Did it,” said he,—“did itsoonmakeyouthinkbetterofme? Did you, on reading it,give any credit to itscontents?”She explained what its

effect on her had been, andhow gradually all her formerprejudiceshadbeenremoved.“I knew,” said he, “that

what I wrote must give youpain, but it was necessary. Ihope you have destroyed the

letter. There was one part,especially the opening of it,which I should dread yourhaving the power of readingagain. I can remember someexpressions which mightjustlymakeyouhateme.”“The letter shall certainly

be burnt, if you believe itessential to the preservationofmyregard;but,thoughwehavebothreasontothinkmyopinions not entirely

unalterable, they are not, Ihope,quitesoeasilychangedasthatimplies.”“WhenIwrote that letter,”

replied Darcy, “I believedmyself perfectly calm andcool; but I am sinceconvinced that itwaswrittenin a dreadful bitterness ofspirit.”“The letter,perhaps,began

in bitterness, but it did notend so. The adieu is charity

itself. But think no more ofthe letter.The feelingsof theperson who wrote and theperson who received it arenowsowidelydifferentfromwhat they were then, thatevery unpleasantcircumstance attending itought to be forgotten. Youmust learn some of myphilosophy.Thinkonlyofthepastasitsremembrancegivesyoupleasure.”

“I cannot give you creditfor any philosophy of thekind. Your retrospectionsmust be so totally void ofreproach, that thecontentment arising fromthem is not of philosophy,but, what is much better, ofignorance. Butwithme, it isnot so. Painful recollectionswill intrude, which cannot,which ought not to berepelled.Ihavebeenaselfishbeingallmy life, inpractice,

thoughnot in principle.As achild I was taught what wasright,but Iwasnot taught tocorrect my temper. I wasgivengoodprinciples,butleftto follow them in pride andconceit. Unfortunately anonly son (for many years anonlychild), I was spoiled bymy parents, who, thoughgood themselves, (my fatherparticularly, all that wasbenevolent and amiable,)allowed, encouraged, almost

taught me to be selfish andoverbearing, to care for nonebeyondmyownfamilycircle,tothinkmeanlyofalltherestof theworld, towish at leasttothinkmeanlyoftheirsenseandworthcomparedwithmyown. Such I was, from eighttoeight-and-twenty;andsuchImightstillhavebeenbutforyou, dearest, loveliestElizabeth!WhatdoInotoweyou!Youtaughtmealesson,hard indeedat first, butmost

advantageous. By you, Iwasproperly humbled. I came toyou without a doubt of myreception. You showed mehow insufficientwere allmypretensions to please awoman worthy of beingpleased.”“Had you then persuaded

yourselfthatIshould?”“Indeed I had. What will

you think of my vanity? Ibelieved you to be wishing,

expectingmyaddresses.”“My manners must have

been in fault, but notintentionally, I assure you. Inever meant to deceive you,but my spirits might oftenlead me wrong. How youmusthavehatedmeafterthatevening!”“Hate you! I was angry,

perhaps,atfirst,butmyangersoon began to take a properdirection.”

“I am almost afraid ofasking what you thought ofme when we met atPemberley. You blamed meforcoming?”“No, indeed, I felt nothing

butsurprise.”“Your surprise could not

begreaterthanmine inbeingnoticed by you. Myconscience told me that Ideserved no extraordinarypoliteness, and I confess that

I did not expect to receivemorethanmydue.”“My object then,” replied

Darcy,“was toshowyou,byevery civility in my power,that Iwas not somean as toresentthepast;andIhopedtoobtain your forgiveness, tolessen your ill-opinion, byletting you see that yourreproofshadbeenattendedto.How soon any other wishesintroduced themselves, I can

hardly tell, but I believe inabouthalfanhourafterIhadseenyou.”He then told her of

Georgiana’s delight in heracquaintance, and of herdisappointment at its suddeninterruption; which naturallyleading to the cause of thatinterruption, she soon learntthat his resolution offollowing her fromDerbyshire in quest of her

sisterhadbeenformedbeforehequittedtheinn,andthathisgravity and thoughtfulnesstherehadarisenfromnootherstruggles than what such apurposemustcomprehend.Sheexpressedhergratitude

again,butitwastoopainfulasubjecttoeachtobedweltonfarther.Afterwalkingseveralmiles

inaleisurelymanner,andtoobusytoknowanythingabout

it, they found at last, onexamining theirwatches, thatitwastimetobeathome.“What could have become

of Mr. Bingley and Jane!”was a wonder whichintroduced the discussion oftheir affairs. Darcy wasdelighted with theirengagement; his friend hadgiven him the earliestinformationofit.“I must ask whether you

were surprised?” saidElizabeth.“Not at all. When I went

away,Ifeltthatitwouldsoonhappen.”“That is to say, you had

given your permission. Iguessed as much.” Andthough he exclaimed at theterm, she found that it hadbeenprettymuchthecase.“Ontheeveningbeforemy

goingtoLondon,”saidhe,“I

made a confession to him,which I believe I ought tohave made long ago. I toldhim of all that had occurredto make my formerinterference in his affairsabsurd and impertinent. Hissurprise was great. He hadnever had the slightestsuspicion. I told him,moreover, that I believedmyself mistaken insupposing,asIhaddone,thatyour sisterwas indifferent to

him; and as I could easilyperceive that his attachmenttoherwasunabated,Ifeltnodoubt of their happinesstogether.”Elizabeth could not help

smilingathiseasymannerofdirectinghisfriend.“Did you speak from your

own observation,” said she,“when you told him that mysister loved him, or merelyfrom my information last

spring?”“From the former. I had

narrowly observed her,during the twovisitswhich Ihad lately made here; and Iwas convinced of heraffection.”“And your assurance of it,

I suppose, carried immediateconvictiontohim.”“It did. Bingley is most

unaffectedly modest. Hisdiffidence had prevented his

depending on his ownjudgment in so anxious acase,buthisrelianceonminemadeeverythingeasy.Iwasobliged to confess one thing,which for a time, and notunjustly, offended him. Icould not allow myself toconceal that your sister hadbeen in town three monthslastwinter, that I had knownit,andpurposelykeptitfromhim. He was angry. But hisanger, Iampersuaded, lasted

nolongerthanheremainedinany doubt of your sister’ssentiments. He has heartilyforgivenmenow.”Elizabeth longed to

observe thatMr.Bingleyhadbeenamostdelightfulfriend;so easily guided that hisworthwasinvaluable;butshechecked herself. Sheremembered that he had yettolearntobelaughedat,andit was rather too early to

begin. In anticipating thehappiness of Bingley, whichof course was to be inferioronlytohisown,hecontinuedthe conversation till theyreachedthehouse.Inthehalltheyparted.

Chapter17

My dear Lizzy, where canyou have been walking to?”was a question whichElizabeth received from Janeas soon as she entered theroom,andfromalltheotherswhen they sat down to table.Shehadonly to say in reply,

thattheyhadwanderedabouttill she was beyond her ownknowledge. She coloured asshe spoke; but neither that,norany thingelse, awakenedasuspicionofthetruth.The evening passed

quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. Theacknowledged lovers talkedand laughed; theunacknowledged were silent.Darcy was not of a

disposition in whichhappinessoverflowsinmirth;and Elizabeth, agitated andconfused,ratherknewthatshewashappythanfeltherselftobe so; for, besides theimmediate embarrassment,there were other evils beforeher. She anticipated whatwould be felt in the familywhen her situation becameknown:shewasawarethatnoone liked him but Jane; andeven feared that with the

others it was adislike whichnot all his fortune andconsequencemightdoaway.At night she opened her

heart to Jane. Thoughsuspicion was very far fromMissBennet’sgeneralhabits,she was absolutelyincreduloushere.“You are joking, Lizzy.

