PRIDE AND PREJUDICE


By Jane Austen


Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a 
good fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first 
entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the 
surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some 
one or other of their daughters.
"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that 
Netherfield Park is let at last?"
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me 
all about it."
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
"Do not you want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.
"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."
This was invitation enough.
"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a 
young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on 
Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with 
it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession 
before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end 
of next week."
"What is his name?"
"Bingley."
"Is he married or single?"
"Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five 
thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"
"How so? how can it affect them?"
"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You must 
know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."
"Is that his design in settling here?"
"Design? nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall 
in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."
"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by 
themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are as handsome as 
any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party."
"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do 
not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown up 
daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."
"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of."
"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the 
neighbourhood."
"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."
"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for 
one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that 
account; for in general, you know, they visit no new-comers. Indeed you must 
go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not."
"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I daresay Mr. Bingley will be very glad to 
see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent 
to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a 
good word for my little Lizzy."
"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the 
others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-
humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference."
"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are all 
silly and ignorant, like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of 
quickness than her sisters."
"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take 
delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."
"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my 
old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty 
years at least."
"Ah! you do not know what I suffer."
"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four 
thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."
"It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not visit 
them."
"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all."
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and 
caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient 
to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to 
develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and 
uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The 
business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting 
and news.


Chapter 2

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had 
always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that 
he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no 
knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his 
second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with:
"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy."
"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes," said her mother 
resentfully, "since we are not to visit."
"But you forget, mamma," said Elizabeth, "that we shall meet him at the 
assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him."
"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her 
own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her."
"No more have I," said Mr. Bennet; "and I am glad to find that you do not 
depend on her serving you."
Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but, unable to contain herself, 
began scolding one of her daughters.
"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on 
my nerves. You tear them to pieces."
"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs," said her father; "she times them ill."
"I do not cough for my own amusement," replied Kitty fretfully. "When is your 
next ball to be, Lizzy?"
"Tomorrow fortnight."
"Aye, so it is," cried her mother, "and Mrs. Long does not come back till the 
day before; so it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will 
not know him herself."
"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. 
Bingley to her."
"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; 
how can you be so teasing?"
"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very 
little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if 
we do not venture, somebody else will; and, after all, Mrs. Long and her 
nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of 
kindness if you decline the office, I will take it on myself."
The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, "Nonsense, nonsense!"
"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?" cried he. "Do you 
consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as 
nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? for you are 
a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books, and make 
extracts."
Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas," he continued, "let us return to Mr. 
Bingley."
"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried his wife.
"I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me so before? If I had 
known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is 
very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the 
acquaintance now."
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished -that of Mrs. Bennet 
perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over, she 
began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.
"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you 
at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an 
acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that 
you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now."
"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose," said Mr. Bennet; and, as he 
spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.
"What an excellent father you have, girls," said she, when the door was shut. 
"I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me 
either, for that matter. At our time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell 
you, to be making new acquaintance every day; but for your sakes we would do 
anything. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I daresay Mr. Bingley 
will dance with you at the next ball."
"Oh," said Lydia stoutly, "I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I'm 
the tallest."
The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. 
Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.


Chapter 3

Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, 
could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any 
satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways: 
with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he 
eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged to accept the 
second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly 
favourable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, 
wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and to crown the whole, he meant to 
be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! 
To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very 
lively hopes of Mr. Bingley's heart were entertained.
"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield," said 
Mrs. Bennet to her husband, "and all the others equally well married, I shall 
have nothing to wish for."
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten 
minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to 
a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw 
only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the 
advantage of ascertaining, from an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and 
rode a black horse.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. 
Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an 
answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town 
the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honour of their 
invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine 
what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in 
Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from 
one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady 
Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to 
London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that 
Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the 
assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies; but were comforted 
the day before the ball by hearing that, instead of twelve, he had brought 
only six with him from London -his five sisters and a cousin. And when the 
party entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five altogether: Mr. 
Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.
Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, 
and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of 
decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; 
but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall 
person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general 
circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand 
a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies 
declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with 
great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust 
which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to 
be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in 
Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable 
countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in 
the room: he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the 
ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such 
amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and 
his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst, and once with Miss 
Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of 
the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own 
party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man 
in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. 
Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his 
general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having 
slighted one of her daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down 
for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near 
enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who 
came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing 
about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly 
acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be 
insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the 
room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon 
my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this 
evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, 
looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
"Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her 
sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay very 
agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, 
till catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said, "She is 
tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at 
present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You 
had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting 
your time with me."
Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth remained 
with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story, however, with 
great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, 
which delighted in anything ridiculous.
The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet 
had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. 
Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his 
sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in 
a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary had heard herself 
mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; 
and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough to be never without 
partners, which was all that they had yet learned to care for at a ball. They 
returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they 
lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet 
still up. With a book, he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion 
he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised 
such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that all his wife's views on 
the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found that he had a very 
different story to hear.
"O my dear Mr. Bennet," as she entered the room, "we have had a most 
delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was 
so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and 
Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice. Only think 
of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only 
creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss 
Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her; but, however, he did not 
admire her at all -indeed, nobody can, you know -and he seemed quite struck 
with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got 
introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with 
Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane 
again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger -"
"If he had had any compassion for me," cried her husband impatiently, "he 
would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no more of his 
partners. Oh, that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"
"Oh, my dear," continued Mrs. Bennet, "I am quite delighted with him. He is so 
excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life 
saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I daresay the lace upon Mrs. 
Hurst's gown -"
Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description 
of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, 
and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the 
shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.
"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not lose much by not 
suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth 
pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked 
here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough 
to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of 
your set-downs. I quite detest the man."


Chapter 4

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her 
praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed pressed to her sister how very much 
she admired him.
"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good-humoured, 
lively. And I never saw such happy manners! -so much ease, with such perfect 
good breeding!"
"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to 
be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."
"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not 
expect such a compliment."
"Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. 
Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more 
natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were 
about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his 
gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave 
to like him. You have liked many a stupider person."
"Dear Lizzy!"
"Oh, you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You 
never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your 
eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life."
"I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I always speak what I 
think."
"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, 
to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of 
candour is common enough; one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid 
without ostentation or design -to take the good of everybody's character and 
make it still better, and say nothing of the bad -belongs to you alone. And 
so, you like this man's sisters too, do you? Their manners are not equal to 
his."
"Certainly not, at first; but they are very pleasing women when you converse 
with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house; and I 
am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her."
Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced: their behaviour at the 
assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness 
of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a 
judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little 
disposed to approve them. They were, in fact, very fine ladies; not deficient 
in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of being agreeable 
where they chose it; but proud and conceited. They were rather handsome; had 
been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town; had a fortune of 
twenty thousand pounds; were in the habit of spending more than they ought, 
and of associating with people of rank; and were, therefore, in every respect 
entitled to think well of themselves and meanly of others. They were of a 
respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance more deeply 
impressed on their memories than that their brother's fortune and their own 
had been acquired by trade.
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand 
pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not 
live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of 
his county; but as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty of a 
manor, it was doubtful, to many of those who knew the easiness of his temper, 
whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave 
the next generation to purchase.
His sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but, though 
he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means 
unwilling to preside at his table; nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man 
of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her home 
when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years when he was 
tempted, by an accidental recommendation, to look at Netherfield House. He did 
look at it, and into it, for half an hour; was pleased with the situation and 
the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and 
took it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a great 
opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, 
openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater 
contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. 
On the strength of Darcy's regard Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his 
judgment the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. 
Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same 
time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well bred, 
were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. 
Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually 
giving offence.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently 
characteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls 
in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there had been 
no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and 
as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on 
the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom there was little beauty 
and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from 
none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be 
pretty; but she smiled too much.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so; but still they admired her and 
liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they should not 
object to know more of. Miss Bennet was, therefore, established as a sweet 
girl; and their brother felt authorised by such commendation to think of her 
as he chose.


Chapter 5

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were 
particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in 
Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of 
knighthood by an address to the King during his mayoralty. The distinction had 
perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business and 
to his residence in a small market town; and, quitting them both, he had 
removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from 
that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own 
importance, and unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil 
to all the world. For though elated by his rank, it did not render him 
supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature 
inoffensive, friendly and obliging, his presentation at St. James's had made 
him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable 
neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest of them, a 
sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth's 
intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was 
absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to 
Longbourn to hear and to communicate.
"You began the evening well, Charlotte," said Mrs. Bennet, with civil self-
command, to Miss Lucas. "You were Mr. Bingley's first choice."
"Yes; but he seemed to like his second better."
"Oh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure 
that did seem as if he admired her. Indeed, I rather believe he did. I heard 
something about it; but I hardly know what -something about Mr. Robinson."
"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson: did not I 
mention it to you? Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton 
assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women 
in the room, and which he thought the prettiest; and his answering immediately 
to the last question: Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt: there cannot 
be two opinions on that point."
"Upon my word! Well, that was very decided indeed; that does seem as if -but, 
however, it may all come to nothing, you know."
"My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours, Eliza," said Charlotte. 
"Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend, is he? Poor Eliza! 
to be only just tolerable."
"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's head to be vexed by his ill-
treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a 
misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close 
to her for half an hour without once opening his lips."
"Are you quite sure, ma'am? Is not there a little mistake?" said Jane. "I 
certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her."
"Aye -because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not 
help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke to."
"Miss Bingley told me," said Jane, "that he never speaks much, unless among 
his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable."
"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he 
would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says 
that he is ate up with pride, and I daresay he had heard somehow that Mrs. 
Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise."
"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long," said Miss Lucas, "but I wish he 
had danced with Eliza."
"Another time, Lizzy," said her mother, "I would not dance with him, if I were 
you."
"I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise you never to dance with him."
"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offend me so much as pride often does, 
because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young 
man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of 
himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud."
"That is very true," replied Elizabeth; "and I could easily forgive his pride, 
if he had not mortified mine."
"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her 
reflections, "is a very common failing I believe. By all that I have ever 
read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is 
particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish 
a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or 
imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often 
used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates 
more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of 
us."
"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas, who came with his 
sisters, "I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, 
and drink a bottle of wine every day."
"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought," said Mrs. Bennet; 
"and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly."
The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she 
would; and the argument ended only with the visit.


Chapter 6

The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was 
returned in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew on the good-will of 
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was found to be 
intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of being 
better acquainted with them was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane this 
attention was received with the greatest pleasure; but Elizabeth still saw 
superciliousness in their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her 
sister, and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such as it 
was, had a value, as arising in all probability from the influence of their 
brother's admiration. It was generally evident, whenever they met, that he did 
admire her; and to her it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the 
preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in 
a way to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it was 
not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united with 
great strength of feeling a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of 
manner, which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She 
mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.
"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be able to impose on the 
public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very 
guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object 
of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but 
poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of 
gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave 
any to itself. We can all begin freely -a slight preference is natural enough; 
but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love 
without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more 
affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may 
never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."
"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive 
her regard for him, he must be a simpleton indeed not to discover it too."
"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."
"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he 
must find it out."
"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet 
tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see 
each other in large, mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should 
be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of 
every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of 
him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."
"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question 
but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined to get a rich 
husband, or any husband, I daresay I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's 
feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of 
the degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness. She has known him 
only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one 
morning at his own house, and has since dined in company with him four times. 
This is not quite enough to make her understand his character."
"Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have 
discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four 
evenings have been also spent together -and four evenings may do a great deal."
"Yes: these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like 
Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other leading 
characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."
"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she 
were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of 
happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. 
Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of 
the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar 
beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always 
continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of 
vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the 
person with whom you are to pass your life."
"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, 
and that you would never act in this way yourself."
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was 
far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest 
in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be 
pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they 
next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it 
clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her 
face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the 
beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others 
equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one 
failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her 
figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her 
manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy 
playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware: to her he was only the man who 
made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to 
dance with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with 
her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so drew her 
notice. It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party were assembled.
"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she to Charlotte, "by listening to my 
conversation with Colonel Forster?"
"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer."
"But if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he 
is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being 
impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him."
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any 
intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject 
to him, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and 
said:
"Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just 
now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"
"With great energy; but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic."
"You are severe on us."
"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas. "I am going to open 
the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."
"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! -always wanting me to 
play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical 
turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not 
sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best 
performers." On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, "Very well; if 
it must be so, it must." And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, "There is a very 
fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with -`Keep your 
breath to cool your porridge' -and I shall keep mine to swell my song."
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, 
and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing 
again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who 
having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard 
for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her 
application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, 
which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. 
Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, 
though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was 
glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request 
of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three 
officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the 
evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by 
his own thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till 
Sir William thus began:
"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is 
nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements 
of polished societies."
"Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the 
less polished societies of the world -every savage can dance."
Sir William only smiled. "Your friend performs delightfully," he continued, 
after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; "and I doubt not that you are 
an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy."
"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir."
"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you 
often dance at St. James's?"
"Never, sir."
"Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?"
"It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it."
"You have a house in town, I conclude?"
Mr. Darcy bowed.
"I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of superior 
society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree 
with Lady Lucas."
He paused in hopes of an answer, but his companion was not disposed to make 
any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the 
notion of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her:
"My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to 
present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse 
to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you." And taking her hand, 
he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though extremely surprised, was not 
unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some 
discomposure to Sir William:
"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to 
suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."
Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her 
hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake 
her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.
"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the 
happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in 
general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour."
"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said Elizabeth, smiling.
"He is indeed; but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot 
wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a partner?"
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her 
with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some complacency, when 
thus accosted by Miss Bingley:
"I can guess the subject of your reverie."
"I should imagine not."
"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in 
this manner -in such society; and, indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was 
never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise; the nothingness, and 
yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your 
strictures on them!"
"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably 
engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of 
fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell 
her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Mr. Darcy replied, 
with great intrepidity:
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment. How 
long has she been such a favourite? and pray, when am I to wish you joy?"
"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's 
imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to 
matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy."
"Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as 
absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of 
course she will be always at Pemberley with you."
He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain 
herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, 
her wit flowed long.


Chapter 7

Mr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a 
year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed, in default of 
heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother's fortune, though ample 
for her situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of his. Her 
father had been an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four thousand pounds.
She had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, who had been a clerk to their 
father and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in London in a 
respectable line of trade.
The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient 
distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted thither three or four 
times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt, and to a milliner's shop just 
over the way. The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, were 
particularly frequent in these attentions; their minds were more vacant than 
their sisters', and when nothing better offered, a walk to Meryton was 
necessary to amuse their morning hours and furnish conversation for the 
evening; and however bare of news the country in general might be, they always 
contrived to learn some from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well 
supplied both with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia 
regiment in the neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton 
was the headquarters.
Their visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting 
intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' 
names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret, and at length 
they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips visited them all, and 
this opened to his nieces a source of felicity unknown before. They could talk 
of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which 
gave animation to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to 
the regimentals of an ensign.
After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr Bennet 
coolly observed:
"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the 
silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now 
convinced."
Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect 
indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and her 
hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the next morning 
to London.
"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "that you should be so ready to 
think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of anybody's 
children, it should not be of my own, however."
"If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it."
"Yes; but as it happens, they are all of them very clever."
"This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had 
hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far 
differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish."
"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their 
father and mother. When they get to our age, I daresay they will not think 
about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red 
coat myself very well -and, indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart 
young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls, 
I shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming 
the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals."
"Mamma," cried Lydia, "my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do 
not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did when they first came; she sees 
them now very often standing in Clarke's library."
Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note 
for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an 
answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling 
out, while her daughter read:
"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, 
make haste and tell us; make haste, my love."
"It is from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and then read it aloud.

"My dear Friend, -If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with Louisa 
and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives; 
for a whole day's tete-a-tete between two women can never end without a 
quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the 
gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever, - 
"CAROLINE BINGLEY."

"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that."
"Dining out," said Mrs Bennet; "that is very unlucky."
"Can I have the carriage?" asked Jane.
"No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain; 
and then you must stay all night."
"That would be a good scheme," said Elizabeth, "if you were sure that they 
would not offer to send her home."
"Oh, but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton; and 
the Hursts have no horses to theirs."
"I had much rather go in the coach."
"But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted 
in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?"
"They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them."
"But if you have got them today," said Elizabeth, "my mother's purpose will be 
answered."
She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses were 
engaged; Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother 
attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Her 
hopes were answered: Jane had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her 
sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued 
the whole evening without intermission: Jane certainly could not come back.
"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" said Mrs. Bennet, more than once, as 
if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next morning, 
however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast 
was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield brought the following note 
for Elizabeth:

"My dearest Lizzy, -I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, 
is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not 
hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. 
Jones; therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me 
-and excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with 
me. -Yours etc."

"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, "if 
your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness -if she should die -it 
would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and 
under your orders."
"Oh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling 
colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all 
very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage."
Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, determined to go to her, though the 
carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking was her only 
alternative. She declared her resolution.
"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of such a thing, in 
all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane -which is all I want."
"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said her father, "to send for the horses?"
"No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one 
has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."
"I admire the activity of your benevolence," observed Mary, "but every impulse 
of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should 
always be in proportion to what is required."
"We will go as far as Meryton with you," said Catherine and Lydia. Elizabeth 
accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off together.
"If we make haste," said Lydia, as they walked along, "perhaps we may see 
something of Captain Carter before he goes."
In Meryton they parted: the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one of 
the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing field 
after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles 
with impatient activity, and finding herself at last within view of the house, 
with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of 
exercise.
She was shown into the breakfast parlour, where all but Jane were assembled, 
and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise. That she should 
have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by 
herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth 
was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. She was received, 
however, very politely by them; and in their brother's manners there was 
something better than politeness -there was good humour and kindness. Mr. 
Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided 
between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her 
complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. 
The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.
Her inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss Bennet 
had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well enough to leave 
her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had 
only been withheld by fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in 
her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. 
She was not equal, however, to much conversation; and when Miss Bingley left 
them together, could attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the 
extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her.
When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth began 
to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they 
showed for Jane. The apothecary came; and having examined his patient, said, 
as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must 
endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised 
her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms 
increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a 
moment; nor were the other ladies often absent: the gentlemen being out, they 
had, in fact, nothing to do elsewhere.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very 
unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only 
wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern in 
parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the 
chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth 
most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn, to 
acquaint the family with her stay, and bring back a supply of clothes.


Chapter 8

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six 
Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, 
and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior 
solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane 
was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four 
times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and 
how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, -and then thought no more 
of the matter; and their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before 
them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.
Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could regard 
with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to 
herself most pleasing; and they prevented her feeling herself so much an 
intruder as she believed she was considered by the others. She had very little 
notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister 
scarcely less so; and as for Mr. Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an 
indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards, -who, when he 
found her prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.
When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began 
abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to 
be very bad indeed, -a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no 
conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and 
added:
"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her but being an excellent walker. I 
shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."
"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical 
to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country because her 
sister had a cold? -her hair so untidy, so blowsy!"
"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, -six inches deep in 
mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it 
not doing its office."
"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley; "but this was all lost 
upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came 
into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."
"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley; "and I am inclined 
to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."
"Certainly not."
"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above 
her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by it? It 
seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most 
country-town indifference to decorum."
"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley.
"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper, "that this 
adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."
"Not at all," he replied; "they were brightened by the exercise." A short 
pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again.
"I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet; she is really a very sweet girl, 
and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and 
mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."
"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."
"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."
"That is capital," added her sister; and they both laughed heartily.
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would 
not make them one jot less agreeable."
"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any 
consideration in the world," replied Darcy.
To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their hearty 
assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear 
friend's vulgar relations.
With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on leaving 
the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still 
very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till late in the 
evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and when it appeared 
to her rather right than pleasant that she should go downstairs herself. On 
entering the drawing-room, she found the whole party at loo, and was 
immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high, she 
declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself, 
for the short time she could stay below, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her 
with astonishment.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."
"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great 
reader, and has no pleasure in anything else."
"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Elizabeth; "I am not a 
great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."
"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley; "and I 
hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well."
Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table where a 
few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others -all that his 
library afforded.
"And I wish my collection were larger, for your benefit and my own credit; but 
I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look 
into."
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the 
room.
"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so 
small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, 
Mr. Darcy!"
"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."
"And then you have added so much to it yourself -you are always buying books."
"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."
"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that 
noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as 
delightful as Pemberley."
"I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, 
and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England 
than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart. I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."
"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by 
purchase than by imitation."
Elizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave her very little 
attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the 
card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister, 
to observe the game.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley: "will she be 
as tall as I am?"
"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather 
taller."
"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so 
much. Such a countenance, such manners! and so extremely accomplished for her 
age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."
"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be 
so very accomplished as they all are."
"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"
"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net 
purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this; and I am sure I never 
heard a young lady spoken of for the first time without being informed that 
she was very accomplished."
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much 
truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than 
by netting a purse or covering a screen; but I am very far from agreeing with 
you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more 
than half a dozen in the whole range of my acquaintance that are really 
accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.
"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of 
an accomplished woman."
"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it."
"Oh, certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed 
accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman 
must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the 
modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess 
a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, 
her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."
"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add 
something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive 
reading."
"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I 
rather wonder now at your knowing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?"
"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and 
application, and elegance, as you describe, united."
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her 
implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered 
this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints 
of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was 
thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.
"Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of 
those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by 
undervaluing their own; and with many men, I daresay, it succeeds; but in my 
opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."
"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, 
"there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ 
for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."
Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the 
subject.
Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that 
she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones's being sent for immediately; 
while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could be of any service, 
recommended an express to town for one of the most eminent physicians. This 
she would not hear of; but she was not so unwilling to comply with their 
brother's proposal; and it was settled that Mr. Jones should be sent for early 
in the morning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley was quite 
uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable. They solaced 
their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while he could find no 
better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that 
every possible attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.


Chapter 9

Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the 
morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the 
inquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and 
some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. In 
spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a note sent to 
Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgment of her 
situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly 
complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached 
Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very 
miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was not 
alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her restoration to 
health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She would not listen, 
therefore, to her daughter's proposal of being carried home; neither did the 
apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all advisable. After 
sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley's appearance and invitation, 
the mother and three daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. 
Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse 
than she expected.
"Indeed I have, Sir," was her answer. "She is a great deal too ill to be 
moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a 
little longer on your kindness."
"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, 
will not hear of her removal."
"You may depend upon it, madam," said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, "that 
Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us."
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.
"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends, I do not know 
what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, 
though with the greatest patience in the world, -which is always the way with 
her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I 
often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, 
Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a 
place in the county that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of 
quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he; "and therefore if I should 
resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At 
present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."
"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said Elizabeth.
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning towards her.
"Oh, yes -I understand you perfectly."
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through, 
I am afraid, is pitiful."
"That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate 
character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."
"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in the 
wild manner that you are suffered to do at home."
"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately, "that you were a 
studier of character. It must be an amusing study."
"Yes; but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that 
advantage."
"The country," said Darcy, "can in general supply but few subjects for such a 
study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying 
society."
"But people themselves alter so much that there is something new to be 
observed in them for ever."
"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a 
country neighbourhood. "I assure you there is quite as much of that going on 
in the country as in town."
Everybody was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned 
silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over 
him, continued her triumph:
"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my 
part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal 
pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?"
"When I am in the country," he replied, "I never wish to leave it; and when I 
am in town, it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I 
can be equally happy in either."
"Aye, -that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman," 
looking at Darcy, "seemed to think the country was nothing at all."
"Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken," said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. 
"You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety 
of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge 
to be true."
"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many 
people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I 
know we dine with four-and-twenty families."
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his 
countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards Mr. 
Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying 
something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte 
Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William 
is, Mr. Bingley -is not he? So much the man of fashion! so genteel and so 
easy! He has always something to say to every body. That is my idea of good-
breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never 
open their mouths, quite mistake the matter."
"Did Charlotte dine with you?"
"No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For my 
part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my 
daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to judge for 
themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is 
a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain -but 
then she is our particular friend."
"She seems a very pleasant young woman," said Bingley.
"Oh, dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has 
often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own 
child, but to be sure, Jane -one does not often see anybody better looking. It 
is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only 
fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in 
love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before 
we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. 
However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."
"And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many 
a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the 
efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"
"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy.
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong 
already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced 
that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."
Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth tremble 
lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to speak, but 
could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began 
repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology 
for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his 
answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say what the 
occasion required. She performed her part, indeed, without much graciousness, 
but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon 
this signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls 
had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the result of it 
was that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first 
coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.
Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion and good-
humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose affection had brought 
her into public at an early age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of 
natural self-consequence, which the attention of the officers, to whom her 
uncle's good dinners and her own easy manners recommended her, had increased 
into assurance. She was very equal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the 
subject of the ball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding that it 
would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His 
answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their mother's ear.
"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and when your 
sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. 
But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill."
Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh, yes! it would be much better to wait 
till Jane was well, and by that time, most likely, Captain Carter would be at 
Meryton again. And when you have given your ball," she added, "I shall insist 
on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a 
shame if he does not."
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned instantly 
to Jane, leaving her own and her relations' behaviour to the remarks of the 
two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed 
on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms 
on fine eyes.


Chapter 10

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley 
had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though 
slowly, to mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the 
drawing-room. The loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, 
and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter, 
and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst 
and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to 
what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of 
the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on 
the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises 
were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her 
opinion of each.
"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"
He made no answer.
"You write uncommonly fast."
"You are mistaken; I write rather slowly."
"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! 
Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!"
"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours."
"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."
"I have already told her so once, by your desire."
"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens 
remarkably well."
"Thank you -but I always mend my own."
"How can you contrive to write so even?"
He was silent.
"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp; and 
pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design 
for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."
"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present 
I have not room to do them justice."
"Oh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always 
write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?"
"They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to 
determine."
"It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease 
cannot write ill."
"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried her brother, 
"because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four 
syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"
"My style of writing is very different from yours."
"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. 
He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them; by which means 
my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."
"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "must disarm reproof."
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It 
is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"
"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, 
because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and 
carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly 
interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized 
by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the 
performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved 
on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be 
a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself; and yet what is there so very 
laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, 
and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish 
things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what 
I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, 
therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to 
show off before the ladies."
"I daresay you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be 
gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as 
that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were 
to say, `Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do 
it -you would probably not go -and at another word, might stay a month."
"You have only proved by this," cried Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do 
justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he 
did himself."
"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your converting what my friend 
says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are 
giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would 
certainly think the better of me if, under such a circumstance, I were to give 
a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could."
"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as 
atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"
"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for 
himself."
"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but 
which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand 
according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the 
friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his 
plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour 
of its propriety."
"To yield readily -easily -to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you."
"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."
"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship 
and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield 
to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not 
particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. 
We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we discuss 
the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases 
between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change 
a resolution of no great moment, should you think ill of that person for 
complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"
"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with 
rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this 
request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?"
"By all means," cried Bingley; "let us hear all the particulars, not 
forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight 
in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you, that if 
Darcy were not such a great tall fellow in comparison with myself, I should 
not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful 
object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his 
own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do."
Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather 
offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the 
indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking 
such nonsense.
"I see your design, Bingley," said his friend. "You dislike an argument, and 
want to silence this."
"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet 
will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then 
you may say whatever you like of me."
"What you ask," said Elizabeth, "is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had 
much better finish his letter."
Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the 
indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, 
and, after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other 
as politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister; and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth 
could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the 
instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew 
how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man; 
and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more 
strange. She could only imagine, however, at last, that she drew his notice 
because there was a something about her more wrong and reprehensible, 
according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The 
supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his 
approbation.
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively 
Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her:
"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an 
opportunity of dancing a reel?"
She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise 
at her silence.
"Oh," said she, "I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine 
what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say `Yes', that you might have 
the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those 
kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, 
therefore, made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at 
all -and now despise me if you dare."
"Indeed I do not dare."
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; 
but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it 
difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy had never been so bewitched by 
any woman as he was by her. He really believed that, were it not for the 
inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.
Miss Bingley saw or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for 
the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire 
of getting rid of Elizabeth.
She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their 
supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.
"I hope," she said, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next 
day, "you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event 
takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass 
it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may 
mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, 
bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses."
"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"
"Oh, yes. Do let the portraits of your Uncle and Aunt Philips be placed in the 
gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in 
the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your 
Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter 
could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"
"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression; but their colour and 
shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied."
At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth 
herself.
"I did not know that you intended to walk," said Miss Bingley, in some 
confusion, lest they had been overheard.
"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst, "in running away without 
telling us that you were coming out."
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by 
herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness, and 
immediately said:
"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, 
laughingly answered:
"No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to 
uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. 
Good-bye."
She then ran gaily off, rejoicing, as she rambled about, in the hope of being 
at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend 
leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.


Chapter 11

When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and 
seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room, where 
she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure; and 
Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which 
passed before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were 
considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an 
anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object; Miss 
Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had something to 
say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself directly to 
Miss Bennet with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight 
bow, and said he was "very glad"; but diffuseness and warmth remained for 
Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half-hour 
was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of 
room; and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fire place, that 
she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked 
scarcely to any one else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it 
all with great delight.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table; but 
in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for 
cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured 
him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the 
subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do but to 
stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book. 
Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing 
with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother's 
conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's 
progress through his book as in reading her own, and she was perpetually 
either making some inquiry or looking at his page. She could not win him, 
however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question and read on. At 
length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which 
she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great 
yawn and said, "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare, 
after all, there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of 
anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable 
if I have not an excellent library."
No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast 
her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement; when, hearing her brother 
mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said:
"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at 
Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the 
wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us 
to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."
"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he may go to bed, if he chooses, 
before it begins; but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as 
soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough, I shall send round my cards."
"I should like balls infinitely better," she replied, "if they were carried on 
in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the 
usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if 
conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day."
"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I daresay, but it would not be near so 
much like a ball."
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards got up and walked about the 
room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; but Darcy, at whom it was 
all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of her feelings, 
she resolved on one effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said:
"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn 
about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in 
one attitude."
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley succeeded 
no less in the real object of her civility: Mr Darcy looked up. He was as much 
awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could 
be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their 
party, but he declined it, observing, that he could imagine but two motives 
for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which 
motives his joining them would interfere. What could he mean? She was dying to 
know what could be his meaning, and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all 
understand him?
"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend upon it, he means to be severe on 
us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it."
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, 
and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.
"I have not the smallest objection to explaining them," said he, as soon as 
she allowed him to speak. "You either choose this method of passing the 
evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to 
discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest 
advantage in walking: if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if 
the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."
"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard anything so abominable. How 
shall we punish him for such a speech?"
"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said Elizabeth. "We can 
all plague and punish one another. Tease him -laugh at him. Intimate as you 
are, you must know how it is to be done."
"But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet 
taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! No, no; I feel 
he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you 
please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."
"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Elizabeth. "That is an uncommon 
advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss 
to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh."
"Miss Bingley," said he, "has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest 
and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be 
rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."
"Certainly," replied Elizabeth, "there are such people, but I hope I am not 
one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and 
nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them 
whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."
"Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of my 
life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to 
ridicule."
"Such as vanity and pride."
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride -where there is a real 
superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation."
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said Miss Bingley; "and 
pray what is the result?"
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it 
himself without disguise."
"No" said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but 
they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, 
I believe, too little yielding, -certainly too little for the convenience of 
the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, 
nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every 
attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good 
opinion once lost is lost for ever."
"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade 
in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at 
it. You are safe from me."
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, 
a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."
"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."
"And yours," he replied, with a smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them."
"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation 
in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?"
Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened; and 
Darcy, after a few moments' recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to 
feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.


Chapter 12

In consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next 
morning to her mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the 
course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters 
remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly 
finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure 
before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious -at least not to Elizabeth's 
wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that 
they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her 
postscript it was added that, if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to 
stay longer, she could spare them very well. Against staying longer, however, 
Elizabeth was positively resolved -nor did she much expect it would be asked; 
and fearful, on the contrary, of being considered as intruding themselves 
needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, 
and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield 
that morning should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern, and enough was said of 
wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane; and till 
the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had 
proposed the delay; for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded 
her affection for the other.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, 
and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her 
-that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself 
to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence: Elizabeth had been at Netherfield 
long enough. She attracted him more than he liked; and Miss Bingley was 
uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to 
be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, -
nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; 
sensible that, if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the 
last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his 
purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday; and 
though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered 
most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.
On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, 
took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very 
rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after 
assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either 
at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook 
hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the 
liveliest spirits.
They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet 
wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble, 
and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their father, though very 
laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them; he had 
felt their importance in the family circle. The evening conversation, when 
they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its 
sense, by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human 
nature; and had some new extracts to admire, and some new observations of 
threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them 
of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been said in the regiment 
since the preceding Wednesday: several of the officers had dined lately with 
their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that 
Colonel Forster was going to be married.


Chapter 13

"I hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the 
next morning, "that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have 
reason to expect an addition to our family party."
"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless 
Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in; and I hope my dinners are good 
enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home."
"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman and a stranger."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. "A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I 
am sure. Why, Jane, you never dropped a word of this, you sly thing! Well, I 
am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But -good Lord! how 
unlucky there is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the 
bell. I must speak to Hill this moment."
"It is not Mr. Bingley," said her husband; "it is a person whom I never saw in 
the whole course of my life."
This roused a general astonishment, and he had the pleasure of being eagerly 
questioned by his wife and five daughters at once.
After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained: 
"About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I 
answered it; for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early 
attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn 
you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."
"Oh, my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do 
not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world 
that your estate should be entailed away from your own children; and I am sure 
if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about 
it."
Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail. They 
had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was 
beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail bitterly against the 
cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour 
of a man whom nobody cared anything about.
"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," said Mr. Bennet, "and nothing can 
clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will 
listen to his letter, you may, perhaps, be a little softened by his manner of 
expressing himself."
"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it was very impertinent of him to 
write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why 
could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?"
"Why, indeed, he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as 
you will hear."

HUNSFORD, near WESTERHAM, KENT, 15th October.

DEAR SIR, -The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured 
father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to 
lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was 
kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his 
memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased 
him to be at variance. -"There, Mrs. Bennet." -My mind, however, is now made 
up on the subject; for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so 
fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady 
Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and 
beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it 
shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards 
her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which 
are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it 
my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within 
the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my 
present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and that the 
circumstances of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be 
kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive 
branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring 
your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to 
assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends; but of this 
hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I 
propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, 
November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your 
hospitality till the Saturday sennight following, which I can do without any 
inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional 
absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the 
duty of the day. -I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady 
and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,
WILLIAM COLLINS."