This cannot be! Engaged toMr.Darcy!No,no,youshallnot deceiveme: I know it to

beimpossible.”“This is a wretched

beginning, indeed! My soledependencewasonyou;andIam sure nobody else willbelieve me, if you do not.Yet,indeed,Iaminearnest.Ispeak nothing but the truth.Hestill lovesme,andweareengaged.”Jane looked at her

doubtingly. “Oh, Lizzy, itcannotbe.Iknowhowmuch

youdislikehim.”“You know nothing of the

matter. That is all to beforgot. Perhaps I did notalways lovehim sowell as Idonow;but in such cases asthese, a good memory isunpardonable.Thisis thelasttimeIshallever remember itmyself.”MissBennetstilllookedall

amazement. Elizabeth again,and more seriously, assured

herofitstruth.“Good heaven! can it be

really so? Yet now I mustbelieveyou,”criedJane.“Mydear, dear Lizzy, I would, Ido congratulate you; but areyou certain? Forgive thequestion—are you quitecertainthatyoucanbehappywithhim?”“There canbenodoubtof

that. It is settled between usalready thatwe are to be the

happiest couple in theworld.But are you pleased, Jane?Shallyou like tohavesuchabrother?”“Very,verymuch.Nothing

could give either Bingley ormyself more delight. But weconsidered it,we talked of itas impossible. And do youreally love him quite wellenough? Oh, Lizzy, do anything rather than marrywithout affection. Are you

quite sure that you feelwhatyououghttodo?”“Oh yes! You will only

thinkIfeelmorethanIoughttodowhenItellyouall.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“Why,ImustconfessthatI

love him better than I doBingley.Iamafraidyouwillbeangry.”“Mydearestsister,nowbe

serious. I want to talk veryseriously.Letmeknowevery

thing that I am to knowwithout delay. Will you tellmehowlongyouhave lovedhim?”“It has been comingon so

gradually, that Ihardlyknowwhenitbegan;butIbelieveImust date it from my firstseeing his beautiful groundsatPemberley.”Another entreaty that she

would be serious, however,produced the desired effect;

andshesoonsatisfiedJanebyher solemn assurances ofattachment. When convincedon that article, Miss Bennethadnothingfurthertowish.“Now I am quite happy,”

said she, “for youwill be ashappyasmyself.Ialwayshada value for him.Were it fornothingbuthisloveofyou,Imust always have esteemedhim; but now, as Bingley’sfriend and your husband,

therecanbeonlyBingleyandyourself more dear to me.But, Lizzy, you have beenvery sly, very reserved withme.Howlittledidyoutellmeof what passed at PemberleyandLambton!IoweallthatIknow of it to another, not toyou.”Elizabeth told her the

motives of her secrecy. Shehad been unwilling tomention Bingley; and the

unsettled state of her ownfeelingshadmadeherequallyavoid thenameofhis friend:butnowshewouldnolongerconceal fromherhisshare inLydia’s marriage. All wasacknowledged, and half thenightspentinconversation.

“Good gracious!” cried Mrs.Bennet, as she stood at awindowthenextmorning,“ifthatdisagreeableMr.Darcyis

not coming here again withour dear Bingley! What canhemeanbybeingsotiresomeastobealwayscominghere?Ihadnonotionbuthewouldgo a shooting, or somethingor other, and not disturb uswithhiscompany.Whatshallwe do with him? Lizzy, youmust walk out with himagain, that hemay not be inBingley’sway.”Elizabethcouldhardlyhelp

laughing at so convenient aproposal; yet was reallyvexed thathermothershouldbealwaysgivinghimsuchanepithet.As soon as they entered,

Bingley looked at her soexpressively, and shookhands with such warmth, asleft no doubt of his goodinformation; and he soonafterwards said aloud, “Mrs.Bennet, have you no more

lanes hereabouts in whichLizzymayloseherwayagainto-day?”“I advise Mr. Darcy, and

Lizzy, and Kitty,” said Mrs.Bennet, “to walk to OakhamMount this morning. It is anice long walk, and Mr.Darcy has never seen theview.”“It may do very well for

the others,” replied Mr.Bingley;“butIamsureitwill

betoomuchforKitty.Won’tit,Kitty?”Kitty owned that she had

rather stay at home. Darcyprofessed a great curiosity toseetheviewfromtheMount,and Elizabeth silentlyconsented. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs.Bennet followed her, saying,—“I am quite sorry, Lizzy,

that you should be forced to

have that disagreeable manalltoyourself;butIhopeyouwill not mind it. It is all forJane’s sake, you know; andthere is no occasion fortalking to him except justnow and then, so do not putyourselftoinconvenience.”During their walk, it was

resolved that Mr. Bennet’sconsent should be asked inthe course of the evening:Elizabeth reserved to herself

the application for hermother’s. She could notdetermine how her motherwould take it; sometimesdoubting whether all hiswealth and grandeur wouldbe enough to overcome herabhorrence of the man: butwhether she were violentlyset against the match, orviolently delighted with it, itwas certain that her mannerwould be equally ill adaptedtodocredit tohersense;and

she could no more bear thatMr. Darcy should hear thefirst raptures of her joy, thanthe first vehemence of herdisapprobation.

Intheevening,soonafterMr.Bennet withdrew to thelibrary, she saw Mr. Darcyrisealsoandfollowhim,andheragitationonseeingitwasextreme.Shedidnotfearherfather’s opposition, but he

was going to be madeunhappy,andthatitshouldbethrough her means; that she,his favouritechild, shouldbedistressinghimbyherchoice,should be filling him withfearsandregretsindisposingof her, was a wretchedreflection, and she sat inmisery till Mr. Darcyappeared again, when,looking at him, she was alittlerelievedbyhissmile.Inafewminutesheapproached

the table where she wassittingwithKitty; and,whilepretending to admire herwork, said in awhisper, “Goto your father; he wants youinthelibrary.”Shewasgonedirectly.Her father was walking

abouttheroom,lookinggraveandanxious.“Lizzy,”saidhe,“whatareyoudoing?Areyouout of your senses to beacceptingthisman?Havenot

youalwayshatedhim?”Howearnestlydidshethen

wishthatherformeropinionshad been more reasonable,her expressions moremoderate! It would havespared her from explanationsand professionswhich itwasexceedinglyawkwardtogive;buttheywerenownecessary,and she assured him, withsome confusion, of herattachmenttoMr.Darcy.

“Or, in other words, youare determined to have him.Heisrich,tobesure,andyoumay have more fine clothesand fine carriages than Jane.But will they make youhappy?”“Have you any other

objection,” said Elizabeth,“than your belief of myindifference?”“None at all.We all know

himtobeaproud,unpleasant

sortofman;butthiswouldbenothing if you really likedhim.”“I do, I do like him,” she

replied,withtearsinhereyes;“Ilovehim.Indeedhehasnoimproper pride. He isperfectlyamiable.Youdonotknowwhat he really is; thenpray do not pain me byspeaking of him in suchterms.”“Lizzy,”saidher father,“I

have given him my consent.Heisthekindofman,indeed,towhom I shouldneverdarerefuse any thing, which hecondescended to ask. I nowgive it to you, if you areresolved on having him. Butlet me advise you to thinkbetter of it. I know yourdisposition, Lizzy. I knowthat you could be neitherhappynor respectable,unlessyou truly esteemed yourhusband; unless you looked

uptohimasasuperior.Yourlivelytalentswouldplaceyouin the greatest danger in anunequalmarriage.You couldscarcely escape discredit andmisery.My child, letme nothave the grief of seeing youunabletorespectyourpartnerin life. You know not whatyouareabout.”Elizabeth, still more

affected, was earnest andsolemn in her reply; and, at

length, by repeatedassurances that Mr. Darcywas really the object of herchoice, by explaining thegradual change which herestimation of him hadundergone, relating herabsolute certainty that hisaffectionwasnottheworkofa day, but had stood the testof many months’ suspense,and enumeratingwith energyallhisgoodqualities,shedidconquer her father’s

incredulity,andreconcilehimtothematch.“Well, my dear,” said he,

whensheceasedspeaking,“Ihave no more to say. If thisbe thecase,hedeservesyou.I could not have parted withyou, my Lizzy, to any onelessworthy.”Tocompletethefavourable

impression,shethentoldhimwhat Mr. Darcy hadvoluntarily done for Lydia.