"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman," said 
Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. "He seems to be a most conscientious 
and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt not will prove a valuable 
acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let 
him come to us again."
"There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however; and if he is 
disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him."
"Though it is difficult," said Jane, "to guess in what way he can mean to make 
us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his credit."
Elizabeth was chiefly struck with his extraordinary deference for Lady 
Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his 
parishioners whenever it were required.
"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "I cannot make him out. There is 
something very pompous in his style. And what can he mean by apologising for 
being next in the entail? We cannot suppose he would help it if he could. Can 
he be a sensible man, sir?"
"No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the 
reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, 
which promises well. I am impatient to see him."
"In point of composition," said Mary, "his letter does not seem defective. The 
idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well 
expressed."
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree 
interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a 
scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had received pleasure from 
the society of a man in any other colour. As for their mother, Mr. Collins's 
letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him 
with a degree of composure which astonished her husband and daughters.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness 
by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but the ladies were ready 
enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor 
inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-
and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. 
He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so 
fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that 
in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added that he did not 
doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage. This 
gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs. Bennet, 
who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily:
"You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove 
so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly."
"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate."
"Ah, sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must 
confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are 
all of chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once 
they come to be entailed."
"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say 
much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and 
precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire 
them. At present I will not say more; but, perhaps, when we are better 
acquainted -"
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. 
They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the 
dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised; and his 
commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the 
mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The 
dinner, too, in its turn, was highly admired; and he begged to know to which 
of his fair cousins the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was 
set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him, with some asperity, that they were 
very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do 
in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone 
she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for 
about a quarter of an hour.


Chapter 14

During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were 
withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and 
therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing 
that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's 
attention to his wishes and consideration for his comfort appeared very 
remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent 
in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of 
manner, and with a most important aspect he protested that "he had never in 
his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -such affability and 
condescension -as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been 
graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which he had already had 
the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at 
Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of 
quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people, he 
knew, but he had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always 
spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest 
objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to his 
leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit his relations. She 
had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he 
chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, 
where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and 
had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself -some shelves in the closets 
upstairs."
"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and I 
daresay she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in 
general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?"
"The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from 
Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence."
"I think you said she was a widow, sir? has she any family?"
"She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive 
property."
"Ah," cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many 
girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?"
"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that, 
in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of 
her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of 
distinguished birth. She is, unfortunately, of a sickly constitution, which 
has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could 
not otherwise have failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended 
her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, 
and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and 
ponies."
"Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court."
"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by 
that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British 
Court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; 
and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little 
delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than 
once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a 
duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, 
would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her 
ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly 
bound to pay."
"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet; "and it is happy for you that you 
possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these 
pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result 
of previous study?"
"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes 
amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as 
may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied 
an air as possible."
Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he 
had hoped; and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at 
the same time the most resolute composure of countenance, and except in an 
occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure.
By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to 
take his guest into the drawing-room again, and when tea was over, glad to 
invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a 
book was produced; but on beholding it (for everything announced it to be from 
a circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon, protested that he 
never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. Other books were 
produced, and after some deliberation he chose Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gaped 
as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, 
read three pages, she interrupted him with:
"Do you know, mamma, that my Uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard? and 
if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so herself on 
Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it, and to ask 
when Mr. Denny comes back from town."
Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but Mr. Collins, 
much offended, laid aside his book, and said:
"I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a 
serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I 
confess; for certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to them as 
instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin."
Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at 
backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very 
wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. Mrs. Bennet and 
her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia's interruption, and promised 
that it should not occur again, if he would resume his book; but Mr. Collins, 
after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill will, and should 
never resent her behaviour as any affront, seated himself at another table 
with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.


Chapter 15

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of Nature had been but 
little assisted by education or society, -the greatest part of his life having 
been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though 
he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary 
terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which 
his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of 
manner; but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak 
head, living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and 
unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady 
Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect 
which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness, 
mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, 
and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and 
obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.
Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to marry; and 
in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, 
as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and 
amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends 
-of atonement -for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an 
excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous 
and disinterested on his own part.
His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed his 
views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority; 
and for the first evening she was his settled choice. The next morning, 
however, made an alteration; for in a quarter of an hour's tete-a-tete with 
Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his parsonage-
house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his hopes that a mistress for it 
might be found at Longbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles 
and general encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. 
"As to her younger daughters, she could not take upon her to say -she could 
not positively answer -but she did not know of any prepossession; her eldest 
daughter, she must just mention -she felt it incumbent on her to hint -was 
likely to be very soon engaged."
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth, and it was soon done -
done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane 
in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.
Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have two 
daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of the day 
before was now high in her good graces.
Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten: every sister except 
Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request 
of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him, and have his library to 
himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast, and there 
he would continue, nominally engaged with one of the largest folios in the 
collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet, with little cessation, of his 
house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. 
In his library he had been always sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though 
prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other 
room in the house, he was used to be free from them there. His civility, 
therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in 
their walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker 
than a reader, was extremely well pleased to close his large book and go.
In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his cousins, 
their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of the young ones 
was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering 
up in the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart 
bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could recall them.
But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had 
never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with an officer 
on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny concerning 
whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. 
All were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be; and 
Kitty and Lydia, determined of possible to find out, led the way across the 
street, under pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and 
fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, 
had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated 
permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the 
day before from town, and, he was happy to say, had accepted a commission in 
their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only 
regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his 
favour: he had all the best part of beauty, -a fine countenance, a good 
figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his 
side by a happy readiness of conversation -a readiness at the same time 
perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and 
talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, 
and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the 
ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began 
the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the 
principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to 
inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to 
determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested 
by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth, happening to see the countenance 
of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of 
the meeting. Both changed colour -one looked white, the other red. Mr. 
Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat -a salutation which Mr. Darcy 
just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to 
imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.
In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what 
passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. 
Philips's house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing 
entreaties that they would come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Philips's 
throwing up the parlour window, and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest, from their 
recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her 
surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own carriage had not 
fetched them, she should have known nothing about if she had not happened to 
see Mr. Jones's shoe-boy in the street, who had told her that they were not to 
send any more draughts to Netherfield, because the Miss Bennets were come 
away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction 
of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with 
as much more, apologising for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance 
with her, which he could not help flattering himself, however, might be 
justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her 
notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding; but 
her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to by exclamations and 
inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces 
what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that 
he was to have a lieutenant's commission in the --shire. She had been watching 
him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street; and had Mr. 
Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the 
occupation; but, unluckily, no one passed the windows now except a few of the 
officers, who, in comparison with the stranger, were become "stupid, 
disagreeable fellows". Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the next 
day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give 
him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the 
evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips protested that they would have a 
nice, comfortable, noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot 
supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they 
parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting 
the room, and was assured, with unwearying civility, that they were perfectly 
needless.
As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between 
the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either or both, had 
they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than her 
sister.
Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. 
Philips's manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and 
her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only 
received him with the utmost civility, but had even pointedly included him in 
her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. 
Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his connection with them, but 
yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.


Chapter 16

As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and 
all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening 
during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his 
five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure of 
hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their 
uncle's invitation, and was then in the house.
When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr. 
Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire; and he was so much 
struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might 
almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast-parlour at Rosings -
a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification; but when Mrs. 
Philips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor; when 
she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-
rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, 
she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a 
comparison with the housekeeper's room.
In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with 
occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements 
it was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them; and 
he found in Mrs. Philips a very attractive listener, whose opinion of his 
consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it 
all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not 
listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an 
instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations of china on the 
mantelpiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, 
however. The gentlemen did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the 
room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking 
of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The 
officers of the --shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, 
and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far 
beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior 
to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed 
them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, 
and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself; and the 
agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was 
only on its being a wet night, and on the probability of a rainy season, made 
her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered 
interesting by the skill of the speaker.
With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr. Wickham and the officers, 
Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insignificance; to the young ladies he 
certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs. 
Philips, and was, by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee 
and muffin.
When the card-tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging her, in 
return, by sitting down to whist.
"I know little of the game at present," said he, "but I shall be glad to 
improve myself; for in my situation in life -" Mrs. Philips was very thankful 
for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at 
the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of 
Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker; but 
being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much 
interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming for prizes, to 
have attention for any one in particular. Allowing for the common demands of 
the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she 
was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could 
not hope to be told, -the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She 
dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was 
unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how 
far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a 
hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, 
added, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Wickham; "his estate there is a noble one -a clear ten thousand 
per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you 
certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with 
his family, in a particular manner, from my infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised.
"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, 
as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you 
much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth warmly. "I have spent four 
days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable 
or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and 
too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I 
believe your opinion of him would in general astonish, and perhaps you would 
not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are in your own 
family."
"Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the 
neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. 
Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably 
spoken of by any one."
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short interruption, 
"that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond his deserts; but with 
him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune 
and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him 
only as he chooses to be seen."
"I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered 
man." Wickham only shook his head.
"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking. "whether he is 
likely to be in this country much longer."
"I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at 
Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the --shire will not be affected 
by his being in the neighbourhood."
"Oh, no; it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to 
avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives 
me pain to meet him; but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might 
proclaim to all the world -a sense of great ill-usage, and most painful 
regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, 
was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; 
and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the 
soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been 
scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything 
rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his 
father."
Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all 
her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, -Meryton, the 
neighbourhood, the society, -appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet 
seen, and speaking of the latter, especially, with gentle but very 
intelligible gallantry.
"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added, "which 
was my chief inducement to enter the --shire. I knew it to be a most 
respectable, agreeable corps; and my friend Denny tempted me further by his 
account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent 
acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I 
have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must 
have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, 
but circumstances have now made it eligible. The Church ought to have been my 
profession -I was brought up for the Church, and I should at this time have 
been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we 
were speaking of just now."
"Indeed!"
"Yes: the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best 
living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I 
cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and 
thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could that be? How could his will be 
disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me 
no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention; but 
Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it, -or to treat it as a merely conditional 
recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by 
extravagance, imprudence -in short, anything or nothing. Certain it is that 
the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, 
and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it that I cannot 
accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a 
warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken of my opinion 
of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is 
that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me."
"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."
"Some time or other he will be; but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget 
his father, I can never defy or expose him."
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever 
as he expressed them.
"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? what can have 
induced him to behave so cruelly?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me -a dislike which I cannot but attribute 
in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son 
might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me 
irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the 
sort of competition in which we stood -the sort of preference which was often 
given me."
"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this -though I have never liked him, I 
had not thought so very ill of him -I had supposed him to be despising his 
fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such 
malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!"
After a few minutes' reflection, however, she continued, "I do remember his 
boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of 
his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham. "I can hardly be 
just to him."
Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To treat in 
such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!" She could 
have added, "A young man, too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for 
your being amiable;" but she contented herself with, "And one, too, who had 
probably been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think 
you said, in the closest manner!"
"We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of 
our youth was passed together -inmates of the same house, sharing the same 
amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father began life in the 
profession which your uncle, Mr. Philips, appears to do so much credit to; but 
he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his 
time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. 
Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged 
himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active 
superintendence; and when, immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy 
gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt 
it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him as of affection to myself."
"How strange!" cried Elizabeth, "how abominable! I wonder that the very pride 
of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! if from no better motive that 
he should not have been so proud to be dishonest -for dishonesty I must call 
it."
"It is wonderful," replied Wickham; "for almost all his actions may be traced 
to pride; and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him 
nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us 
consistent; and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than 
pride."
"Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?"
"Yes: it has often led him to be liberal and generous -to give his money 
freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. 
Family pride and filial pride -for he is very proud of what his father was -
have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the 
popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful 
motive. He has also brotherly pride, which, with some brotherly affection, 
makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister; and you will hear 
him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers."
"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?"
He shook his head "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak 
ill of a Darcy; but she is too much like her brother -very, very proud. As a 
child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have 
devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is 
a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly 
accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady 
lives with her, and superintends her education."
After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help 
reverting once more to the first, and saying:
"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley. How can Mr. Bingley, who 
seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in 
friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. 
Bingley?"
"Not at all."
"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy 
is."
"Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want 
abilities. He can be a conversable companion if he thinks it worth his while. 
Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different 
man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but 
with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and 
perhaps agreeable -allowing something for fortune and figure."
The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round the 
other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and 
Mrs. Philips. The usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. 
It had not been very great -he had lost every point; but when Mrs. Philips 
began to express her concern thereupon, he assured her, with much earnest 
gravity, that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money 
as a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.
"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a card-
table, they must take their chance of these things, and happily I am not in 
such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly 
many who could not say the same; but, thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am 
removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters."
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for a few 
moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relations were very 
intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him a living. 
I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he 
certainly has not known her long."
"You know, of course, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were 
sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy?"
"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. 
I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday."
"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is 
believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."
This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. 
Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her affection for his 
sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined to another.
"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her 
daughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I 
suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his 
patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman."
"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham. "I have not 
seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and 
that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of 
being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of 
her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, 
and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who chooses that every one 
connected with him should have an understanding of the first class."
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they 
continued talking together with mutual satisfaction, till supper put an end to 
cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's 
attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's 
supper party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, 
was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully. Elizabeth went away with 
her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of 
what he had told her, all the way home; but there was not time for her even to 
mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins was once 
silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost 
and the fish she had won; and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. 
and Mrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at 
whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he 
crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the 
carriage stopped at Longbourn House.


Chapter 17

Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and 
herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern: she knew not how to 
believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet 
it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such 
amiable appearance as Wickham. The possibility of his having really endured 
such unkindness was enough to interest all her tender feelings; and nothing, 
therefore, remained to be done but to think well of them both, to defend the 
conduct of each, and throw into the account of accident or mistake whatever 
could not be otherwise explained.
"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I daresay, in some way or other, 
of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented 
each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes 
or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either 
side."
"Very true indeed; and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf 
of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? Do 
clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."
"Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My 
dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. 
Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a manner -one whom his 
father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common 
humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. 
Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh, no."
"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on than that Mr. 
Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night -
names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. 
Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks."
"It is difficult indeed -it is distressing. One does not know what to think."
"I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think."
But Jane could think with certainty on only one point, -that Mr. Bingley, if 
he had been imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public.
The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this conversation 
passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom they had been 
speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal invitation 
for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following 
Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, called 
it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing 
with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid 
little attention -avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to 
Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising 
from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and 
hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female 
of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her 
eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation 
from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to 
herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions 
of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal 
with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy's 
look and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended 
less on any single event or any particular person, for though they each, like 
Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no 
means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a 
ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for 
it.
"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is enough. I think it 
no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims 
on us all; and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of 
recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody."
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion that, though she did not 
often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him 
whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and, if he did, 
whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's amusement; and she 
was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on that 
head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke, either from the Archbishop or 
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.
"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a ball of this 
kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any 
evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall 
hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the 
evening; and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for 
the two first dances especially -a preference which I trust my cousin Jane 
will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her."
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being 
engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances -and to have Mr. Collins instead! 
Her liveliness had been never worse timed. There was no help for it, however. 
Wickham's happiness and her own was perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr. 
Collins's proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the 
better pleased with his gallantry, from the idea it suggested of something 
more. It now first struck her that she was selected from among her sisters as 
worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a 
quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors. The idea 
soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities towards 
herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and 
vivacity; and though more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of 
her charms, it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the 
probability of their marriage was exceedingly agreeable to her. Elizabeth, 
however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious 
dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the 
offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the 
younger Miss Bennets would have been in a pitiable state at this time; for 
from the day of the invitation to the day of the ball there was such a 
succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton once. No aunt, no 
officers, no news could be sought after; the very shoe-roses for Netherfield 
were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience 
in weather which totally suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with 
Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a 
Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, endurable to Kitty and Lydia.


Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for 
Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his 
being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not 
been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have 
alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the 
highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, 
trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. 
But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted, 
for Mr. Darcy's pleasure, in the Bingleys' invitation to the officers; and 
though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was 
pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who 
told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day 
before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile:
"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had 
not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here."
This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by 
Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for 
Wickham's absence than in her first surmise had been just, every feeling of 
displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, 
that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries 
which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attention, forbearance, 
patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She was resolved against any sort 
of conversation with him, and turned away with a degree of ill-humour which 
she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind 
partiality provoked her.
But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect of her 
own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her spirits; and 
having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a 
week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her 
cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The two first dances, 
however, brought a return of distress: they were dances of mortification. Mr. 
Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often 
moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery 
which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of 
her release from him was ecstasy.
She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of 
Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances were 
over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her when 
she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much by 
surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, 
she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret 
over her own want of presence of mind. Charlotte tried to console her:
"I daresay you will find him very agreeable."
"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man 
agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil."
When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, 
Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper not to be a simpleton and 
allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man 
of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in 
the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to 
stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours' looks their equal 
amazement in beholding it. They stood for some time without speaking a word, 
and she began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two 
dances, and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that 
it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she 
made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. 
After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, 
and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room or the 
number of couples."
He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.
"Very well; that reply will do for the present. Perhaps, by and bye, I may 
observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones; but now we 
may be silent."
"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be 
entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, 
conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of 
saying as little as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine 
that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth, archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity 
in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, 
unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the 
whole room and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," said 
he. "How near it may be to mine I cannot pretend to say. You think it a 
faithful portrait, undoubtedly."
"I must not decide on my own performance."
He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the 
dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to 
Meryton. She answered in the affirmative; and, unable to resist the 
temptation, added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been 
forming a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, 
but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own 
weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner 
said:
"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making 
friends: whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Elizabeth with 
emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At that 
moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the 
set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopped, 
with a bow of superior courtesy, to compliment him on his dancing and his 
partner.
"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior 
dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. 
Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and 
that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a 
certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza," (glancing at her sister and 
Bingley), "shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal 
to Mr. Darcy; -but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for 
detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright 
eyes are also upbraiding me."
The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy, but Sir William's 
allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were 
directed, with a very serious expression, towards Bingley and Jane, who were 
dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his 
partner, and said:
"Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."
"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have 
interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We 
have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to 
talk of next I cannot imagine."
"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.
"Books! Oh, no; I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same 
feelings."
"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no 
want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."
"No -I cannot talk of books in a ballroom; my head is always full of something 
else."
"The present always occupies you in such scenes, does it?" said he, with a 
look of doubt.
"Yes, always," she replied, without knowing what she said; for her thoughts 
had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly 
exclaiming, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever 
forgave -that your resentment, once created, was unappeasable. You are very 
cautious, I suppose, as to its being created?"
"I am," said he, with a firm voice.
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"
"I hope not."
"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion to be 
secure of judging properly at first."
"May I ask to what these questions tend?"
"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she, endeavouring to 
shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."
"And what is your success?"
She shook her head, "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of 
you as puzzle me exceedingly."
"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that reports may vary greatly 
with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch 
my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the 
performance would reflect no credit on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied. She 
said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence -on 
each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree; for in Darcy's breast 
there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her 
pardon, and directed all his anger against another.
They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an 
expression of civil disdain thus accosted her:
"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your 
sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; 
and I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other 
communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's 
steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit 
confidence to all his assertions; for, as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is 
perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to 
him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I 
do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the 
least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that 
though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his 
invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken 
himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent 
thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss 
Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt; but really, considering 
his descent, one could not expect much better."
"His guilt and his descent appear, by your account, to be the same," said 
Elizabeth angrily; "for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of 
being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that, I can assure you, he 
informed me himself."
"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. "Excuse 
my interference; it was kindly meant."
"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. "You are much mistaken if you 
expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it 
but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy." She then sought 
her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of 
Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such 
happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the 
occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that 
moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything 
else, gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness.
"I want to know," said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her 
sister's, "what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been 
too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person; in which case you may be 
sure of my pardon."
"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory 
to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite 
ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but 
he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and 
is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from 
Mr. Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say that by his account as 
well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am 
afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard."
"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?"
"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton."
"This account, then, is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly 
satisfied. But what does he say of the living?"
"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them 
from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him 
conditionally only."
"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity," said Elizabeth warmly, "but 
you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingley's 
defence of his friend was a very able one, I daresay; but since he is 
unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from 
that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen as I did 
before."
She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which 
there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with delight to 
the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard, and 
said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being joined 
by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry 
after the pleasantness of her last partner she had scarcely replied, before 
Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had 
just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.
"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that there is now in the 
room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman 
himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of this house the 
names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How 
wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting 
with -perhaps -a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am 
most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to 
him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done 
it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology."
"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?"
"Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I 
believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew. It will be in my power to assure 
him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday sennight."
Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. 
Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent 
freedom rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least 
necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if it were, it 
must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the 
acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined air of following 
his own inclination, and when she ceased speaking, replied thus:
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your 
excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but 
permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established 
forms of ceremony amongst the laity and those which regulate the clergy; for 
give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point 
of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom, provided that a proper 
humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow 
me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which lead me to 
perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit 
by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, 
though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and 
habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself;" 
and with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his 
advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment as being so addressed was 
very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though she 
could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the 
motion of his lips the words "apology", "Hunsford", and "Lady Catherine de 
Bourgh". It vexed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was 
eyeing him with unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him 
time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, 
was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed 
abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech; and at the end of 
it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then 
returned to Elizabeth.
"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be dissatisfied with my 
reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me 
with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying that he 
was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she 
could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. 
Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him."
As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her 
attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley; and the train of 
agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to made her perhaps 
almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in that very house, in 
all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow; and she felt 
capable, under such circumstances, of endeavouring even to like Bingley's two 
sisters. Her mother's thoughts, she plainly saw, were bent the same way, and 
she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When 
they sat down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky 
perverseness which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she 
vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) 
freely, openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be 
soon married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet 
seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His 
being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from 
them, were the first points of self-gratulation; and then it was such a 
comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that 
they must desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, 
such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so 
greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men; and, lastly, it was so 
pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the 
care of their sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more 
than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance a matter of 
pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less 
likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of 
her life. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be 
equally fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no 
chance of it.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's words, 
or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for to her 
inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard 
by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her for being 
nonsensical.
"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we 
owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not 
like to hear."
"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to 
offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing."
Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk 
of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed 
again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye 
at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for 
though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his 
attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed 
gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.
At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who had 
been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no likelihood of 
sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began 
to revive. But not long was the interval of tranquillity; for, when supper was 
over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, 
after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many 
significant looks and silent entreaties did she endeavour to prevent such a 
proof of complaisance, but in vain. Mary would not understand them; such an 
opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. 
Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she 
watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was 
very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving amongst the thanks of 
the table the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to favour them 
again, after the pause of half a minute began another. Mary's powers were by 
no means fitted for such a display: her voice was weak, and her manner 
affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to see how she bore 
it; but Jane was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two 
sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, 
who continued, however, impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to 
entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the 
hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud:
"That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let 
the other young ladies have time to exhibit."
Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and Elizabeth, 
sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid her anxiety had 
done no good. Others of the party were now applied to.
"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should 
have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I 
consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the 
profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be 
justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly 
other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the 
first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to 
himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and 
the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care 
and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as 
comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he 
should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially 
towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that 
duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of 
testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family." And with a 
bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to 
be heard by half the room. Many stared -many smiled; but no one looked more 
amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins 
for having spoken so sensibly, and observed, in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, 
that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to expose 
themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been 
impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success; and 
happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition 
had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to be much 
distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters and 
Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her 
relations was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the silent 
contempt of the gentleman or the insolent smiles of the ladies were more 
intolerable.
The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by Mr. 
Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side; and though he could not 
prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her power to dance 
with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else, and 
offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that, as 
to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it; that his chief object was, by 
delicate attentions, to recommend himself to her, and that he should therefore 
make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was no arguing 
upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, 
who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation 
to herself.
She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's further notice: though 
often standing within a very short distance of her, quite disengaged, he never 
came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the probable consequence of her 
allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and by a 
manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour 
after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they 
were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely 
opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently 
impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. 
Bennet at conversation, and by so doing threw a languor over the whole party, 
which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was 
complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their 
entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their 
behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal 
silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, 
a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth 
preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even 
Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of 
"Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil 
in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn; and addressed 
herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make 
them by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of 
a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged 
for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from 
London, whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under the 
delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparation of 
settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly see 
her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months. Of 
having another daughter married to Mr. Collins she thought with equal 
certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was 
the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the match 
were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley 
and Netherfield.


Chapter 19

The next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration 
in form. Having resolved to do it without loss following Saturday, and having 
no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the 
moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances 
which he supposed a regular part of the business. On finding Mrs. Bennet, 
Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon after breakfast, he 
addressed the mother in these words:
"May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when 
I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this 
morning?"
Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet 
instantly answered,
"Oh dear! Yes -certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy -I am sure she 
can have no objection. -Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs." And gathering her 
work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out,
"Dear ma'am, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He 
can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away 
myself."
"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you will stay where you are." And upon 
Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about to escape, 
she added, "Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins."
Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction -and a moment's consideration 
making her also sensible that it would be wisest to get it over as soon and as 
quietly as possible, she sat down again, and tried to conceal by incessant 
employment the feelings which were divided between distress and diversion. 
Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone Mr. Collins 
began.
"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you 
any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been 
less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but 
allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this 
address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your 
natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked 
to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as 
the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings 
on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for 
marrying -and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of 
selecting a wife, as I certainly did."
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by 
his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short 
pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther, and he continued:
"My reasons for marrying are, first that I think it a right thing for every 
clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself ) to set the example of matrimony 
in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my 
happiness; and thirdly -which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that 
it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I 
have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me 
her opinion (unasked too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday 
night before I left Hunsford -between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. 
Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's footstool, that she said, `Mr. 
Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, 
choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, 
useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go 
a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her 
to Hunsford, and I will visit her.' Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair 
cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de 
Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will 
find her manners beyond anything I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I 
think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and 
respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general 
intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were 
directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you 
there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to 
inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father, (who, however, 
may live many years longer,) I could not satisfy myself without resolving to 
choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as 
little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place -which, however, as 
I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my 
fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now 
nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the 
violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall 
make no demand of that nature of your father, since I am well aware that it 
could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds in the 4 per cents, 
which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may 
ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and 
you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips 
when we are married."
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
"You are too hasty, sir," she cried. "You forget that I have made no answer. 
Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment 
you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it 
is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them."
"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, 
"that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom 
they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that 
sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am 
therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope 
to lead you to the altar ere long."
"Upon my word, sir," cried Elizabeth, "your hope is rather an extraordinary 
one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young 
ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their 
happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious 
in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the 
last woman in the world who would make you so. Nay, were your friendly Lady 
Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill 
qualified for the situation."
"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so," said Mr. Collins very 
gravely "but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of 
you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again I 
shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable 
qualifications."
"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me 
leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. 
I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my 
power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have 
satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take 
possession of Longbourn estate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. 
This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled." And rising as 
she thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus 
addressed her:
"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I shall 
hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I 
am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the 
established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and 
perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be 
consistent with the true delicacy of the female character."
"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle me 
exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of 
encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may 
convince you of its being one."
"You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal 
of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are 
briefly these: it does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your 
acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than 
highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de 
Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my 
favour; and you should take it into further consideration that in spite of 
your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of 
marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will 
in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable 
qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your 
rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my 
love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."
"I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of 
elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be 
paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for 
the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is 
absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak 
plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, 
but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart."
"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry; "and 
I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your 
excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable."
To such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make no reply, 
and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, if he persisted in 
considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, to apply to her 
father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, 
and whose behaviour at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and 
coquetry of an elegant female.


Chapter 20

Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful 
love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the 
end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the door and with quick 
step pass her towards the staircase, than she entered the breakfast-room, and 
congratulated both him and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect of 
their nearer connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these felicitations 
with equal pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their 
interview, with the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be 
satisfied, since the refusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would 
naturally flow from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her 
character.
This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet; she would have been glad to 
be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage him by 
protesting against his proposals, but she dared not to believe it, and could 
not help saying so.
"But, depend upon it, Mr. Collins," she added, "that Lizzy shall be brought to 
reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is a very 
headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will make 
her know it."
"Pardon me for interrupting you, madam," cried Mr. Collins; "but if she is 
really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a 
very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for 
happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she actually persists in 
rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, 
because if liable to such defects of temper, she could not contribute much to 
my felicity."
"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. "Lizzy is only 
headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as good-natured 
a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon 
settle it with her, I am sure."
She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her husband, 
called out as she entered the library,
"Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must 
come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and 
if you do not make haste he will change his mind and not have her."
Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her 
face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her 
communication.
"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," said he, when she had finished 
her speech."Of what are you talking?"
"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins, and 
Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy."
"And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems an hopeless business."
"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her marrying 
him."
"Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion."
Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the library.
"Come here, child," cried her father as she appeared. "I have sent for you on 
an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer 
of marriage. Is it true?" Elizabeth replied that it was. "Very well -and this 
offer of marriage you have refused?"
"I have, sir."
"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting 
it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?"
"Yes, or I will never see her again."
"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a 
stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you 
do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do."
Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning; but 
Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the affair as 
she wished, was excessively disappointed.
"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me to 
insist upon her marrying him."
"My dear," replied her husband, "I have two small favours to request. First, 
that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the present 
occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to 
myself as soon as may be."
Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did Mrs. 
Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again; coaxed and 
threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in her interest; but 
Jane, with all possible mildness, declined interfering; and Elizabeth, 
sometimes with real earnestness and sometimes with playful gaiety replied to 
her attacks. Though her manner varied, however, her determination never did.
Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed. He 
thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motive his cousin could 
refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other way. His 
regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her deserving her 
mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.
While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day 
with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to her, cried in 
a half-whisper, "I am glad you are come, for there is such fun here! What do 
you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, 
and she will not have him."
Charlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty, who 
came to tell the same news, and no sooner had they entered the breakfast-room, 
where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on the subject, calling 
on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating her to persuade her friend 
Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her family. "Pray do, my dear Miss 
Lucas," she added in a melancholy tone, "for nobody is on my side, nobody 
takes part with me, I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves."
Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.
"Aye, there she comes," continued Mrs. Bennet, "looking as unconcerned as may 
be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided she can have 
her own way. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy -if you take it into your head to 
go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a 
husband at all -and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your 
father is dead. I shall not be able to keep you -and so I warn you. I have 
done with you from this very day. I told you in the library, you know, that I 
should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word. I 
have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much 
pleasure, indeed, in talking to any body. People who suffer as I do from 
nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell 
what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied."
Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any attempt 
to reason with or soothe her would only increase the irritation. She talked 
on, therefore, without interruption from any of them, till they were joined by 
Mr. Collins, who entered with an air more stately than usual, and on 
perceiving whom, she said to the girls - 
"Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and let 
Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together."
Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but Lydia 
stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte, detained 
first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after herself and all 
her family were very minute, and then by a little curiosity, satisfied herself 
with walking to a window and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. 
Bennet thus began the projected conversation: "Oh, Mr. Collins!"
"My dear madam," replied he, "let us be for ever silent on this point. Far be 
it from me," he presently continued, in a voice that marked his displeasure, 
"to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is 
the duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has been so fortunate 
as I have been in early preferment; and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the 
less so from feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had my fair cousin 
honoured me with her hand; for I have often observed that resignation is never 
so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in 
our estimation. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to 
your family, my dear madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your 
daughter's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the compliment 
of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct may I 
fear be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's 
lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly 
meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable 
companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your 
family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to 
apologise."


Chapter 21

The discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and Elizabeth 
had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it, 
and occasionally from some peevish allusion of her mother. As for the 
gentleman himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by embarrassment 
or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of manner and 
resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the assiduous attentions 
which he had been so sensible of himself were transferred for the rest of the 
day to Miss Lucas, whose civility in listening to him, was a seasonable relief 
to them all, and especially to her friend.
The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet's ill humour or ill health. 
Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped 
that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in 
the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to 
Saturday he still meant to stay.
After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr. Wickham were 
returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball. He joined 
them on their entering the town and attended them to their aunt's, where his 
regret and vexation, and the concern of everybody, was well talked over. To 
Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged that the necessity of his 
absence had been self-imposed.
"I found," said he, "as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. 
Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours 
together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes might arise 
unpleasant to more than myself."
She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full 
discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly bestowed on 
each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with them to Longbourn, 
and during the walk he particularly attended to her. His accompanying them was 
a double advantage; she felt all the compliment it offered to herself, and it 
was most acceptable as an occasion of introducing him to her father and mother.
Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came from 
Netherfield, and was opened immediately. The envelope contained a sheet of 
elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing 
hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read it, and 
saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane recollected 
herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual 
cheerfulness in the general conversation; but Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the 
subject which drew off her attention even from Wickham; and no sooner had he 
and his companion taken leave, than a glance from Jane invited her to follow 
her upstairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane taking out the letter, 
said: "This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains has surprised me a good 
deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way 
to town; and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what 
she says."
She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of 
their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly, and of 
their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor-street, where Mr. Hurst had a 
house. The next was in these words: "I do not pretend to regret anything I 
shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we 
will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of the delightful 
intercourse we have known, and in the mean while may lessen the pain of 
separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on 
you for that." To these high-flown expressions Elizabeth listened with all the 
insensibility of distrust; and though the suddenness of their removal 
surprised her, she saw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be 
supposed that their absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being 
there; and as to the loss of their society she was persuaded that Jane must 
soon cease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.
"It is unlucky," said she, after a short pause, "that you should not be able 
to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not hope that 
the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks forward, may arrive 
earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful intercourse you have known 
as friends, will be renewed with yet greater satisfaction as sisters? Mr. 
Bingley will not be detained in London by them."
"Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into Hertfordshire 
this winter. I will read it to you:
" `When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took 
him to London, might be concluded in three or four days, but as we are certain 
it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to 
town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on 
following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in 
a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintance are already there for the winter; 
I wish I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making 
one in the crowd, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in 
Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, 
and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of 
the three, of whom we shall deprive you.' "
"It is evident by this," added Jane, "that he comes back no more this winter."
"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean he should."
"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own master. But 
you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. 
I will have no reserves from you. `Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, 
and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I 
really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and 
accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself, is 
heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to 
entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever 
before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the 
country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them 
unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have frequent 
opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her relations all 
wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister's partiality is not 
misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any 
woman's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and 
nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of 
an event which will secure the happiness of so many?' What think you of this 
sentence, my dear Lizzy?" said Jane as she finished it. "Is it not clear 
enough? Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes 
me to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's 
indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she 
means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on 
the subject?"
"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?"
"Most willingly."
"You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love 
with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in the 
hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care 
about you."
Jane shook her head.
"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen you together, 
can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley I am sure cannot. She is not such a 
simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she 
would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this. We are not rich 
enough, or grand enough, for them; and she is the more anxious to get Miss 
Darcy for her brother, from the notion that when there has been one 
intermarriage, she may have less trouble in achieving a second; in which there 
is certainly some ingenuity, and I daresay it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh 
were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that 
because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is 
in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took leave of 
you on Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead 
of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend."
"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley," replied Jane, "your representation of 
all this might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. 
Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any one; and all that I can hope 
in this case is that she is deceived herself."
"That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will 
not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived by all means. You have 
now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer."
"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a 
man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?"
"You must decide for yourself," said Elizabeth; "and if, upon mature 
deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is more 
than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means 
to refuse him."
"How can you talk so?" said Jane faintly smiling; "you must know that though I 
should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate."
"I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot consider your 
situation with much compassion."
"But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A 
thousand things may arise in six months!"
The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost contempt. 
It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's interested wishes, and 
she could not for a moment suppose that those wishes, however openly or 
artfully spoken, could influence a young man so totally independent of every 
one.
She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on the 
subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane's temper 
was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence 
of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to 
Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.
They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, 
without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct; but even this 
partial communication gave her a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as 
exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away, just as they 
were all getting so intimate together. After lamenting it, however, at some 
length, she had the consolation of thinking that Mr. Bingley would be soon 
down again and soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the 
comfortable declaration that, though he had been invited only to a family 
dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.


Chapter 22

The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the chief 
of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took 
an opportunity of thanking her. "It keeps him in good humour," said she, "and 
I am more obliged to you than I can express." Charlotte assured her friend of 
her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little 
sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness 
extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; its object was nothing 
less than to secure her from any return to Mr. Collins's addresses, by 
engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances 
were so favourable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost 
sure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But 
here she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it 
led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next morning with admirable 
slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was 
anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins, form a conviction that if they saw 
him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not 
willing to have the attempt known till its success could be known likewise; 
for though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been 
tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of 
Wednesday. -His reception, however, was of the most flattering kind. Miss 
Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and 
instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she 
dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, everything was 
settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the 
house he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the 
happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waived for the 
present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The 
stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from 
any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, 
who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an 
establishment, cared not how soon that establishment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent; and it 
was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present circumstances 
made it a most eligible match for the daughter, to whom they could give little 
fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas 
began directly to calculate with more interest than the matter had ever 
excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir 
William gave it as his decided opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in 
possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he 
and his wife should make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family in 
short were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes 
of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done; and 
the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's dying an old 
maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and 
had time to consider it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. 
Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was 
irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be 
her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage 
had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-
educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving 
happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative 
she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been 
handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance 
in the business, was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose 
friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, 
and probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, 
her feelings must be hurt by such disapprobation. She resolved to give her the 
information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to 
Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the 
family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could 
not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence 
burst forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some 
ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, 
for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.
As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the 
family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for 
the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality, said how 
happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his other 
engagements might allow him to visit them.
"My dear madam," he replied, "this invitation is particularly gratifying, 
because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you may be very certain 
that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible."
They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for so 
speedy a return, immediately said:
"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my good sir? 
You had better neglect your relations than run the risk of offending your 
patroness."
"My dear, sir," replied Mr. Collins, "I am particularly obliged to you for 
this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so material a 
step without her ladyship's concurrence."
"You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk anything rather than her 
displeasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us 
again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be 
satisfied that we shall take no offence."
"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such affectionate 
attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive from me a letter of 
thanks for this, as well as for every other mark of your regard during my stay 
in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be long 
enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty of wishing them 
health and happiness, not excepting my cousin Elizabeth."
With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally surprised 
to find that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by 
it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and 
Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his abilities much 
higher than any of the others; there was a solidity in his reflections which 
often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought 
that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as hers, he 
might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every 
hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and 
in a private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.
The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love with her friend had 
once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but that Charlotte 
could encourage him, seemed almost as far from possibility as that she could 
encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so great as to 
overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out:
"Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte -impossible!"
The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story, 
gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach; 
though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained her composure, 
and calmly replied:
"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it incredible that 
Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion, because he was 
not so happy as to succeed with you?"
But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort for it, 
was able to assure her with tolerable firmness that the prospect of their 
relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all 
imaginable happiness.
"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte, "you must be surprised, very 
much surprised, -so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when 
you have had time to think of it all over, I hope you will be satisfied with 
what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a 
comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and 
situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as 
fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state."
Elizabeth quietly answered "Undoubtedly;" and after an awkward pause, they 
returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and 
Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time 
before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The 
strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two offers of marriage within three days, 
was nothing in comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that 
Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she could 
not have supposed it possible that when called into action, she would have 
sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of 
Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture! -And to the pang of a friend 
disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing 
conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerable happy in the 
lot she had chosen.


Chapter 23

Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had 
heard, and doubting whether she were authorised to mention it, when Sir 
William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter to announce her 
engagement to the family. With many compliments to them, and much self-
gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded 
the matter, -to an audience not merely wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs. 
Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely 
mistaken, and Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,
"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not you know that 
Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?"
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne without 
anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breeding carried him through it 
all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his 
information, he listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing 
courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a 
situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by mentioning her 
prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to 
the exclamations of her mother and sisters, by the earnestness of her 
congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Jane, and 
by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might be expected from 
the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance 
of Hunsford from London.
Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while Sir 
William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings found a 
rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the 
matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been taken in; 
thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy together; and fourthly, 
that the match might be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly 
deduced from the whole; one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of all the 
mischief; and the other, that she herself had been barbarously used by them 
all; and on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. 
Nothing could console and nothing appease her. Nor did that day wear out her 
resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding 
her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas 
without being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive 
their daughter.
Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he 
did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified 
him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think 
tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his 
daughter!
Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said less of 
her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness; nor could 
Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far 
from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman; and it affected 
them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Meryton.
Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on Mrs. 
Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she called at 
Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. 
Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough to drive 
happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually 
silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence 
could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made 
her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose rectitude, and delicacy 
she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose happiness she 
grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week, and nothing was 
heard of his return.
Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting the 
days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of 
thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and 
written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelvemonth's abode in the 
family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on that head, he 
proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in 
having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then 
explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had 
been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, 
whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine, 
he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take place 
as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with 
his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him the happiest of men.
Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to 
Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary she was as much disposed to complain of it as her 
husband. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to 
Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. She 
hated having visitors in the house while her health was so indifferent, and 
lovers were of all people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs 
of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. 
Bingley's continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after day 
passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the report which 
shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to Netherfield the whole 
winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, and which she never failed 
to contradict as most scandalous falsehood.
Even Elizabeth began to fear -not that Bingley was indifferent, but that his 
sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit 
an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and so dishonourable to the 
stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently recurring. The 
united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, 
assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and amusements of London, might be 
too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment.
As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspense was, of course, more painful than 
Elizabeth's; but whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, and between 
herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But as no 
such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in which she did 
not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even require 
Jane to confess that if he did not come back, she should think herself very 
ill used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with 
tolerable tranquillity.
Mr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his 
reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first 
introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily 
for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of 
his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he 
sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his 
absence before the family went to bed.
Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything 
concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour, and wherever she 
went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious 
to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with jealous 
abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them she concluded her to be 
anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a low voice to 
Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and 
resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr. 
Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.
"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, "it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas 
should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for 
her, and live to see her take my place in it!"
"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better 
things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."
This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and, therefore, instead of making 
any answer, she went on as before:
"I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was not 
for the entail I should not mind it."
"What should not you mind?"
"I should not mind anything at all."
"Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility."
"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail. How any 
one could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one's own 
daughters, I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr. Collins too! Why 
should he have it more than anybody else?"
"I leave it to yourself to determine," said Mr. Bennet.


Chapter 24

Miss Bingley's letter arrived, and put and end to doubt. The very first 
sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for the 
winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had time to pay 
his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of the 
letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the writer, that 
could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Her 
many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their 
increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes 
which had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great 
pleasure of her brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned 
with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this, heard it 
in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, 
and resentment against all the others. To Caroline's assertion of her 
brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit. That he was really 
fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done; and much as she had 
always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly 
without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution, 
which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to 
sacrifice his own happiness to the caprice of their inclinations. Had his own 
happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to 
sport with it in whatever manner he thought best, but her sister's was 
involved in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, 
in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. 
She could think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley's regard had really 
died away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he had 
been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation; 
whichever were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected 
by the difference, her sister's situation remained the same, her peace equally 
wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to 
Elizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a longer 
irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could not help 
saying:
"Oh, that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no idea 
of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not 
repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were 
before."
Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.
"You doubt me," cried Jane, slightly colouring; "indeed you have no reason. He 
may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is 
all. I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. 
Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time therefore -I shall certainly 
try to get the better"
With a stronger voice she soon added, "I have this comfort immediately, that 
it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done 
no harm to any one but myself."
"My dear Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "you are too good. Your sweetness and 
disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel 
as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve."
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the 
praise on her sister's warm affection.
"Nay," said Elizabeth, "this is not fair. You wish to think all the world 
respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you 
perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into 
any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal good will. You 
need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I 
think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; 
and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, 
and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either 
merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention; 
the other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccountable! in every view it is 
unaccountable!"
"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin your 
happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of situation and 
temper. Consider Mr. Collins's respectability, and Charlotte's prudent, steady 
character. Remember that she is one of a large family; that as to fortune, it 
is a most eligible match; and be ready to believe, for everybody's sake, that 
she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin."
"To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no one else could 
be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded that Charlotte had 
any regard for him, I should only think worse of her understanding, than I now 
do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-
minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do; and you must feel, as well 
as I do, that the woman who marries him, cannot have a proper way of thinking. 
You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the 
sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor 
endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and 
insensibility of danger, security for happiness."
"I must think your language too strong in speaking of both," replied Jane; 
"and I hope you will be convinced of it, by seeing them happy together. But 
enough of this. You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I 
cannot misunderstand you, but I entreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by 
thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must 
not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a 
lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often 
nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more 
than it does."
"And men take care that they should."
"If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea of 
there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine."
"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design," said 
Elizabeth; "but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there 
may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to 
other people's feelings, and want of resolution, will do the business."
"And do you impute it to either of those?"
"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I 
think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can."
"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him?"
"Yes, in conjunction with his friend."
"I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish 
his happiness, and if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it."
"Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his 
happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence: they may wish 
him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, 
and pride."
"Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to choose Miss Darcy," replied Jane; "but 
this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her 
much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, 
whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed 
their brother's. What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless 
there were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, 
they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By 
supposing such an affection, you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, 
and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of 
having been mistaken -or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in comparison 
of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in 
the best light, in the light in which it may be understood."
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley's name 
was scarcely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more, and 
though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, 
there seemed little chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. 
Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she did not believe herself, 
that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and 
transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more; but though the 
probability of the statement was admitted at the time, she had the same story 
to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be 
down again in the summer.
Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. "So, Lizzy," said he one day, "your 
sister is crossed in love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, 
a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to 
think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is 
your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is 
your time. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young 
ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and 
would jilt you creditably."
"Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all 
expect Jane's good fortune."
"True," said Mr. Bennet, "but it is a comfort to think that, whatever of that 
kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the 
most of it."
Mr. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the gloom which 
the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the Longbourn family. They 
saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general 
unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. 
Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and 
publicly canvassed; and every body was pleased to think how much they had 
always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.
Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any 
extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of 
Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances, and 
urged the possibility of mistakes; but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was 
condemned as the worst of men.


Chapter 25

After a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr. Collins 
was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of Saturday. The pain of 
separation, however, might be alleviated on his side, by preparations for the 
reception of his bride, as he had reason to hope, that shortly after his next 
return into Hertfordshire, the day would be fixed that was to make him the 
happiest of men. He took leave of his relations at Longbourn with as much 
solemnity as before; wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and 
promised their father another letter of thanks.
On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother 
and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. 
Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister, as 
well as by nature as education. The Netherfield ladies would have had 
difficulty in believing that a man who lived by trade, and within view of his 
own warehouses, could have been so well bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who 
was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, 
intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn 
nieces. Between the two eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a very 
particular regard. They had frequently been staying with her in town.
The first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on her arrival, was to distribute 
her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was done, she had a 
less active part to play. It became her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many 
grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They had all been very ill used 
since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had been on the point of 
marriage, and after all there was nothing in it.
"I do not blame Jane," she continued, "for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley, if 
she could. But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! it is very hard to think that she might 
have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own 
perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him. The 
consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I 
have, and that Longbourn estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases 
are very artful people indeed, sister. They are all for what they can get. I 
am sorry to say it of them, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly, 
to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of 
themselves before anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the 
greatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of long 
sleeves."
Mrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before, in the 
course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with her, made her sister a 
slight answer, and in compassion to her nieces turned the conversation.
When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. "It seems 
likely to have been a desirable match for Jane," said she. "I am sorry it went 
off. But these things happen so often! A young man, such as you describe Mr. 
Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when 
accident separates them, so easily forgets her, that these sort of 
inconstancies are very frequent."
"An excellent consolation in its way," said Elizabeth, "but it will not do for 
us. We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the 
interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to 
think no more of a girl, whom he was violently in love with only a few days 
before."
"But that expression of `violently in love' is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so 
indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is as often applied to 
feelings which arise from an half-hour's acquaintance, as to a real, strong 
attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?"
"I never saw a more promising inclination; he was growing quite inattentive to 
other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more 
decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies 
by not asking them to dance; and I spoke to him twice myself, without 
receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility 
the very essence of love?"
"Oh, yes! of that kind of love which I suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane! I 
am sorry for her, because, with her disposition, she may not get over it 
immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed 
yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed on to go 
back with us? Change of scene might be of service -and perhaps a little relief 
from home may be as useful as anything."
Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded of 
her sister's ready acquiescence.
"I hope," added Mrs. Gardiner, "that no consideration with regard to this 
young man will influence her. We live in so different a part of town, all our 
connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go out so little, that 
it is very improbable they should meet at all, unless he really comes to see 
her."
"And that is quite impossible; for he is now in the custody of his friend, and 
Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such a part of London! 
My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have heard of 
such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think a month's 
ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, were he once to enter it; 
and depend upon it Mr. Bingley never stirs without him."
"So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane 
correspond with his sister? She will not be able to help calling."
"She will drop the acquaintance entirely."
But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this point, 
as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley's being withheld from 
seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject which convinced her, on 
examination, that she did not consider it entirely hopeless. It was possible, 
and sometimes she thought it probable, that his affection might be reanimated, 
and the influence of his friends successfully combated by the more natural 
influence of Jane's attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure; and the Bingleys 
were no otherwise in her thoughts at the time, than as she hoped that by 
Caroline's not living in the same house with her brother, she might 
occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of seeing him.
The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn; and what with the Philipses, the 
Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement. Mrs. 
Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment of her brother and 
sister, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner. When the 
engagement was for home, some of the officers always made part of it, of which 
officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and on these occasions, Mrs. 
Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm commendation of him, 
narrowly observed them both. Without supposing them, from what she saw, to be 
very seriously in love, their preference of each other was plain enough to 
make her a little uneasy; and she resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the 
subject before she left Hertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of 
encouraging such an attachment.
To Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure, unconnected 
with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago, before her marriage, 
she had spent a considerable time in that very part of Derbyshire to which he 
belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintance in common; and, though 
Wickham had been little there since the death of Darcy's father, five years 
before, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of her former 
friends, than she had been in the way of procuring.
Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Darcy by character 
perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible subject of discourse. 
In comparing her recollection of Pemberley, with the minute description which 
Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of praise on the character of 
its late possessor, she was delighting both him and herself. On being made 
acquainted with the present Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to 
remember something of that gentleman's reputed disposition when quite a lad, 
which might agree with it, and was confident at last, that she recollected 
having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-
natured boy.


Chapter 26

Mrs. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the 
first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after honestly telling 
her what she thought, she thus went on:
"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are 
warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. 
Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself, or 
endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make 
so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him; he is a most interesting 
young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you 
could not do better. But as it is -you must not let your fancy run away with 
you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend 
on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your 
father."
"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."
"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise."
"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and 
of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it."
"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."
"I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. 
Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most 
agreeable man I ever saw -and if he becomes really attached to me -I believe 
it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh! that 
abominable Mr. Darcy! My father's opinion of me does me the greatest honour; 
and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. 
Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of 
making any of you unhappy; but since we see every day that where there is 
affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune, from 
entering into engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than 
so many of my fellow-creatures, if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that 
it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to 
be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object. 
When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my 
best."
"Perhaps it will be as well, if you discourage his coming here so very often. 
At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him."
"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth with a conscious smile: "very true, 
it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is 
always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently 
invited this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant 
company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what 
I think to be wisest; and now, I hope you are satisfied."
Her aunt assured her that she was, and Elizabeth having thanked her for the 
kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice being given 
on such a point, without being resented.
Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the 
Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his arrival 
was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast 
approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, 
and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she "wished they 
might be happy." Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss 
Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, 
ashamed of her mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely 
affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went downstairs 
together, Charlotte said:
"I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza."
"That you certainly shall."
"And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?"
"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire."
"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come 
to Hunsford."
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.
"My father and Maria are to come to me in March," added Charlotte, "and I hope 
you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to 
me as either of them."
The wedding took place: the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the 
church door, and everybody had as much to say, or to hear, on the subject as 
usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and their correspondence was as 
regular and frequent as it had ever been; that it should be equally unreserved 
was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the 
comfort of intimacy was over, and, though determined not to slacken as a 
correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. 
Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there 
could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how 
she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself 
to be; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt Charlotte expressed 
herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She wrote 
cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she 
could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to 
her taste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It 
was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and 
Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there, to know the 
rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their safe 
arrival in London; and when she wrote again Elizabeth hoped it would be in her 
power to say something of the Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience 
generally is. Jane had been a week in town, without either seeing or hearing 
from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last 
letter to her friend from Longbourn, had by some accident been lost.
"My aunt," she continued, "is going tomorrow into that part of the town, and I 
shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street."
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley, "I did 
not think Caroline in spirits," were her words, "but she was very glad to see 
me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was 
right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I inquired after their 
brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy that they 
scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish 
I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going 
out. I daresay I shall soon see them here."
Elizabeth shook her head over his letter. It convinced her, that accident only 
could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's being in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to 
persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be blind 
to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a 
fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did 
at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more, the alteration of 
her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which 
she wrote on this occasion to her sister will prove what she felt.

"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better 
judgment, at my expense, when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived 
in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But, my dear sister, though the event has 
proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, 
considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your 
suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate 
with me, but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I 
should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday; and 
not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime. When she did come, it 
was very evident that she had no pleasure in it: she made a slight, formal 
apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, 
and was in every respect so altered a creature that when she went away I was 
perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I 
cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did; I 
can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity 
her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am 
very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain 
myself further. And though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if 
she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and so 
deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his 
behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any 
such fears now, because if he had at all cared about me, we must have met 
long, long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she 
said herself; and yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she 
wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot 
understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost 
tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But 
I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will 
make me happy -your affection, and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle 
and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his 
never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any 
certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have 
such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with 
Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there. -Yours, 
etc."