He heard her withastonishment.“This is an evening of

wonders, indeed! And so,Darcy did every thing;madeup the match, gave themoney, paid the fellow’sdebts, and got him hiscommission! So much thebetter.Itwillsavemeaworldof troubleandeconomy.Hadit been your uncle’s doing, Imust and would have paid

him; but these violent youngloverscarryevery thing theirownway.Ishalloffer topayhim to-morrow; he will rantand storm about his love foryou,andtherewillbeanendofthematter.”He then recollected her

embarrassment a few daysbefore, on his reading Mr.Collins’s letter; and afterlaughing at her some time,allowed her at last to go,

saying, as she quitted theroom, “If any young mencomeforMaryorKitty,sendthem in, for I am quite atleisure.”Elizabeth’s mind was now

relieved from a very heavyweight; and, after half anhour’s quiet reflection in herown room, she was able tojoin the otherswith tolerablecomposure. Every thing wastoo recent for gaiety, but the

evening passed tranquillyaway; there was no longerany thing material to bedreaded, and the comfort ofease and familiarity wouldcomeintime.When hermother went up

toherdressing-roomatnight,she followed her, and madetheimportantcommunication.Its effect was mostextraordinary; for, on firsthearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat

quitestill,andunabletouttera syllable. Nor was it undermany,manyminutes,thatshecould comprehend what sheheard, though not in generalbackward to credit what wasfor the advantage of herfamily, or that came in theshape of a lover to any ofthem. She began at length torecover,tofidgetaboutinherchair,getup, sitdownagain,wonder,andblessherself.

“Goodgracious!Lordblessme!onlythink!dearme!Mr.Darcy! Who would havethought it? And is it reallytrue?Oh,mysweetestLizzy!how rich and how great youwill be! What pin-money,bnwhat jewels, what carriagesyou will have! Jane’s isnothingtoit—nothingatall.Iam so pleased—so happy.Such a charming man! sohandsome! so tall! Oh, my

dear Lizzy! pray apologiseformyhavingdislikedhimsomuch before.I hope he willoverlookit.Dear,dearLizzy.Ahouseintown!Everythingthat is charming! Threedaughters married! Tenthousand a year! Oh, Lord!what will become of me? Ishallgodistracted.”This was enough to prove

thatherapprobationneednotbe doubted; and Elizabeth,

rejoicing that such aneffusion was heard only byherself, soonwentaway.Butbefore she had been threeminutesinherownroom,hermotherfollowedher.“My dearest child,” she

cried,“Icanthinkofnothingelse! Ten thousand a year,andverylikelymore!’Tisasgoodasalord!Andaspeciallicense15—youmustandshallbe married by a special

license.But,mydearestlove,tell mewhat dishMr. Darcyis particularly fond of, that Imayhaveittomorrow.”This was a sad omen of

what her mother’s behaviourto the gentleman himselfmight be; and Elizabethfound, that, though in thecertain possession of hiswarmestaffection,andsecureof her relations’ consent,there was still something to

be wished for. But themorrow passed off muchbetter than she expected; forMrs. Bennet luckily stood insuchaweofherintendedson-in-law, that she ventured nottospeaktohim,unlessitwasinherpowertoofferhimanyattention, or mark herdeferenceforhisopinion.Elizabeth had the

satisfaction of seeing herfather taking pains to get

acquaintedwithhim;andMr.Bennet soon assured her thathe was rising every hour inhisesteem.“I admire all my three

sons-in-law highly,” said he.“Wickham, perhaps, is myfavourite; but I think I shalllike your husband quite aswellasJane’s.”

Chapter18

Elizabeth’sspiritssoonrisingto playfulness again, shewantedMr.Darcy toaccountfor his having ever fallen inlove with her. “How couldyou begin?” said she. “I cancomprehend your going oncharmingly, when you had

once made a beginning; butwhatcouldsetyouoff in thefirstplace?”“I cannot fix on the hour,

orthespot,orthelook,orthewords, which laid thefoundation.Itistoolongago.I was in the middle before IknewthatIhadbegun.”“My beauty you had early

withstood, and as for mymanners—my behaviour toyou was at least always

borderingon theuncivil, andInever spoke toyouwithoutrather wishing to give youpain than not. Now besincere; did you admire meformyimpertinence?”“For the liveliness of your

mindIdid.”“You may as well call it

impertinence at once. It wasvery little less. The fact is,thatyouweresickofcivility,of deference, of officious

attention.Youweredisgustedwith the women who werealwaysspeaking,andlooking,and thinking for yourapprobation alone. I rousedand interestedyou, because Iwassounlike them.Hadyounot been really amiable youwould have hated me for it:but in spite of the pains youtook to disguise yourself,your feelings were alwaysnoble and just; and in yourheartyouthoroughlydespised

the persons who soassiduously courted you.There—I have saved you thetrouble of accounting for it;and really, all thingsconsidered,Ibegintothinkitperfectly reasonable. To besureyouknownoactualgoodofme—butnobody thinksofthatwhentheyfallinlove.”“Wastherenogoodinyour

affectionate behaviour toJane, while she was ill at

Netherfield?”“Dearest Jane! who could

have done less for her? Butmake a virtue of it by allmeans.Mygoodqualitiesareunder your protection, andyouaretoexaggeratethemasmuch as possible; and, inreturn, it belongs to me tofindoccasionsforteasingandquarrellingwith you as oftenasmay be; and I shall begindirectly, by asking you what

made you so unwilling tocome to the point at last.Whatmadeyousoshyofme,when you first called, andafterwards dined here?Why,especially, when you calleddidyoulookasifyoudidnotcareaboutme?”“Because you were grave

and silent, and gave me noencouragement.”“ButIwasembarrassed.”“AndsowasI.”

“Youmighthave talked tome more when you came todinner.”“A man who had felt less

might.”“How unlucky that you

should have a reasonableanswer to give, and that Ishouldbesoreasonableas toadmit it! But I wonder howlongyouwouldhavegoneon,if you had been left toyourself. Iwonderwhen you

would have spoken, if I hadnotaskedyou!Myresolutionof thanking you for yourkindness to Lydia hadcertainly great effect. Toomuch I am afraid; for whatbecomes of themoral, if ourcomfort springs from abreachofpromise,forIoughtnot to have mentioned thesubject?Thiswillneverdo.”“You need not distress

yourself. The moral will be

perfectly fair. LadyCatherine’s unjustifiableendeavours to separate uswere the means of removingall my doubts. I am notindebted for my presenthappiness to your eagerdesire of expressing yourgratitude. I was not in ahumour to wait for anopening of yours. My aunt’sintelligence had given mehope,andIwasdeterminedatoncetoknoweverything.”