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as she 
considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All 
expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish 
for any renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; 
and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she 
seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as, by 
Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning 
that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth had such to send as 
might rather give contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent 
partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of 
someone else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see 
it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly 
touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been 
his only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition often 
thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady, to whom he 
was now rendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps 
in this case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of 
independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and while able 
to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was ready 
to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely 
wish him happy.
All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the 
circumstances, she thus went on, "I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I 
have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and 
elevating passion, I should at present detest its very name, and wish him all 
manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him; they are 
even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or 
that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There 
can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I 
should certainly be a more interesting object to all my acquaintance, were I 
distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative 
insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and 
Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the 
ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome 
young men must have something to live on, as well as the plain."


Chapter 27

With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise 
diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and 
sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take 
Elizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going 
thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan, and she 
gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure as well as 
greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, 
and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme, and 
as, with such a mother and such uncompanionable sisters, home could not be 
faultless, a little change was not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey 
would moreover give her a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, 
she would have been very sorry for any delay. Everything, however, went on 
smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch. She 
was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement of 
spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect as 
plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her, and 
who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going, that he told her to 
write to him, and almost promised to answer her letter.
The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on his 
side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that Elizabeth 
had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen 
and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner of bidding her adieu, 
wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what she was to expect in Lady 
Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of her -their opinion of 
everybody -would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest which 
she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere regard; and she 
parted from him convinced, that whether married or single, he must always be 
her model of the amiable and pleasing.
Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her think him 
less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good humoured 
girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth 
hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the 
chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William's too long. 
He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and 
knighthood; and his civilities were worn out like his information.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to 
be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane 
was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when they entered the 
passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking earnestly in her 
face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. On the stairs were a 
troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance 
would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they 
had not seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy 
and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and 
shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.
Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first subject was her 
sister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her 
minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, 
there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope that they 
would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars also of Miss 
Bingley's visit in Gracechurch Street, and repeated conversations occurring at 
different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the former had, 
from her heart, given up the acquaintance.
Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and complimented 
her on bearing it so well.
"But, my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sort of girl is Miss King? I should 
be sorry to think our friend mercenary."
"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between 
the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end, and avarice 
begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be 
imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand 
pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary."
"If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to 
think."
"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her."
"But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's death made 
her mistress of this fortune."
"No -why should he? If it was not allowable for him to gain my affections, 
because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl 
whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?"
"But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her, so soon 
after this event."
"A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums 
which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we?"
"Her not objecting, does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in 
something herself -sense or feeling."
"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and 
she shall be foolish."
"No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to 
think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire."
"Oh, if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in 
Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much 
better. I am sick of them all. Thank heaven! I am going tomorrow where I shall 
find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense 
to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all."
"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment."
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the 
unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a 
tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.
"We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us," said Mrs. Gardiner, 
"but, perhaps, to the Lakes."
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of 
the invitation was most ready and grateful. "My dear, dear aunt," she 
rapturously cried, "what delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and 
vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and 
mountains? Oh, what hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, 
it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate 
idea of anything. We will know where we have gone -we will recollect what we 
have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers, shall not be jumbled together in our 
imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we 
begin quarrelling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be 
less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers."


Chapter 28

Every object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth; 
and her spirits were in a state for enjoyment; for she had seen her sister 
looking so well as to banish all fear for her health, and the prospect of her 
northern tour was a constant source of delight.
When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search 
of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The paling 
of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the 
recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.
At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the road, the 
house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge, everything 
declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, 
and the carriage stopped at the small gate, which led by a short gravel walk 
to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment they 
were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins 
welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and 
more satisfied with coming, when she found herself so affectionately received. 
She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; 
his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some 
minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her family. 
They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the 
entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they were in the parlour, he 
welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality, to his humble abode, 
and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help 
fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and 
its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make 
her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though everything seemed neat 
and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance; 
and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an 
air, with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife 
might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she 
involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a 
faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long 
enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to 
the fender, to give an account of their journey and of all that had happened 
in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was 
large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. 
To work in his garden was one of his most respectable pleasures; and Elizabeth 
admired the command of countenance with which Charlotte talked of the 
healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as 
possible. Here, leading the way through every walk and cross walk, and 
scarcely allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked for, every 
view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He 
could number the fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees 
there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, 
or which the country, or the kingdom could boast, none were to be compared 
with the prospect of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that 
bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome 
modern building, well situated on rising ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows; but 
the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white frost, turned 
back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and 
friend over the house, extremely well pleased, probably, to have the 
opportunity of showing it without her husband's help. It was rather small, but 
well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arranged with a 
neatness and consistency, of which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. 
When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great air of comfort 
throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he 
must be often forgotten.
She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It was 
spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in, 
observed,
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de 
Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be 
delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not 
but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. 
I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will include you and my 
sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay 
here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at Rosings twice 
every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship's carriage is 
regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her ladyship's carriages, for 
she has several."
"Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed," added 
Charlotte, "and a most attentive neighbour."
"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom 
one cannot regard with too much deference."
The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling 
again what had been already written; and when it closed, Elizabeth, in the 
solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon Charlotte's degree of 
contentment, to understand her address in guiding, and composure in bearing 
with, her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done very well. She had 
also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the quiet tenor of their usual 
employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of 
their intercourse with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all. 
About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a 
walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in confusion; and, 
after listening a moment, she heard somebody running upstairs in a violent 
hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened the door and met Maria in the 
landing place, who, breathless with agitation, cried out: "Oh, my dear Eliza! 
pray make haste, and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to 
be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this 
moment." Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more, 
and down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane, in quest of 
this wonder; it was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the garden gate. 
"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth. "I expected at least that the pigs were 
got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter!"
"La! my dear," said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, "it is not Lady 
Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them; the other is 
Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would 
have thought she could be so thin and small!"
"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind. Why 
does she not come in?"
"Oh! Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when 
Miss de Bourgh comes in."
"I like her appearance," said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. "She looks 
sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very 
proper wife."
Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with 
the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's high diversion, was stationed in 
the door-way, in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and 
constantly bowing when Miss de Bourgh looked that way.
At length there was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on, and the 
others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two girls than 
he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which Charlotte explained 
by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at Rosings the 
next day.


Chapter 29

Mr Collins's triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The 
power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, 
and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly 
what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so 
soon, was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension, as he knew not 
how to admire enough.
"I confess," said he, "that I should not have been at all surprised by her 
ladyship's asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. 
I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. 
But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined 
that we should receive an invitation to dine there (an invitation, moreover, 
including the whole party) so immediately after your arrival!" "I am the less 
surprised at what has happened," replied Sir William, "from that knowledge of 
what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has 
allowed me to acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are 
not uncommon."
Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit 
to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to 
expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a 
dinner, might not wholly overpower them.
When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth,
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady 
Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes 
herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your 
clothes is superior to the rest, there is no occasion for anything more. Lady 
Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes 
to have the distinction of rank preserved."
While they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different doors, 
to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much objected to be 
kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts of her ladyship, and her 
manner of living, quite frightened Maria Lucas, who had been little used to 
company, and she looked forward to her introduction at Rosings, with as much 
apprehension, as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's.
As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across 
the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects; and Elizabeth saw much 
to be pleased with, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins 
expected the scene to inspire, and was slightly affected by his enumeration of 
the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing 
altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.
When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment 
increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth's 
courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke 
her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, and the mere 
stateliness of money and rank, she thought she could witness without 
trepidation.
From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a rapturous 
air, the fine proportion and finished ornaments, they followed the servants 
through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and 
Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship, with great condescension, arose to 
receive them; and as Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the 
office of introduction should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, 
without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.
In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by 
the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage enough to make a 
very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word; and his daughter, 
frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing 
which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene, and could 
observe the three ladies before her composedly. Lady Catherine was a tall, 
large woman, with strongly marked features, which might once have been 
handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them 
such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered 
formidable by silence; but whatever she said, was spoken in so authoritative a 
tone, as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to 
Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation of the day altogether, she believed 
Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had represented.
When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon 
found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she 
could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin and so 
small. There was neither in figure nor face, any likeness between the ladies. 
Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were 
insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice, to Mrs. 
Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was 
entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the 
proper direction before her eyes.
After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to 
admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point out its beauties, and 
Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much better worth looking at 
in the summer.
The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants, and all 
the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had likewise 
foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's 
desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. He 
carved, and ate, and praised with delighted alacrity; and every dish was 
commended, first by him, and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered 
to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered 
Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their 
excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish 
on the table proved a novelty to them. The party did not supply much 
conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but 
she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh -the former of whom was 
engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her 
all dinner time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little 
Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing she were 
indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the gentlemen did 
nothing but eat and admire.
When the ladies returned to the drawing room, there was little to be done but 
to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any intermission till 
coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a 
manner, as proved that she was not used to have her judgment controverted. She 
inquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, and gave 
her a great deal of advice, as to the management of them all; told her how 
everything ought to be regulated in so small a family as her's, and instructed 
her as to the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing 
was beneath this great Lady's attention, which could furnish her with an 
occasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse with Mrs. 
Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but 
especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew the least, and who she 
observed to Mrs. Collins was a very genteel, pretty kind of girl. She asked 
her at different times, how many sisters she had, whether they were older or 
younger than herself, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether 
they were handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her father 
kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the 
impertinence of her questions, but answered them very composedly. Lady 
Catherine then observed,
"Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your sake," 
turning to Charlotte, "I am glad of it; but otherwise I see no occasion for 
entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir 
Lewis de Bourgh's family. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?"
"A little."
"Oh, then -some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is 
a capital one, probably superior to -You shall try it some day. Do your 
sisters play and sing?"
"One of them does."
"Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs all 
play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do you draw?"
"No, not at all."
"What, none of you?"
"Not one."
"That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother 
should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters."
"My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London."
"Has your governess left you?"
"We never had any governess."
"No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home 
without a governess! -I have never heard of such a thing. Your mother must 
have been quite a slave to your education."
Elizabeth could hardly help smiling as she assured her that had not been the 
case.
"Then, who taught you? who attended you? Without a governess you must have 
been neglected."
"Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as wished to 
learn, never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read, and had all 
the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainly might."
"Aye, no doubt: but that is what a governess will prevent, and if I had known 
your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage one. I 
always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular 
instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful how many 
families I have been the means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to 
get a young person well placed out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most 
delightfully situated through my means; and it was but the other day, that I 
recommended another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, 
and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of 
Lady Metcalfe's calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. 
`Lady Catherine,' said she, `you have given me a treasure.' Are any of your 
younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?"
"Yes, ma'am, all."
"All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second. The 
younger ones out before the elder are married! Your younger sisters must be 
very young?"
"Yes; my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in 
company. But really, ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon younger 
sisters, that they should not have their share of society and amusement, 
because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early. The 
last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. And to 
be kept back on such a motive! I think it would not be very likely to promote 
sisterly affection or delicacy of mind."
"Upon my word," said her ladyship, "you give your opinion very decidedly for 
so young a person. Pray, what is your age?"
"With three younger sisters grown up," replied Elizabeth, smiling, "your 
ladyship can hardly expect me to own it."
Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer; and 
Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever dared to 
trifle with so much dignified impertinence.
"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, -therefore you need not conceal 
your age."
"I am not one and twenty."
When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card tables were 
placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to 
Quadrille; and as Miss de Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had 
the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party. Their table was 
superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was uttered that did not relate to 
the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh's 
being too hot or too cold, or having too much or too little light. A great 
deal more passed at the other table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking -
stating the mistakes of the three others, or relating some anecdote of 
herself. Mr. Collins was employed in agreeing to everything her ladyship said, 
thanking her for every fish he won, and apologising if he thought he won too 
many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes 
and noble names.
When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the 
tables were broke up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully 
accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered round the fire to 
hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were to have on the morrow. 
From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the coach; and 
with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side, and as many bows on 
Sir William's, they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door, 
Elizabeth was called on by her cousin, to give her opinion of all that she had 
seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than it 
really was. But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no 
means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship's 
praise into his own hands.


Chapter 30

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford; but his visit was long enough to 
convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of her 
possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not often met with. 
While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings to driving 
him out in his gig, and showing him the country; but when he went away, the 
whole family returned to their usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful 
to find that they did not see more of her cousin by the alteration, for the 
chief of the time between breakfast and dinner was now passed by him either at 
work in the garden, or in reading and writing, and looking out of window in 
his own book room, which fronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat 
was backwards. Elizabeth at first had rather wondered that Charlotte should 
not prefer the dining parlour for common use; it was a better sized room, and 
had a pleasanter aspect; but she soon saw that her friend had an excellent 
reason for what she did, for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been much less 
in his own apartment had they sat in one equally lively; and she gave 
Charlotte credit for the arrangement.
From the drawing room they could distinguish nothing in the lane, and were 
indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went along, and 
how often especially Miss de Bourgh drove by in her phaeton, which he never 
failed coming to inform them of, though it happened almost every day. She not 
unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage, and had a few minutes' conversation 
with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever prevailed on to get out.
Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and not 
many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise; and till 
Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings to be disposed 
of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many hours. Now and then, 
they were honoured with a call from her ladyship, and nothing escaped her 
observation that was passing in the room during these visits. She examined 
into their employments, looked at their work, and advised them to do it 
differently; found fault with the arrangement of the furniture, or detected 
the housemaid in negligence; and if she accepted any refreshment, seemed to do 
it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collins's joints of meat were 
too large for her family.
Elizabeth soon perceived, that though this great lady was not in the 
commission of the peace for the county, she was a most active magistrate in 
her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by Mr. 
Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, 
discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth into the village to settle their 
differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty.
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week; and, 
allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one card-table in 
the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first. Their 
other engagements were few, as the style of living of the neighbourhood in 
general, was beyond the Collinses' reach. This, however, was no evil to 
Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably enough; there 
were half hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was 
so fine for the time of year, that she had often great enjoyment out of doors. 
Her favourite walk, and where she frequently went while the others were 
calling on Lady Catherine, was along the open grove which edged that side of 
the park, where there was a nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to value 
but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity.
In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter 
was approaching, and the week preceding it, was to bring an addition to the 
family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be important. Elizabeth had 
heard soon after her arrival, that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course 
of a few weeks, and though there were not many of her acquaintance whom she 
did not prefer, his coming would furnish one comparatively new to look at in 
their Rosings parties, and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss 
Bingley's designs on him were, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was 
evidently destined by Lady Catherine; who talked of his coming with the 
greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and 
seemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss 
Lucas and herself.
His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the 
whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane, in order 
to have the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow as the carriage 
turned into the Park, hurried home with the great intelligence. On the 
following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two 
nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him 
a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord -, and to the great 
surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned the gentlemen accompanied 
him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room, crossing the road, and 
immediately running into the other, told the girls what an honour they might 
expect, adding,
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never 
have come so soon to wait upon me." many of her acquaintance whom she did not 
prefer, his coming would furnish one comparatively new to look at in their 
Rosings parties, and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's 
designs on him were, by his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently 
destined by Lady Catherine; who talked of his coming with the greatest 
satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and seemed 
almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss Lucas 
and herself.
His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the 
whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane, in order 
to have the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow as the carriage 
turned into the Park, hurried home with the great intelligence. On the 
following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two 
nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him 
a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord -, and to the great 
surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned the gentlemen accompanied 
him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room, crossing the road, and 
immediately running into the other, told the girls what an honour they might 
expect, adding,
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never 
have come so soon to wait upon me."
Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliment, before 
their approach was announced by the doorbell, and shortly afterwards the three 
gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about 
thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman. Mr. 
Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, paid his 
compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs. Collins; and whatever might be 
his feelings towards her friend, met her with every appearance of composure. 
Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him, without saying a word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and 
ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but his cousin, after 
having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, 
sat for some time without speaking to anybody. At length, however his civility 
was so far awakened as to inquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family. 
She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause, added,
"My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened 
to see her there?"
She was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see whether he 
would betray any consciousness of what had passed between the Bingleys and 
Jane; and she thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had 
never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no 
farther, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.


Chapter 31

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were very much admired at the Parsonage, and the 
ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasure of their 
engagements at Rosings. It was some days, however, before they received any 
invitation thither, for while there were visitors in the house, they could not 
be necessary; and it was not till Easter-day, almost a week after the 
gentlemen's arrival, that they were honoured by such an attention, and then 
they were merely asked on leaving church to come there in the evening. For the 
last week they had seen very little of either Lady Catherine or her daughter. 
Colonel Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonage more than once during the 
time, but Mr. Darcy they had only seen at church.
The invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour they joined the 
party in Lady Catherine's drawing room. Her ladyship received them civilly, 
but it was plain that their company was by no means so acceptable as when she 
could get nobody else; and she was, in fact, almost engrossed by her nephews, 
speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more than to any other person in 
the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; anything was a welcome 
relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins's pretty friend had moreover caught 
his fancy very much. He now seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of 
Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and 
music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that room 
before; and they conversed with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the 
attention of Lady Catherine herself, as well as of Mr. Darcy. His eyes had 
been soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity; and 
that her ladyship, after a while, shared the feeling, was more openly 
acknowledged, for she did not scruple to call out,
"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What 
are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."
"We are speaking of music, madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid a 
reply.
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must 
have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few 
people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than 
myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a 
great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I 
am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana 
get on, Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's proficiency.
"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said Lady Catherine; "and 
pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not 
practice a great deal."
"I assure you, madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice. She 
practises very constantly."
"So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write to her, 
I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young 
ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired, without constant 
practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play 
really well, unless she practises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no 
instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings 
every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be 
in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's ill breeding, and made no 
answer.
When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having 
promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He drew 
a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then talked, as 
before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and moving 
with his usual deliberation towards the piano forte, stationed himself so as 
to command a full view of the fair performer's countenance. Elizabeth saw what 
he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch 
smile, and said:
"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? 
But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a 
stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of 
others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say that you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not 
really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the 
pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great 
enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to Colonel 
Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach 
you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a 
person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world, where 
I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, 
it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage 
in Hertfordshire -and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too -for it is 
provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your 
relations to hear."
"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. 
"I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."
"You shall hear then; but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The 
first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a 
ball -and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances! 
I am sorry to pain you, but so it was. He danced only four dances, though 
gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady 
was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond 
my own party."
"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball room. Well, Colonel 
Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers await your orders."
"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, had I sought an 
introduction, but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers."
"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" said Elizabeth, still 
addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense and 
education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend 
himself to stranger?"
"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam, "without applying to him. It 
is because he will not give himself the trouble."
"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of 
conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their 
tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see 
done."
"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the 
masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force 
or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always 
supposed it to be my own fault -because I would not take the trouble of 
practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other 
woman's of superior execution."
Darcy smiled and said, "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time 
much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think 
anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."
Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know what they 
were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again. Lady Catherine 
approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy,
"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practised more, and could 
have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of 
fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne would have been a 
delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn."
Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his cousin's 
praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other could she discern any 
symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss de Bourgh she 
derived this comfort for Bingley, that he might have been just as likely to 
marry her, had she been his relation.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's performance, mixing with 
them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received them with 
all the forbearance of civility; and, at the request of the gentlemen, 
remained at the instrument till her ladyship's carriage was ready to take them 
all home.


Chapter 32

Elizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane, while 
Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village, when she was 
startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a visitor. As she had 
heard no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be Lady Catherine, and under 
that apprehension was putting away her half-finished letter that she might 
escape all impertinent questions, when the door opened, and, to her very great 
surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, entered the room.
He seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and apologised for his 
intrusion, by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies to be 
within.
They then sat down, and when her inquiries after Rosings were made, seemed in 
danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely necessary, therefore, 
to think of something, and in this emergence recollecting when she had seen 
him last in Hertfordshire, and feeling curious to know what he would say on 
the subject of their hasty departure, she observed,
"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It 
must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after 
him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before. He and his 
sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?"
"Perfectly so -I thank you."
She found that she was to receive no other answer -and, after a short pause, 
added,
"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever 
returning to Netherfield again?"
"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend very 
little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is at a time 
of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing."
"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the 
neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might 
possibly get a settled family there. But, perhaps, Mr. Bingley did not take 
the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and 
we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same principle."
"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if he were to give it up, as soon as 
any eligible purchase offers."
Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his friend; and, 
having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave the trouble of finding 
a subject with him.
He took the hint, and soon began with, "This seems a very comfortable house. 
Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came 
to Hunsford."
"I believe she did -and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on 
a more grateful object."
"Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of wife."
"Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the 
very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if 
they had. My friend has an excellent understanding -though I am not certain 
that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She 
seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light, it is certainly a 
very good match for her."
"It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of 
her own family and friends."
"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles."
"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's journey. 
Yes, I call it a very easy distance."
"I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the 
match," cried Elizabeth. "I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled 
near her family."
"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the 
very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far."
As he spoke there was a sort of smile, which Elizabeth fancied she understood; 
he must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and Netherfield, and she 
blushed as she answered,
"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The 
far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. 
Where there is fortune to make the expenses of travelling unimportant, 
distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins 
have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent 
journeys -and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family 
under less than half the present distance."
Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "You cannot have a 
right to such a very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at 
Longbourn."
Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of feeling; 
he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and, glancing over 
it, said, in a colder voice:
"Are you pleased with Kent?"
A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side calm and 
concise -and soon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotte and her sister, 
just returned from their walk. The tete-a-tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy 
related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet, and 
after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to any body, went away.
"What can be the meaning of this?" said Charlotte, as soon as he was gone. "My 
dear Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us 
in this familiar way."
But when Elizabeth told of his silence, it did not seem very likely, even to 
Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after various conjectures, they could 
at last only suppose his visit to proceed from the difficulty of finding 
anything to do, which was the more probable from the time of year. All field 
sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard 
table, but gentlemen cannot be always within doors; and in the nearness of the 
Parsonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived 
in it, the two cousins found a temptation from this period of walking thither 
almost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes 
separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt. It 
was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in 
their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him still more; and 
Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in being with him, as well as 
by his evident admiration of her, of her former favourite George Wickham; and 
though, in comparing them, she saw there was less captivating softness in 
Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed he might have the best informed 
mind.
But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult to 
understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there ten 
minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it seemed 
the effect of necessity rather than of choice -a sacrifice to propriety, not a 
pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collins knew not 
what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam's occasionally laughing at his 
stupidity, proved that he was generally different, which her own knowledge of 
him could not have told her; and as she would have liked to believe this 
change the effect of love, and the object of that love, her friend Eliza, she 
set herself seriously to work to find it out. She watched him whenever they 
were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. 
He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that 
look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted 
whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but 
absence of mind.
She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his being 
partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs. Collins did 
not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of raising 
expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her opinion it 
admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would vanish, if she 
could suppose him to be in her power.
In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying Colonel 
Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the pleasantest man; he certainly 
admired her, and his situation in life was most eligible; but, to 
counterbalance these advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the 
church, and his cousin could have none at all.


Chapter 33

More than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet 
Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring 
him where no one else was brought; and, to prevent its ever happening again, 
took care to inform him at first, that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How 
it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a 
third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these 
occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and 
then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with 
her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of 
talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third 
rencounter that he was asking some odd unconnected questions -about her 
pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of 
Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her not 
perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came 
into Kent again she would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it. 
Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant 
anything, he must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It 
distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in 
the pales opposite the Parsonage.
She was engaged one day as she walked in reperusing Jane's last letter, and 
dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, 
when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up 
that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately 
and forcing a smile, she said:
"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the Park," he replied, "as I generally do 
every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going 
much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" she said.
"Yes -if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He 
arranges the business just as he pleases."
"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least great 
pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know any body who seems more to 
enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy."
"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so 
we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, 
because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger 
son, you know, must be enured to self-denial and dependence."
"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. 
Now, seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When 
have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or 
procuring anything you had a fancy for?"
"These are home questions -and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced 
many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer 
from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."
"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they often do."
"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my 
rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money."
"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" and she coloured at the idea; 
but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone, "and pray, what is the usual 
price of an earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I 
suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."
He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped. To interrupt a 
silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon 
afterwards said:
"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of 
having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a 
lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for 
the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with 
her."
"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which he must divide 
with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy."
"Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge 
give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little 
difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to 
have her own way."
As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and the manner in 
which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them 
any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow or other got pretty near 
the truth. She directly replied - 
"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her; and I daresay she 
is one of the most tractable creatures in the world. She is a very great 
favourite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I 
think I have heard you say that you know them."
"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant, gentleman-like man -he is 
a great friend of Darcy's."
"Oh, yes," said Elizabeth drily, "Mr Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, 
and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."
"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those 
points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey 
hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought 
to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person 
meant. It was all conjecture."
"What is it you mean?"
"It is a circumstance which Darcy of course would not wish to be generally 
known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would be an 
unpleasant thing."
"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."
"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What 
he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately 
saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but 
without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to 
be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of 
that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last 
summer."
"Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?"
"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady."
"And what arts did he use to separate them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only 
told me, what I have now told you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. 
After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your cousin's 
conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his 
friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to determine 
and direct in what manner that friend was to be happy. But," she continued, 
recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to 
condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the 
case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is lessening the 
honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."
This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. 
Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer; and, therefore, 
abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent matters till they 
reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor 
left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It 
was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with 
whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom 
Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in 
the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane she had never doubted; but 
she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement 
of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause, 
his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still 
continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the 
most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how 
lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
"There were some very strong objections against the lady," were Colonel 
Fitzwilliam's words; and these strong objections probably were, her having one 
uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.
"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could be no possibility of objection. 
All loveliness and goodness as she is! her understanding excellent, her mind 
improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against 
my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy 
himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never 
reach." When she thought of her mother, indeed, her confidence gave way a 
little; but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight 
with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound 
from the want of importance in his friend's connections, than from their want 
of sense; and she was quite decided at last, that he had been partly governed 
by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley 
for his sister.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a head-ache; 
and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to her unwillingness 
to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, 
where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really 
unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as possible prevented her husband 
from pressing her; but Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady 
Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home.


Chapter 34

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much 
as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all 
the letters which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent. They 
contained no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, 
or any communication of present suffering. But in all, and in almost every 
line of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness which had been used to 
characterise her style, and which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at 
ease with itself, and kindly disposed towards every one, had been scarcely 
ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea of 
uneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on the first 
perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict 
gave her a keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation to 
think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next, and, a 
still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be with Jane 
again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her spirits, by all that 
affection could do.
She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent, without remembering that his 
cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he 
had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be 
unhappy about him.
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door 
bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel 
Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might 
now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, 
and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, 
she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an unhurried manner he immediately 
began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing 
that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a 
few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was 
surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came 
towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. 
You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, 
and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of 
all that he felt and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke 
well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and 
he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense 
of inferiority -of its being a degradation -of the family obstacles which 
judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which 
seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to 
recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the 
compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary 
for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, 
roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in 
anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience, 
when he should have done. He concluded with representing to her the strength 
of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavours, he had found 
impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be 
rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see 
that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and 
anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance 
could only exasperate farther, and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her 
cheeks, and she said:
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a 
sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be 
returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel 
gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot -I have never desired your good 
opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to 
have occasioned pain to any one. It has been most unconsciously done, however, 
and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have 
long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty 
in overcoming it after this explanation."
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her 
face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His 
complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible 
in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would 
not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause was 
to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he 
said:
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I 
might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, 
I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."
"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a design of 
offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against 
your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this 
some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. 
You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been 
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any 
consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of 
ruining perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was 
short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse 
the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny 
that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from 
each other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and 
instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving 
them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an 
air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked 
at her with a smile of affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "I have no wish of denying that I 
did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I 
rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its 
meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike is 
founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your 
character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from 
Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act 
of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what misrepresentation 
can you here impose upon others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said Darcy, in a 
less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest 
in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously -"yes, his misfortunes have 
been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him 
to his present state of poverty -comparative poverty. You have withheld the 
advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have 
deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less 
his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the 
mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is 
your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you 
for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are 
heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning 
towards her, "these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride 
been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my 
forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been 
suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered 
you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed 
inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every 
sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were 
natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your 
connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition 
in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the 
utmost to speak with composure when she said:
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration 
affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might 
have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued - 
"You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that 
would have tempted me to accept it."
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with and expression 
of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:
"From the very beginning, from the first moment, I may almost say, of my 
acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of 
your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of 
others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation, on which 
succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a 
month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever 
be prevailed on to marry."
"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and 
have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having 
taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and 
happiness."
And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the 
next moment open the front door and quit the house. The tumult of her mind was 
now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual 
weakness sat down and cried for half an hour. Her astonishment, as she 
reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it. That she 
should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! that he should have been 
in love with her for so many months! so much in love as to wish to marry her 
in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friend's 
marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his 
own case, was almost incredible! it was gratifying to have inspired 
unconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable pride, his 
shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane, his unpardonable 
assurance in acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling 
manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had 
not attempted to deny, soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his 
attachment had for a moment excited.
She continued in very agitating reflections till the sound of Lady Catherine's 
carriage made her feel how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte's 
observation, and hurried away to her room.


Chapter 35

Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which 
had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the surprise of 
what had happened: it was impossible to think of anything else; and, totally 
indisposed for employment, she resolved soon after breakfast to indulge 
herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favourite 
walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, 
and instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane which led her farther 
from the turnpike road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, 
and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.
After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was tempted, 
by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the 
park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a great 
difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure of the 
early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a 
glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the park. He was 
moving that way; and fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was directly 
retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and 
stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had turned away; but 
on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, 
she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and, 
holding out a letter, which she instinctively took, said, with a look of 
haughty composure, "I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of 
meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?" and then, with 
a slight bow, turned again into the plantation, and was soon out of sight.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth 
opened the letter, and to her still increasing wonder, perceived an envelope 
containing two sheets of letter-paper, written quite through, in a very close 
hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Pursuing her way along the lane, 
she then began it. It was dated from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning, 
and was as follows:

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its 
containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, 
which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of 
paining you or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness 
of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and 
the perusal of this letter must occasion should have been spared, had not my 
character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the 
freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow 
it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
"Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, 
you last night laid to my charge. The first-mentioned was, that, regardless of 
the sentiment of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister; and the 
other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and 
humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. 
Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, 
the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any 
other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect 
its exertion, would be a depravity to which the separation of two young 
persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear 
no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so 
liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in future 
secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been 
read. If, in the explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the 
necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say 
that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be 
absurd. I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, in common with 
others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in 
the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that 
I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen 
him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, 
I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, 
that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general 
expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the 
time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's 
behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss 
Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also 
watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but 
without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced, from the 
evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she 
did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been 
mistaken here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your 
sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by 
such error to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. 
But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister's 
countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a 
conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be 
easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain; 
but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually 
influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent 
because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I 
wished it in reason. My objections to the marriage were not merely those, 
which I last night acknowledged to have required the utmost force of passion 
to put aside in my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an 
evil to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugnance -causes 
which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree in both 
instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they were not 
immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The 
situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in 
comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly 
betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by 
your father. Pardon me: it pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for 
the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this 
representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to have 
conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no 
less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister than it is honourable to 
the sense and disposition of both. I will only say, further, that from what 
passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every 
inducement heightened which could have led me before to preserve my friend 
from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London 
on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon 
returning. The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters' 
uneasiness had been equally excited with my own. Our coincidence of feeling 
was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in 
detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in 
London. We accordingly went; and there I readily engaged in the office of 
pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described and 
enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have staggered 
or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have 
prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I 
hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed 
her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But 
Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment 
than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself was 
no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, 
when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I 
cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my 
conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction: it is 
that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him 
your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss 
Bingley; but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met 
without ill consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to 
me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this 
concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was 
done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other 
apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly 
done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally 
appear insufficient, I have not yet learned to condemn them. With respect to 
that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only 
refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of 
what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I 
shall relate I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. 
Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the 
management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the 
discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; 
and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore 
liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at 
Cambridge - -most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from 
the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's 
education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose 
manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and 
hoping the Church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. 
As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a 
very different manner. The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which 
he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not 
escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and 
who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy 
could not have. Here again I shall give you pain; to what degree you only can 
tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a 
suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real 
character -it adds even another motive.
My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. 
Wickham was to the last so steady that in his will he particularly recommended 
it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession 
might allow, and if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living 
might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one 
thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine; and within half a 
year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally 
resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable 
for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the 
preferment, by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he 
added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one 
thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished 
than believed him to be sincere, but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to 
accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. 
The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance 
in the Church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to 
receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection 
between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to 
Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, 
but his studying the law was a mere pretence; and being now free from all 
restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three 
years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living 
which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the 
presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in 
believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable 
study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present 
him to the living in question -of which he trusted there could be little 
doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I 
could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame 
me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every 
repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his 
circumstances, and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as 
in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of 
acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not; but last summer he was 
again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I must now mention a circumstance 
which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the 
present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, 
I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my 
junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel 
Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago she was taken from school, and an 
establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady 
who presided over it to Ramsgate. And thither also went Mr. Wickham, 
undoubtedly by design, for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance 
between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily 
deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to 
Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his 
kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, 
and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her 
excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed the 
knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the 
intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving 
and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged 
the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt, and how I acted. Regard for my 
sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but I wrote to Mr. 
Wickham, who left the place immediately; and Mrs. Younge was of course removed 
from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's 
fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the 
hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would 
have been complete indeed. This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event 
in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject 
it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. 
Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood, he has 
imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at, ignorant as 
you previously were of everything concerning either -detection could not be in 
your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. You may possibly 
wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master 
enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of 
everything here related I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of 
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, 
and, still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been 
unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your 
abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented 
by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the 
possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of 
putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only 
add, God bless you. FITZWILLIAM DARCY."