“Lady Catherine has beenofinfiniteuse,whichoughttomakeherhappy,forshelovestobeofuse.Buttellme,whatdid you come down toNetherfield for? Was itmerely to ride to Longbournand be embarrassed? or hadyou intended any moreseriousconsequences?”“My real purpose was to

see you, and to judge, if Icould, whether I might ever

hope to make you love me.My avowed one, or what Iavowedtomyself,wastoseewhether your sister was stillpartial toBingley, and if shewere, tomake theconfessionto him which I have sincemade.”“Shall you ever have

courage toannounce toLadyCatherine what is to befallher?”“I ammore likely to want

time than courage,Elizabeth.Butitoughttobedone;andifyou will give me a sheet ofpaper it shall be donedirectly.”“AndifIhadnotaletterto

write myself, I might sit byyou,andadmiretheevennessof your writing, as anotheryoung lady once did. But Ihave an aunt, too, whomustnotbelongerneglected.”From an unwillingness to

confess how much herintimacywithMr.Darcyhadbeen over-rated, Elizabethhad never yet answeredMrs.Gardiner’s long letter; butnow, having that tocommunicatewhichsheknewwouldbemostwelcome, shewas almost ashamed to findthat her uncle and aunt hadalready lost three days ofhappiness, and immediatelywroteasfollows:—

“Iwouldhavethankedyoubefore, my dear aunt, as Iought to have done, for yourlong, kind, satisfactory detailof particulars; but, to say thetruth,Iwastoocrosstowrite.You supposed more thanreally existed. But nowsuppose as much as youchoose; give a loose to yourfancy, indulge yourimagination ineverypossibleflight which the subject willafford,andunlessyoubelieve

me actually married, youcannot greatly err. Youmustwrite again very soon, andpraise him a great dealmorethan you did in your last. Ithank you again and again,for not going to the Lakes.HowcouldIbesosillyas towish it? Your idea of theponies is delightful.We willgoroundtheparkeveryday.Iam the happiest creature inthe world. Perhaps otherpeople have said so before,

butnoonewithsuchjustice.Iam happier even than Jane;she only smiles, I laugh.Mr.Darcy sends you all the lovein the world that can bespared fromme. You are allto come to Pemberley atChristmas.Yours,”&c.Mr.Darcy’s letter toLady

Catherine was in a differentstyle; and still different fromeither was what Mr. Bennetsent toMr.Collins, in return

forhislast.“DEARSIR,I must trouble you

once more forcongratulations.Elizabeth will soon bethe wife of Mr. Darcy.Console Lady Catherineaswell asyoucan.But,if I were you, I wouldstandbythenephew.Hehasmoretogive.YOURS SINCERELY,”

&C.Miss Bingley’s

congratulationstoherbrotheron his approaching marriagewereall thatwasaffectionateandinsincere.Shewroteevento Jane on the occasion, toexpress her delight, andrepeat all her formerprofessions of regard. Janewasnotdeceived,butshewasaffected; and though feelingno reliance on her, could not

help writing her a muchkinderanswer than sheknewwasdeserved.The joywhichMissDarcy

expressed on receivingsimilar information was assincere as her brother’s insending it. Four sides ofpaper were insufficient tocontainallherdelight,andallher earnest desire of beinglovedbyhersister.Before any answer could

arrive from Mr. Collins, orany congratulations toElizabeth from his wife, theLongbourn family heard thatthe Collinses were comethemselves to Lucas Lodge.The reason of this suddenremoval was soon evident.Lady Catherine had beenrendered so exceedinglyangry by the contents of hernephew’s letter, thatCharlotte, really rejoicing inthematch,wasanxioustoget

awaytillthestormwasblownover. At such amoment, thearrival of her friend was asincerepleasure toElizabeth,though in the course of theirmeetingsshemustsometimesthink the pleasure dearlybought, when she saw Mr.Darcy exposed to all theparading and obsequiouscivility of her husband. Hebore it, however, withadmirablecalmness.Hecouldeven listen to Sir William

Lucas, when hecomplimented him oncarrying away the brightestjewel of the country, andexpressed his hopes of theirall meeting frequently at St.James’s, with very decentcomposure. If he did shrughis shoulders, it was not tillSirWilliamwasoutofsight.Mrs. Philips’s vulgarity

was another, and, perhaps, agreater tax on his

forbearance;andthoughMrs.Philips, as well as her sister,stoodintoomuchaweofhimto speak with the familiaritywhich Bingley’s goodhumour encouraged, yet,whenever she did speak, shemust be vulgar.Norwas herrespect for him, though itmade her more quiet, at alllikely to make her moreelegant. Elizabeth did all shecould to shield him from thefrequent notice of either, and

waseveranxioustokeephimtoherself,andtothoseofherfamily with whom he mightconverse withoutmortification; and though theuncomfortable feelingsarisingfromallthistookfromtheseasonofcourtshipmuchofitspleasure,itaddedtothehope of the future; and shelooked forward with delightto the timewhen theyshouldbe removed from society solittlepleasing to either, to all

the comfort and elegance oftheir family party atPemberley.

Chapter19

Happy for all her maternalfeelingswasthedayonwhichMrs. Bennet got rid of hertwo most deservingdaughters. With whatdelightedpridesheafterwardsvisited Mrs. Bingley, andtalkedofMrs.Darcy,maybe

guessed. I wish I could say,for the sake of her family,that the accomplishment ofher earnest desire in theestablishment of so many ofher children produced sohappy an effect as to makeherasensible,amiable,well-informedwoman for the restofherlife;though,perhaps,itwas lucky for her husband,who might not have relisheddomestic felicity in sounusual a form, that she still

wasoccasionallynervousandinvariablysilly.Mr. Bennet missed his

seconddaughterexceedingly;hisaffectionforherdrewhimoftener from home than anything else could do. Hedelighted in going toPemberley, especially whenhewasleastexpected.Mr. Bingley and Jane

remained at Netherfield onlya twelvemonth. So near a

vicinity to her mother andMeryton relations was notdesirable even to his easytemper, or her affectionateheart.Thedarlingwishofhissisters was then gratified: hebought an estate in aneighbouring county toDerbyshire; and Jane andElizabeth,inadditiontoeveryother source of happiness,were within thirty miles ofeachother.

Kitty, to her verymaterialadvantage, spent the chief ofher time with her two eldersisters. In society so superiorto what she had generallyknown,herimprovementwasgreat. She was not of soungovernable a temper asLydia;and,removedfromtheinfluenceofLydia’sexample,she became, by properattention and management,less irritable, less ignorant,and less insipid. From the

further disadvantage ofLydia’s society she was ofcourse carefully kept; andthough Mrs. Wickhamfrequently invited her tocomeandstaywithher,withthe promise of balls andyoungmen, her fatherwouldneverconsenttohergoing.Mary was the only

daughter who remained athome; and she wasnecessarily drawn from the

pursuit of accomplishmentsbyMrs.Bennet’sbeingquiteunabletositalone.Marywasobligedtomixmorewiththeworld, but she could stillmoralise over everymorningvisit; and as she was nolonger mortified bycomparisons between hersisters’beautyandherown,itwas suspected by her fatherthat she submitted to thechange without muchreluctance.

As for Wickham andLydia, their characterssuffered no revolution fromthemarriageofhersisters.Hebore with philosophy theconviction that Elizabethmustnowbecomeacquaintedwith whatever of hisingratitudeandfalsehoodhadbefore been unknown to her;and, in spite of every thing,wasnotwhollywithouthopethat Darcy might yet beprevailed on to make his

fortune. The congratulatoryletter which Elizabethreceived from Lydia on hermarriage explained to herthat, by his wife at least, ifnot by himself, such a hopewascherished.Theletterwastothiseffect:—

“MYDEARLIZZY,Iwishyoujoy.Ifyou

love Mr. Darcy half sowell as I do my dearWickham, you must be

very happy. It is a greatcomfort to have you sorich;andwhenyouhavenothing else to do, Ihope you will think ofus. I am sure Wickhamwould like a place atcourt very much; and Ido not think we shallhave quite moneyenough to live uponwithout some help.Anyplacewoulddoofaboutthree or four hundred a

year; but, however, donot speak to Mr. Darcyabout it, if you hadrathernot.YOURS,”&C.

As it happened thatElizabeth had much rathernot, she endeavoured in heranswertoputanendtoeveryentreaty and expectation ofthe kind. Such relief,however, as it was in herpower to afford, by the

practice of what might becalled economy in her ownprivate expenses, shefrequently sent them. It hadalways been evident to herthatsuchanincomeastheirs,under the direction of twopersons so extravagant intheir wants, and heedless ofthe future, must be veryinsufficient to their support;and whenever they changedtheir quarters, either Jane orherself were sure of being

applied to for some littleassistance towardsdischarging their bills. Theirmanner of living, evenwhenthe restoration of peace16dismissed them to a home,wasunsettled in theextreme.They were always movingfrom place to place in questof a cheap situation, andalways spending more thanthey ought. His affection forher soon sunk into

indifference: hers lasted alittle longer; and, in spite ofher youth and her manners,she retained all the claims toreputationwhichhermarriagehadgivenher.ThoughDarcycouldnever

receive him at Pemberley,yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, heassisted him further in hisprofession. Lydia wasoccasionally a visitor there,when her husband was gone

toenjoyhimselfinLondonorBath; and with the Bingleysthey both of them frequentlystaid so long, that evenBingley’s good humour wasovercome, and he proceededso far as to talk of givingthemahinttobegone.Miss Bingley was very

deeply mortified by Darcy’smarriage; but as she thoughtitadvisabletoretaintherightof visiting at Pemberley, she

droptallher resentment;wasfonder than ever ofGeorgiana, almost asattentive to Darcy asheretofore,andpaidoffeveryarrearofcivilitytoElizabeth.Pemberley was now

Georgiana’s home; and theattachment of the sisterswasexactly what Darcy hadhopedtosee.Theywereableto love each other, even aswell as they intended.

Georgiana had the highestopinion in the world ofElizabeth; though at first sheoften listened with anastonishment bordering onalarm at her lively, sportivemanner of talking to herbrother.He,who had alwaysinspired in herself a respectwhich almost overcame heraffection, she now saw theobjectofopenpleasantry.Hermind received knowledgewhichhadneverbeforefallen

in her way. By Elizabeth’sinstructions she began tocomprehend that a womanmay take liberties with herhusband,whichabrotherwillnot always allow in a sistermore than ten years youngerthanhimself.Lady Catherine was

extremely indignant on themarriage of her nephew; andas she gave way to all thegenuine frankness of her

character, in her reply to theletter which announced itsarrangement, she sent himlanguage so very abusive,especially of Elizabeth, thatfor some time all intercoursewas at an end.But at length,byElizabeth’spersuasion,hewasprevailedon tooverlookthe offence, and seek areconciliation; and, after alittlefurtherresistanceonthepart of his aunt, herresentment gave way, either

to her affection for him, orher curiosity to see how hiswife conducted herself; andshe condescended to wait onthematPemberley,inspiteofthat pollution which itswoods had received, notmerely from the presence ofsuchamistress,butthevisitsof her uncle and aunt fromthecity.With the Gardiners, they

were always on the most

intimateterms.Darcy,aswellas Elizabeth, really lovedthem; and they were bothever sensible of the warmestgratitude towards thepersonswho, by bringing her intoDerbyshire, had been themeansofunitingthem.

THEEND.

Endnotes

1(p.6) fourorfivethousanda year: See the Introductionon Austen’s attention tomoneyandclass.2 (p. 8) “When is your nextball to be, Lizzy?”: In thestandard edition, R. W.

Chapman gives this sentenceto Mr. Bennet, arguing thatKittywouldalreadyknowthedate of her sister’s next balland citing typographicalevidence from the firsteditionof1813tosupporthispoint (The Novels of JaneAusten; see “For FurtherReading”). A reader might,however, expect that Kittywould be more interested inopening a discussion of theball than would Mr. Bennet.

This minor question ofattribution points to acharacteristic problem thatAustennotedinalettertohersister, Cassandra, when thefirst edition of Pride andPrejudice was published.EventhoughAustenassumedthatherclever readerswouldbe undaunted by a fewobscure lines, she admittedthat “a ‘said he,’ or a ‘saidshe,’would sometimesmakethe dialogue more

immediately clear” (JaneAusten: Selected Letters1796-1817, edited by R. W.Chapman, Oxford: OxfordUniversity Press, 1985, p.132).3 (p. 19) knighthood by anaddresstothekingduringhismayoralty: Mr. WilliamLucas’scivicofficeofmayorhas allowed him to expresshis constituents’ appreciationand concerns in a formal

addresstoKingGeorgeIII.Inhonorof thisoccasionandofMr. Lucas’s civic andeconomic services to hiscountry, the king hasbestowed upon Mr. Lucas aknighthood, which allowshim to adopt the title “Sir”during his lifetime. Hereceives this honor during aceremony at St. James’sPalace inLondon,oneof theKing’s formal residences.Mrs. Lucas now becomes

Lady Lucas, but the Lucaschildren will not inherit thetitle. A member of Austen’ssociety would recognize thatLadyLucasdoesnotholdthemore prestigious inheritedrank of Mr. Darcy’s aunt,Lady Catherine, because thelatter may be called by herfirstname.4 (p. 29) entailed . . . on adistant relation: Theinheritance of the Bennet

property is limited to maleheirs. Later in the novel, welearn thatMr.Bennet regretsnot having saved part of hisdisposable income for hiswife and daughters.We alsolearn that the limitedresources the Bennet girlswill inherit will come fromMrs. Bennet’s marriageportion, which has beeninvested at a low, but stable,rate of interest. In order tolive comfortably, the girls

will need to marry well.Among the gentry andaristocracy,theinheritanceofan estate (which, in the caseof the Bennets, includes thehouse, grounds, and income-generating farm) wastypicallygovernedbytheruleof primogenitur entail,throughwhich the eldest sonbecomes the sole heir to thelandandprimaryheirtomostof the financial resources.Theintentionwastopreserve

the prestige of the family byhaving the wealthconcentrated in the hands ofoneman.A smaller financialsettlementwastypicallymadeforyoungersons,whowouldneed to be educated to aprofession,andfordaughters,who would require a dowryformarriage.Itwas sometimes thecase,

however, that the “entail” ofan estate would be legallyrestricted in some way. A

grandfather might entail hisestate to his grandson if hefeared his son wouldsquander the wealth at thegamblingtable.Inthecaseofthe Bennets, the entail is inkeeping with patriarchaltradition:Amale heir shouldinherit the estate. Womencould, however, be primaryheirs; the wealthy widowLadyCatherine remarks laterin the novel, “I see nooccasion for entailing estates

from the female line.” Mrs.Bennet will repeatedly decrythe unfairness of the entailthat will disinherit herdaughters, and she refuses tocredititslegality.5(p.45)thefoodoflove:AnallusiontotheopeninglineofShakespeare’sTwelfth Night:“Ifmusicbethefoodoflove,play on.” Although Austenonly occasionally makesdirect references to works of

literature, and although sheoncepointedtoherignorancein a diplomatic effort todecline a suggestion that shewriteanovelabouta learnedclergyman,hernovelsshowasolid familiarity with thetradition of English lettersand the Bible. In several ofher works, she indirectlyalludes to Shakespeare’splays,which,asthecharacterHenry Crawford observes inMansfield Park, are “part of

an Englishman’sconstitution.”6 (p. 65) make us theatonementhe thinksourdue:To a modern reader, theimplicationthatthis“cousin,”earlierdescribedasa“distantrelation,” would wish tomarry one of the Bennetsisters might seemincestuous. Certainly LadyCatherine’s claim later in thenovelthatsheintendsforMr.

Darcy tomarryherdaughter,whoishisfirstcousin,wouldseem odd today. In Austen’stime, however, it was notunusual for cousins tomarryin order to consolidate thefamily’swealthandestate.InAusten’sMansfieldPark, theheroine, Fanny Price, wedshercousin,EdmundBertram.7 (p. 67) condescension:Mr.Collins intends this term inapositivelight,andsuchusage

is not entirely archaic today(the reader will encounterseveraltermsinthenovelthatare no longer familiar orwhose connotations havechanged entirely). To amodern reader, the idea ofany person condescending toanother is offensive, nomatter the difference instation. To a reader ofAusten’s day, Mr. Collins’ssentimentwouldmerelyseemridiculous. Austen’s purpose

inplacing“condescension”inthemouth of the foolishMr.Collins isnot toquestion thelackofequalitybetweenhimand Lady Catherine, but tobegin to expose the flaws ofbothcharacters.8 (p. 154) the Lakes: TheLake District, in the farnorthwest of England,remains one of the mostpicturesque areas of GreatBritain. It is associated with

theRomanticschoolofpoets,who wrote tenderly of theregion. William Wordsworthlived at Dove Cottage nearLakeGrasmereinthisdistrictfrom 1799 to 1808 and wasvisited there by SamuelTaylor Coleridge, WalterScott, and Thomas DeQuincey, among others.Although Austen was acontemporary of theRomantic writers, she isgenerally not considered to

have been a part of thatschool, although inclusion asaRomanticdependspartlyonone’s definition of the term.Elizabeth’s gleeful responseto her aunt’s proposal—“What are men to rocksand mountains?”—is aromantic sentiment, to besure, but its irony marksAusten’s distance from suchemotionaleffusions.9(p.205)Till thismoment, I

neverknewmyself:Oneoftheclimactic moments of thenovel,Elizabeth’sdeclarationof sudden self-knowledge isin the tradition of the“recognition” scene (oranagnorisis ) of classicaltragedy and Shakespeare.Elizabeth’s initial hubris andher error in judgment—herpride and prejudice—leadher, like a tragic hero, tomisread the situation at handand, after being enlightened,

to experience an acute senseof shame. Unlike the tragichero, Elizabeth learns of hermistake and recognizes herown shortcomings in time tomakeamends.10 (p. 234) Matlock,Chatsworth,Dovedale,orthePeak: Mrs. Gardiner hasdecided to forego thesepicturesque touristdestinations found chiefly inDerbyshire, the north

Midlands county where Mr.Darcy’s Pemberley issituated. The Gardiners havealso decided to shorten thetrip.To continue to theLakeDistrict would have takenthemmuchfarthernorththanthe revised plan, whichalready takes them asignificantdistancenorthandwest of London, if weconsider that they traveled ina horse-drawn coach onearly-nineteenth-century

roads.AlthoughAusten doesmention Chatsworth in thispassage, some scholars haveargued that this magnificentestate also provided themodel for the fictionalPemberley. Others havesuggested that Mr. Darcy,wealthy as he is, could nothave supported a manorhouseandgroundsthisgrand.Today the 35,000-acre estateof Chatsworth, seat of theeleventh Duke and Duchess

of Devonshire (whoseancestors acquired most ofthe land in 1549), remains apopulartouristdestination.11 (p. 239) On applying tosee the place: Domestictourism,whichincludedvisitsto stately country manorhouses listed in guide-booksas well as the picturesquecountryside, had come intovogue in England during theeighteenthcentury.A touring

party of the gentry classmight be admitted to one ofEngland’s great homes atcertainstipulatedtimes,oftenfor a fee. The craze forvisitinggreatprivatelyownedestates coincided with theincreasing tendency of theupper gentry and aristocracyto “enclose” for exclusive,private use what hadpreviously been commonlands, on which the lowerclasseshadbeenabletofarm

andhuntforfood.12 (p. 265) gone off toScotland: After LordHardwicke’sMarriageActof1753, which sought to giveconsistency to the lawsgoverning marriage and toprotect young heiresses andheirsagainstpredatorysuitorsand upstart brides, couplesunder the age of twenty-onewishingtomarryquicklyandwithout the consent of their

parents had to elope toScotland,wheretheMarriageAct did not apply. Lydiabelieves, we soon hear, thatshe andWickham will makethe long journey to GretnaGreen, which is the closestScottishvillagetotheEnglishborder and where speedyweddings had becomesomethingofanindustry.13(p.286) thedeathofyourdaughter would have been a

blessing: Mr. Collins’spompous moralizingcomplements Mary Bennet’spedantic observation severalpages earlier that “loss ofvirtue in a female isirretrievable, that one falsestep involves her in endlessruin.” Relationships out ofwedlockwere,indeed,fodderfor scandal, and a youngwomanofgood familycouldexpect serious consequencestoensuefromanextramarital

affair, but Austen is alsodrawing on a formidableliterary tradition ofmelodramaticaccountsof the“fallen” or “ruined” heroine,whose fate was usuallydestitution,illness,anddeath.14 (p. 298) Five daughterssuccessively entered theworld: One might wonderwhy theBennets persisted inhaving a large family whentheir financial resources

seemed limited and when itwas possible to limit thenumber of children (through,for example, breast-feeding,which had become popularamong themiddle and upperclasses under the reign ofQueen Charlotte and whichhelps to inhibit the rate ofconception). This passagesuggests that part of themotivationwastohaveasonwho would be able topreserve the estate for the

immediate family. Mr.Collins’s legal claim wouldthennolongerbevalid.Austenherselfcamefroma

family of eight children, thesize of which created somefinancial difficulties for herfather, an Anglican minister.TwoofAusten’ssixbrotherswould each have elevenchildren, and a third wouldhave ten. Historians haveargued that the penchant forlarge families during this era

reflects national propagandain favor of having manychildren; more babies meantmore bodies for the buildingof empire and the ongoingwarswithFrance.15 (p. 366) special license:Upper-class couples couldbemarriedbyspecialpermissionof an Anglican bishop andwithout the otherwiserequired banns, or publicproclamation for three

Sundaysrunning,oftheintenttomarry.Mrs.Bennetregardstheprocurementofabishop’slicense as a status symbol.However, in an earlierpassage,LydiaandWickham,who do not, in fact, elope toScotland, are “marriedprivately in town,” whichmeans that interested partieswith elite connections inLondonhaveprocuredthemaspecial license to avoid thescandal of a public

announcement of thisundesirablemarriage.16(p.374) therestorationofpeace:Possiblyareferencetothe brief peace betweenEngland and Francefollowing the signing of theTreaty of Amiens (1802),during which a number ofBritish writers flocked toParis. The Napoleonic Warswould soon follow. Somescholars believe that this

reference suggests thatPrideand Prejudice, which waspublishedin1813,maybeseta generation earlier. Austenhad indeedwritten a draft ofthenovelinthelate1790sbutis believed to havesubstantially revised it in1811and1812. It ispossiblethat the reference applies tosome other, lessconsequential“peace”ortoahope for a future end to thewars, which occurred in

1815.

InspiredbyPrideandPrejudice

FILMADAPTATIONS

Director Robert Z. Leonardreleased the first filmadaptation of Pride and

Prejudicein1940,withGreerGarson as Elizabeth andLaurence Olivier as Mr.Darcy. Eminent novelist andsatirist Aldous Huxley wasthe screenwriter for thiscinematic comedy ofmanners, which gentlysatirizes the practice ofmarrying for position andwealth. An eagerlyanticipated feature of Austenadaptationsisthedepictionofthe period, and although

Leonard’s film does notstrictly adhere to the novel(forexample,ittakesplacein1835), the costumes and setdesigns earned an AcademyAwardforBestArtDirectioninablack-and-whitefilm.BritishnovelistandAusten

critic FayWeldon was morefaithfultoAusten’stextwhenshe wrote the screenplay forthe 1979 BBC miniseriesPrideandPrejudice.Directed

by Cyril Coke and filmed inthe English countryside, thisversion features ElizabethGarvie and David Rintoul.Coke devotes considerableenergy in this nearly four-hour production to capturingthe manners, costumes, andstylesofRegencyEngland.Director Simon Langton’s

1995miniseriesforBBCandA&E television has eclipsedthe 1979 version inpopularity. Andrew Davies

adapted the novel for thisfour-and-a-half-hourproduction. Much of thesubtlety of Austen’snarrative,lostinthestripped-down 1940 film, emerges inthisversion, themostfaithfultodate.JenniferEhlestarsasElizabeth, and Colin Firthplays Darcy; the two areparticularly expressive,wordlessly conveyingcomplex, shifting emotionsandcapableofdarkwit.This

version spendsmore time onthe parallel romance of Janeand Bingley, played bySusannahHarker andCrispinBonham-Carter.Theperiodiscaptured magnificently, withauthentic dances, music,costumes, manners, andscenery. Filmed on locationintheDerbyshirecountrysideand featuring a mansionreliably resemblingPemberley, this three-partadaptation delivers a near-

perfect picture of JaneAusten’sworldandsociety.

LITERATURERudyardKipling’sshortstory“The Janeites,” published inits final form in 1926,describes the experiences ofthe shell-shocked veteranHumberstall, who recalls hisinduction into a secret JaneAusten society while in thetrenches in France during

World War I. The world ofcard games and dancesdescribed by Austenrepresents to these soldiers—whoarescarcelyawareofthetone or even the plot of thenovels—the imperiledEnglishcivilizationforwhichtheyarefighting.Real-life Janeites have

populatedtheworldofletterssince the publication ofAusten’snovels.Thebrilliant

novelist Virginia Woolf(1882-1941) is preeminentamong later writers whoexplored nuances ofpersonalityastheircharactersplayed out their roles insociety. At the end of thetwentieth century, severalnovels imitating Austen’swere published, thoughreviewers and criticsgenerally dismiss thesebooks, which are written tosatisfy the appetite among

Austen’s more ardentworshipers for anythingrelating to her and herwork.Among these fictions aresequels to Pride andPrejudice by Emma Tennant(Pemberley)andJuliaBarrett(Presumption: AnEntertainment), bothpublishedin1993.Bridget Jones’s Diary, a

1996 novel by HelenFielding, describes a year inthe life of a modern-day

Elizabeth Bennet. LikeAusten’s heroine, BridgetJones falls first for acharming scoundrel but endsup with a man she hadinitiallymisjudged,who, likeAusten’s hero, isspectacularlywealthy,ownsasplendidmanorhouse, and isnamed Darcy. At one point,Bridget watches theBBC/A&E version of Prideand Prejudice and comparesher Mr. Darcy to Austen’s.

She later tells her boss, atelevision producer, that theyshould interview the stars,JenniferEhleandColinFirth,about their off-screenromance.(ThefilmversionofBridget Jones’s Diary,directed by Sharon Maguire,also featuresColinFirth, thistime in the role of Bridget’sDarcy.) In Fielding’snovelistic sequel, BridgetJones: The Edge of Reason(2000), Bridget does the

interview with Firth in Italyand cannot suppress the urgetoaskhimabouthissexyroleintheTVminiseries.

Comments&Questions

In this section, we aim toprovide the reader with anarray of perspectives on thetext,aswellasquestionsthatchallenge those perspectives.The commentary has beenculled from sources as

diverse as reviewscontemporaneous with thework, letters written by theauthor, literary criticism oflater generations, andappreciations writtenthroughouthistory.Followingthe commentary, a series ofquestions seeks to filter JaneAusten’s Pride and Prejudicethroughavarietyofpointsofviewandbringaboutaricherunderstanding of thisenduringwork

COMMENTS

WALTERALLENMorecanbelearntfromMissAustenaboutthenatureofthenovel than from almost anyotherwriter.—from The English Novel(1954)

JANEAUSTENWhat should I do with your

strong, manly, spiritedsketches, full of variety andglow? How could I possiblyjoin them on to the little bit(twoincheswide)ofivoryonwhich I work with so fine abrush,asproduceslittleeffectaftermuchlabour?—fromalettertohernephewJames Edward Austen(December16,1816)

E.M.FORSTER

Scott misunderstood it whenhe congratulated her forpaintingonasquareofivory.Sheisaminiaturist,butnevertwo-dimensional. All hercharacters are round, orcapableofrotundity.—fromAspects of the Novel(1927)

SIRWALTERSCOTT

Also read again, and for the

third time at least, MissAusten’s very finely writtennovelofPrideandPrejudice.That young lady had a talentfor describing theinvolvementandfeelingsandcharacters of ordinary lifewhich is to me the mostwonderful I ever met with.The big Bow-wow strain Ican do myself like any nowgoing,buttheexquisitetouchwhich renders ordinarycommonplace things and

characters interesting fromthe truth of the descriptionandthesentimentisdeniedtome.Whatapitysuchagiftedcreaturediedsoearly!—from his journal (March14,1826)

ANTHONYTROLLOPE

Miss Austen was surely agreat novelist.What she did,she did perfectly. Her work,

as far as it goes, is faultness.She wrote of the times inwhich she lived, of the classof people with which sheassociated, and in thelanguagewhichwas usual toher as an educated lady. Ofromance,—whatwegenerallymean when we speak ofromance—she had no tinge.Heroes and heroines withwonderful adventures thereare none in her novels. Ofgreat criminals and hidden

crimes she tells us nothing.But she places us in a circleof gentlemen and ladies, andcharms us while she tells uswithanunconsciousaccuracyhow men should act towomen, and women act tomen. It isnot thatherpeopleare all good;—and, certainly,they are not all wise. Thefaults of some are the anvilsonwhichthevirtuesofothersare hammered till they arebrightassteel.Inthecomedy

of folly I know no novelistwho has beaten her. Theletters of Mr. Collins, aclergyman in Pride andPrejudice, would movelaughter in a low-churcharchbishop.—fromalecture(1870)

W.SOMERSETMAUGHAM

Nothing very much happensin her books, and yet, when

you come to the bottomof apage, you eagerly turn it tolearn what will happen next.Nothingverymuchdoes andagain you eagerly turn thepage. The novelist who hasthepower toachieve thishasthe most precious gift anovelistcanpossess.—fromTenNovelsandTheirAuthors(1955)

CHARLOTTE

BRONTËI had not seen Pride andPrejudice till I had read thatsentenceofyours, and then Igot thebook.AndwhatdidIfind? An accuratedaguerreotyped portrait of acommonplace face; acarefully fenced, highlycultivated garden, with neatborders and delicate flowers;but no glance of a brightvivid physiognomy, no open

country,nofreshair,nobluehill, nobonnybeck. I shouldhardly like to live with herladiesandgentlemen,intheirelegant but confined houses.These observations willprobably irritate you, but Ishallruntherisk.—from a letter to GeorgeLewes(January12,1848)

MARKTWAINJaneAusten’sbooks, too,are

absent from this library. Justthat one omission alonewould make a fairly goodlibrary out of a library thathadn’tabookinit.—from Following theEquator(1897)

RALPHWALDOEMERSON

I am at a loss to understandwhy people hold MissAusten’s novels at so high a

rate,whichseemtomevulgarin tone, sterile in artisticinvention,imprisonedintheirwretched conventions ofEnglish society, withoutgenius, wit, or knowledge oftheworld. Never was life sopinched and narrow. . . .Suicideismorerespectable.—fromhisJournal(1861)

QUESTIONS1. Much is said

concerning the subtletyand refinement ofAusten’s writing. Whattechniques does sheemploy to achieve thisdelicacy andminuteness? Is“mininaturism” anaccurate description ofherstyle?2. Would Austen’smeticulous style be aseffective if she were towriteinformsotherthan

the novel—for example,the short story? Are herabilities—for example,her gift for dialog—convertible toplaywriting?3.Wouldyou likePrideand Prejudice more ifAusten’s satire of thesocial milieu, of classdistinctions, of hercharacters’ pride andprejudice, was moresavage?

4. Is Emerson’scomplaint that “neverwas life so pinched andnarrow”justified?5.What is the sourceofthis novel’s immenseandenduringpopularity?

ForFurtherReading

BIOGRAPHIESCecil,LordDavid.APortraitof Jane Austen. London:Constable,1978.Fergus, Jan. Jane Austen: ALiterary Life. New York: St.Martin’sPress,1991.

Honan, Park. Jane Austen:Her Life. New York: St.Martin’sPress,1987.Le Faye, Deirdre, ed. JaneAusten’s Letters. Thirdedition. Oxford: OxfordUniversityPress,1995.Tomalin,Claire.JaneAusten:ALife.NewYork:AlfredA.Knopf,1997.

CRITICALSTUDIES

Brown, Julia Prewitt. JaneAusten’s Novels: SocialChange and Literary Form.Cambridge, MA: HarvardUniversityPress,1979.Butler,Marilyn. Jane AustenandtheWarofIdeas.Oxford:ClarendonPress,1975.Copeland,Edward,andJulietMcMaster, eds. TheCambridge Companion toJane Austen. Cambridge andNew York: Cambridge

UniversityPress,1997.Duckworth, Alistair M. TheImprovementof theEstate:AStudy of Jane Austen’sNovels. Baltimore: JohnsHopkins University Press,1971.Grey, J.David, ed.TheJaneAusten Companion. NewYork:Macmillan,1986.Johnson, Claudia L. JaneAusten:Women,Politics,andthe Novel. Chicago:

University of Chicago Press,1988.Kirkham, Margaret. JaneAusten, Feminism andFiction. Sussex, UK:HarvesterPress;Totowa,NJ:Barnes and Noble Books,1983.Litz,A.Walton.JaneAusten:A Study of Her ArtisticDevelopment. New York:Oxford University Press,1965.

MacDonagh, Oliver. JaneAusten: Real and ImaginedWorlds. New Haven, CT:YaleUniversityPress,1991.Mudrick, Marvin. JaneAusten:IronyasDefenseandDiscovery. Princeton, NJ:Princeton University Press,1952.Sales, Roger. Jane Austenand Representations ofRegency England. Londonand New York: Routledge,

1994.Southam,B.C.JaneAusten’sLiterary Manuscripts: AStudy of the Novelist’sDevelopment through theSurviving Papers. London:Oxford University Press,1964.Tanner, Tony. Jane Austen.Cambridge, MA: HarvardUniversityPress,1986.Tave, StuartM.SomeWordsof Jane Austen. Chicago:

University of Chicago Press,1973.Troost, Linda, and SayreGreenfield, eds. Jane Austenin Hollywood . Lexington:UniversityPressofKentucky,1998.

OTHERWORKSCITEDINTHEINTRODUCTION

Burke, Edmund. Reflections

on the Revolution in France.Ed. by J.G.A. Pocock.Indianapolis:Hackett,1987.Chapman, R.W. “Pride andPrejudice and Cecilia.” InThe Novels of Jane Austen.1923. Third edition, Vol. 2.Oxford: Oxford UniversityPress,1932.

aFour-wheeledclosedcarriage.b

Feast of St. Michael,celebratedonSeptember29.c

Strong intellectual ability orothernaturaltalents.d

Copyoutpassagesfromone’sreading.e

Brisk French country dancein which couples face eachotherinaline.f

Righttohuntgame.g

Rentedcarriage.h

“Vingt-un” is corruptedFrench for the card gametwenty-one, or blackjack.“Commerce” is a fashionablegame inwhichplayersbarter

cardswithoneanother.i

Where women’s hats aremadeandsold.j

Volunteer troops, forhomeland security against ananticipated Napoleonicinvasion.k

Militarydressofanofficeroflowestcommissionedrank.

lMost likely a circulatinglibrary that charges amembershipfee.m

Formerly, one who not onlyprepared and sold “draughts”of medicine but alsoprescribedthem.n

Well-seasoned meat andvegetablestew.o

Unfashionable, becausecommercial, Londonneighborhood.p

Card game in which losingplayersmustcontributetothenextpool.q

Thatis, theyareallskilledatthefemininedecorativearts.r

Two-person game played

withthirty-twocards.s

LivelyScottishdance.t

Gravy, egg yolks, almonds,cream, and negus (sweet andspiced wine with water),commonlyservedataball.u

Piano; literally “soft-loud,”because its tones can bevaried in loudness, unlikethose of the harpsichord, a

popular keyboard instrumentthat the piano largelysuperseded during Austen’slifetime.v

In musical notation, ashorthand method ofindicating harmony; also, thestudyofharmony.w

Awardedme.x

Aweek.

yFour-person game playedwithfortycards.z

Four-wheeledopencarriage.aa

James Fordyce’s Sermons toYoungWomen(1766)offeredconservative advice onfemale conduct andeducation.ab

AtOxfordorCambridge,Mr.Collins met his residencyrequirementswithoutmakingthe contacts that would helphiscareer.ac

Card game in which playersbetthatthecardofoneplayerwillmatchthatofanother.ad

Decorative art in whichwomen copy the designs offine china onto plain

dishware.ae

Card game resemblingbridge,playedby twosetsofpartners.af

Bone or ivory counters,sometimes formed in theshapeofafish.ag

Ornamentalshoeribbons.ah

Government fund paying 4percent (or £40) annualinterest.ai

Costly,smoothwritingpaper.aj

Formally entering intosociety.ak

Unfashionable street near thecommercial district ofLondon.

alIn a fashionable area ofLondon.am

Fence.an

Lowmetalguardor frame infrontofanopenfireplace.ao

A screen, sometimeselaborately designed,mountedonamovableframe

to protect awoman from theheatofthefireplace.ap

Game in which players seektoscoreelevenbycombiningcards in the hand with thoserevealedonthetable.aq

Open, two-wheeled, one-horsecarriage.ar

Organization that administerspunishmentinminorcases.

asEnclosedareas.at

Groupofcultivatedtrees.au

Seaside resorton theEnglishChannel.av

Prejudice.aw

Abaroucheisafour-wheeledcarriage with a high front

seat,or“box,”outsideforthedriver, two facing seatsinside,andafoldingtop.ax

Hiring a seat in the carriagethat carried themail and thatchanged horses at regularstopsalongtheroute.ay

SeasideresortinsoutheasternEngland.az

Bagsforneedlework.

baCrystallineminerals.bb

Two-wheeled open carriagedrawnbytwohorses.bc

Elegantlivingroom.bd

SuburbofLondon.be

A gentleman’s debts accruedby gambling with his peers,

which are taken moreseriously than debts owed tomerchants.bf

Worntoprotectclotheswhilethehairisbeingpowdered.bg

Becomeaprostitute.bh

House.bi

The regular army is more

prestigiousthanthemilitia.bj

Built inLondon’sHaymarketin 1720, the Little Theatrewas, in its early years,associated with satiricalattacks on the governmentministry of Sir RobertWalpole.bk

The canonical hours duringwhich a marriage could takeplaceinchurch.

blIn a fashionable Londonneighborhood.bm

Fashionable coastal resorttowninthenorthofEngland.bn

Money designated for awife’sprivateuse.