Chapter 36

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain 
a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents. 
But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerly she went through 
them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her feelings as she read 
were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did she first understand that he 
believed any apology to be in his power; and steadfastly was she persuaded, 
that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would 
not conceal. With a strong prejudice against everything he might say she began 
his account of what had happened at Netherfield. She read, with an eagerness 
which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing 
what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of 
the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's insensibility she 
instantly resolved to be false, and his accounts of the real, the worst 
objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him 
justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his 
style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, when she 
read, with somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events which, if true, 
must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so 
alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet more 
acutely painful and more difficult of definition. Astonishment, apprehension, 
and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely, 
repeatedly exclaiming: "This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the 
grossest falsehood!" and when she had gone through the whole letter, though 
scarcely knowing anything of the last page or two, put it hastily away, 
protesting that she would not regard it, that she would never look in it again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she 
walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter was unfolded 
again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she again began the 
mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and commanded herself so 
far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of his connection 
with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself; and the 
kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, 
agreed equally well with his own words. So far each recital confirmed the 
other: but when she came to the will, the difference was great. What Wickham 
had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very 
words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one 
side or the other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her 
wishes did not err. But when she read, and reread with the closest attention, 
the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions 
to the living, of his receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three 
thousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the letter, 
weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality -deliberated 
on the probability of each statement, but with little success. On both sides 
it was only assertion. Again she read on. But every line proved more clearly 
that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance 
could so represent, as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, 
was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the 
whole.
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay to Mr. 
Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could bring no 
proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his entrance into 
the --shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young 
man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight 
acquaintance. of his former way of life, nothing had been known in 
Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had 
information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His 
countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession 
of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some 
distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from 
the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone 
for those casual errors under which she would endeavour to class, what Mr. 
Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no 
such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in 
every charm of air and address, but she could remember no more substantial 
good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which 
his social powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing on this point a 
considerable while, she once more continued to read. But, alas! the story 
which followed of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from 
what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning 
before; and at last she was referred for the truth of every particular to 
Colonel Fitzwilliam himself -from whom she had previously received the 
information of his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose 
character she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved 
on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the 
application, and at length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy 
would never have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of 
his cousin's corroboration.
She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between 
Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Philips's. Many of his 
expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the 
impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and wondered it had escaped 
her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, 
and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that 
he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy -that Mr. Darcy might 
leave the country, but that he should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the 
Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered also, that till the 
Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one 
but herself; but that after their removal, it had been everywhere discussed; 
that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy's character, 
though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his 
exposing the son.
How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! His 
attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and hatefully 
mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation 
of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything. His behaviour to 
herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had either been deceived 
with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging 
the preference which she believed she had most incautiously shown. Every 
lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and in further 
justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr. Bingley, when 
questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; 
that proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole 
course of their acquaintance -an acquaintance which had latterly brought them 
much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways -seen anything 
that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust -anything that spoke him of 
irreligious or immoral habits. That among his own connections he was esteemed 
and valued -that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she 
had often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him 
capable of some amiable feeling. That had his actions been what Wickham 
represented them, so gross a violation of everything right could hardly have 
been concealed from the world; and that friendship between a person capable of 
it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she 
think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.
"How despicably have I acted!" she cried. "I, who have prided myself on my 
discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have often 
disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in 
useless or blameable distrust. How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how 
just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly 
blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of 
one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our 
acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason 
away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."
From herself to Jane -from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line which 
soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanation there had 
appeared very insufficient, and she read it again. Widely different was the 
effect of a second perusal. -How could she deny that credit to his assertions, 
in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in the other? He declared 
himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister's attachment; and she 
could not help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been. Neither 
could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane's 
feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant 
complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter, in which her family were mentioned 
in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense of shame was 
severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the 
circumstances to which he particularly alluded, as having passed at the 
Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could not 
have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.
The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but it 
could not console her for the contempt which had been thus self-attracted by 
the rest of her family; and as she considered that Jane's disappointment had 
in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially 
the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt 
depressed beyond anything she had ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of 
thought; reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling 
herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important, 
fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her at length return 
home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual, 
and the resolution of repressing such reflections as must make her unfit for 
conversation.
She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each called 
during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes to take leave, but that 
Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for 
her return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be found. 
Elizabeth could but just affect concern in missing him; she really rejoiced at 
it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer an object. She could think only of her 
letter.


Chapter 37

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins having been 
in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was able to 
bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very good health, 
and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy scene 
so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then hastened, to console 
Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return, brought back with great 
satisfaction, a message from her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so 
dull as to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting, that had she 
chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her, as her future 
niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her ladyship's 
indignation would have been. "What would she have said? how would she have 
behaved?" were questions with which she amused herself.
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. "I assure you, I 
feel it exceedingly," said Lady Catherine; "I believe nobody feels the loss of 
friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men, 
and know them to be so much attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go! 
But so they always are. The dear colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till 
just at last; but Darcy seemed to feel it most acutely, more I think than last 
year. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases."
Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which were 
kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits, 
and immediately accounting for it herself, but supposing that she did not like 
to go home again so soon, she added - 
"But if that is the case, you must write to your mother to beg that you may 
stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am 
sure."
"I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation," replied 
Elizabeth, "but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next 
Saturday."
"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to 
stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no 
occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for 
another fortnight."
"But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return."
"Oh, your father of course may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are 
never of so much consequence to a father. And if you stay another month 
complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am 
going there early in June for a week; and as Dawson does not object to the 
barouche box, there will be very good room for one of you -and indeed, if the 
weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as 
you are neither of you large."
"You are all kindness, madam; but I believe we must abide by our original plan."
Lady Catherine seemed resigned. "Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with 
them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young 
women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive 
to send somebody. I have the greatest dislike in the world to that sort of 
thing. Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according 
to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last 
summer, I made a point of her having two men servants go with her. Miss Darcy, 
the daughter of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have 
appeared with propriety in a different manner. I am excessively attentive to 
all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am 
glad it occurred to me to mention it; for it would really be discreditable to 
you to let them go alone."
"My uncle is to send a servant for us."
"Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have 
somebody who thinks of those things. Where shall you change horses? Oh, 
Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be attended 
to."
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask respecting their journey, and 
as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary, which 
Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a mind so occupied, she might 
have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours; 
whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief; and not a 
day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might indulge in all the 
delight of unpleasant recollections.
Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of soon knowing by heart. She studied 
every sentence; and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely 
different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of 
indignation; but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and 
upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and his disappointed 
feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, 
his general character respect; but she could not approve him; nor could she 
for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see 
him again. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation 
and regret; and in the unhappy defects of her family a subject of yet heavier 
chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at 
them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness if his youngest 
daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was 
entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in 
an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they 
were supported by their mother's indulgence, what chance could there be of 
improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia's 
guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed 
and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle and 
vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and 
while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there for 
ever.
Anxiety on Jane's behalf was another prevailing concern, and Mr. Darcy's 
explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former good opinion, heightened 
the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was proved to have been 
sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless any could attach to the 
implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How grievous then was the 
thought that, of a situation so desirable in every respect, so replete with 
advantage, so promising for happiness, Jane had been deprived, by the folly 
and indecorum of her own family!
When to these recollections was added the development of Wickham's character, 
it may be easily believed that the happy spirits which had seldom been 
depressed before, were now so much affected as to make it almost impossible 
for her to appear tolerably cheerful.
Their engagements at Rosings were as frequent during the last week of her stay 
as they had been at first. The very last evening was spent there; and her 
ladyship again inquired minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave 
them directions as to the best method of packing, and was so urgent on the 
necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that Maria thought herself 
obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of the morning, and pack her 
trunk afresh.
When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good 
journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year; and Miss de 
Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand to both.


Chapter 38

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes 
before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of paying the parting 
civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.
"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said he, "whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed 
her sense of your kindness in coming to us; but I am very certain you will not 
leave the house without receiving her thanks for it. The favour of your 
company has been much felt, I assure you. We know how little there is to tempt 
any one to our humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and 
few domestics, and the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford 
extremely dull to a young lady like yourself; but I hope you will believe us 
grateful for the condescension, and that we have done everything in our power 
to prevent your spending your time unpleasantly."
Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had spent 
six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and 
the kind attentions she had received, must make her feel the obliged. Mr. 
Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity replied - 
"It gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that you have passed your time not 
disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most fortunately having it 
in our power to introduce you to very superior society, and from our 
connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the humble home scene, 
I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford visit cannot have been 
entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to Lady Catherine's family is 
indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast. 
You see on what a footing we are. You see how continually we are engaged 
there. In truth I must acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this 
humble parsonage, I should not think any one abiding in it an object of 
compassion, while they are shares of our intimacy at Rosings."
Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was obliged 
to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility and truth in a 
few short sentences.
"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my 
dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will be able to do so. Lady 
Catherine's great attentions to Mrs. Collins you have been a daily witness of; 
and altogether I trust it does not appear that your friend has drawn an 
unfortunate -but on this point it will be as well to be silent. Only let me 
assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can from my heart most cordially 
wish you equal felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind 
and one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance 
of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each 
other."
Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness where that was the 
case, and with equal sincerity could add, that she firmly believed and 
rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry, however, to have the 
recital of them interrupted by the entrance of the lady from whom they sprung. 
Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she had 
chosen it with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her 
visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her 
housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, 
had not yet lost their charms.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed 
within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting 
between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins, 
and as they walked down the garden, he was commissioning her with his best 
respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had 
received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. 
Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her in, Maria followed, and the door 
was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly reminded them, with some 
consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the 
ladies of Rosings.
"But," he added, "you will of course wish to have your humble respects 
delivered to them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you while 
you have been here."
Elizabeth made no objection; the door was then allowed to be shut, and the 
carriage drove off.
"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a few minutes' silence, "it seems but a 
day or two since we first came! and yet how many things have happened!"
"A great many indeed," said her companion, with a sigh.
"We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice! How 
much I shall have to tell!"
Elizabeth privately added, "And how much I shall have to conceal!"
Their journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm; and 
within four hours of their leaving Hunsford, they reached Mr. Gardiner's 
house, where they were to remain a few days.
Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her 
spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt had 
reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at Longbourn there 
would be leisure enough for observation.
It was not without an effort meanwhile that she could wait even for Longbourn, 
before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy's proposals. To know that she had the 
power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the 
same time, so highly gratify whatever of her own vanity she had not yet been 
able to reason away, was such a temptation to openness as nothing could have 
conquered, but the state of indecision in which she remained as to the extent 
of what she should communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on the 
subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley, which might 
only grieve her sister further.


Chapter 39

It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out 
together from Gracechurch Street for the town of -, in Hertfordshire; and, as 
they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was to meet them, 
they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's punctuality, both Kitty and 
Lydia looking out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been above an 
hour in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching 
the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.
After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set out 
with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming: "Is not this 
nice? is not this an agreeable surprise?"
"And we mean to treat you all," added Lydia; "but you must lend us the money, 
for we have just spent ours at the shop out there." Then showing her 
purchases: "Look here, I have bought this bonnet, I do not think it is very 
pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces 
as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better."
And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect unconcern, 
"Oh, but there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and when I have 
bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be 
very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what one wears this summer, 
after the --shire have left Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight."
"Are they indeed!" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.
"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want papa to take us 
all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme, and I daresay 
would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to go too of all things! 
Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!"
"Yes," thought Elizabeth, "that would be a delightful scheme, indeed, and 
completely do for us at once. Good heaven! Brighton, and a whole campful of 
soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of 
militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!"
"Now I have got some news for you," said Lydia, as they sat down to table. 
"What do you think? It is excellent news, capital news, and about a certain 
person that we all like."
Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told that he need 
not stay. Lydia laughed, and said:
"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter 
must not hear, as if he cared! I daresay he often hears worse things said than 
I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw 
such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for my news: it is about dear 
Wickham; too good for the waiter, is not it? There is no danger of Wickham's 
marrying Mary King. There's for you! She is gone down to her uncle at 
Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe."
"And Mary King is safe!" added Elizabeth; "safe from a connection imprudent as 
to fortune."
"She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him."
"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side," said Jane.
"I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it he never cared three 
straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"
Elizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such coarseness of 
expression herself, the coarseness of sentiment was little other than her own 
breast had formerly harboured and fancied liberal!
As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was ordered; and 
after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their boxes, work-bags, and 
parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's and Lydia's purchases, were 
seated in it.
"How nicely we are crammed in!" cried Lydia. "I am glad I bought my bonnet, if 
it is only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now let us be quite 
comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first 
place, let us hear what has happened to you all, since you went away. Have you 
seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that 
one of you would have got a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite 
an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed 
I should be of not being married before three and twenty! My aunt Philips 
wants you so to get husbands, you can't think. She says Lizzy had better have 
taken Mr. Collins; but I do not think there would have been any fun in it. 
Lord! how I should like to be married before any of you! and then I would 
chaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece of fun 
the other day at Colonel Forster's. Kitty and me were to spend the day there, 
and Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the evening (by the bye, 
Mrs. Forster and me are such friends!); and so she asked the two Harringtons 
to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself; and 
then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman's clothes, 
on purpose to pass for a lady -only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but 
Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced 
to borrow one of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When 
Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they 
did not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs. Forster. I 
thought I should have died. And that made the men suspect something, and then 
they soon found out what was the matter."
With such kind of histories of their parties and good jokes, did Lydia, 
assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her companions all 
the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she could, but there was 
no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's name.
Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in 
undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet say 
voluntarily to Elizabeth - 
"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."
Their party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases came to 
meet Maria and hear the news; and various were the subjects which occupied 
them; Lady Lucas was inquiring of Maria across the table, after the welfare 
and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly engaged, on one 
hand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who sat some way 
below her, and on the other, retailing them all to the younger Miss Lucases; 
and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person's, was enumerating 
the various pleasures of the morning to any body who would hear her.
"Oh, Mary," said she, "I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! as we 
went along, Kitty and me drew up all the blinds, and pretended there was 
nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not 
been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very 
handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold luncheon in 
the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then 
when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the 
coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way 
home! we talked and laughed so loud, that any body might have heard us ten 
miles off!"
To this, Mary very gravely replied, "Far be it from me, my dear sister, to 
depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial with the 
generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for me. I 
should infinitely prefer a book."
But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom listened to any body for 
more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at all.
In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk to 
Meryton, and see how everybody went on: but Elizabeth steadily opposed the 
scheme. It should not be said, that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half 
a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was another reason 
too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Wickham again, and was resolved to 
avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to her, of the regiment's 
approaching removal, was indeed beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to 
go, and once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his 
account.
She had not been many hours at home, before she found that the Brighton 
scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under frequent 
discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw directly that her father had not 
the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers were at the same time so 
vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often disheartened, had never yet 
despaired of succeeding at last.


Chapter 40

Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer 
be overcome; and, at length, resolving to suppress every particular in which 
her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to 
her the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality 
which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural; and all 
surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy 
should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend 
them; but still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's 
refusal must have given him.
"His being so sure of succeeding, was wrong," said she; "and certainly ought 
not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his 
disappointment."
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other 
feelings which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not 
blame me, however, for refusing him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?"
"No -I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did."
"But you will know it, when I have told you what happened the very next day."
She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far as 
they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane! who would 
willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much 
wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one 
individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grateful to her feelings, 
capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did she labour to 
prove the probability of error, and seek to clear one without involving the 
other.
"This will not do," said Elizabeth, "you never will be able to make both of 
them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only 
one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make 
one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For 
my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr. Darcy's, but you shall do as you 
choose."
It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.
"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said she. "Wickham so very bad! 
It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! dear Lizzy, only consider what 
he must have suffered.
Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion too! and 
having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I 
am sure you must feel it so."
"Oh, no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so full of 
both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am growing every 
moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion makes me saving; and 
if you lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather."
"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! 
such an openness and gentleness in his manner."
"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two 
young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of 
it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to 
do."
"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to 
him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an opening 
for wit to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually abusive without 
saying anything just; but one cannot be always laughing at a man without now 
and then stumbling on something witty."
"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the 
matter as you do now."
"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was very uncomfortable, I 
may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to of what I felt, no Jane to 
comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical 
as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in 
speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they do appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness, is a most natural 
consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point, on 
which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to 
make our acquaintance in general understand Wickham's character."
Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can be no 
occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?"
"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to make 
his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to his 
sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour 
to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The 
general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the death 
of half the good people in Meryton, to attempt to place him in an amiable 
light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will 
not signify to any body here, what he really is. Some time hence it will be 
all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it 
before. At present I will say nothing about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for ever. 
He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a 
character. We must not make him desperate."
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation. She had got 
rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight, and was 
certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might wish to talk again 
of either. But there was still something lurking behind, of which prudence 
forbad the disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy's 
letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she had been valued by his 
friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible 
that nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could 
justify her in throwing off this last incumbrance of mystery. "And then," said 
she, "if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely be 
able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. 
The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!"
She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of 
her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender 
affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself in love before, her 
regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and 
disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast; and so 
fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, 
that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, 
were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets, which must have been 
injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet, one day, "what is your opinion now of this 
sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it 
again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find 
out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving 
young man -and I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of her 
ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in 
the summer; and I have inquired of everybody too, who is likely to know."
"I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more."
"Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I shall 
always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I would 
not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a 
broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation, she made 
no answer.
"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother, soon afterwards, "and so the Collinses 
live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what 
sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I daresay. If 
she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing 
extravagant in their housekeeping, I daresay."
"No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. They will take 
care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. 
Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having 
Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it quite as their own, I 
daresay, whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which they could not mention before me."
"No; it would have been strange if they had. But I make no doubt, they often 
talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an estate that 
is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed of having 
one that was only entailed on me."


Chapter 41

The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was the 
last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the 
neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost universal. The 
elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue 
the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached 
for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and 
who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?" would they often 
exclaim in the bitterness of woe. "How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had 
herself endured on a similar occasion, five and twenty years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel Millar's 
regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart."
"I am sure I shall break mine," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton?" observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes! if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever."
"And my aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn 
House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense of pleasure was 
lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never 
had she before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views 
of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received 
an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to 
accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and 
very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had 
recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their three months' 
acquaintance they had been intimate two.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the 
delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be 
described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the 
house in restless ecstasy, calling for every one's congratulations, and 
laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty 
continued in the parlour repining at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her 
accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia," said she, 
"though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked 
as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane, to make her 
resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting 
in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as 
the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and 
detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help 
secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the 
improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could 
derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the 
probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, 
where the temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her attentively, 
and then said:
"Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or 
other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or 
inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to us 
all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and 
imprudent manner; nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would 
judge differently in the affair."
"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she frightened away some of 
your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths 
as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. 
Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by 
Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of 
peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, 
our respectability in the world, must be affected by the wild volatility, the 
assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse 
me, -for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the 
trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her 
present pursuits are not to the business of her life, she will soon be beyond 
the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, 
be the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous. 
A flirt too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any 
attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and from the ignorance and 
emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal 
contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty is 
also comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, 
and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh, my dear father, can you suppose it possible 
that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that 
their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately 
taking her hand, said in reply - 
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known, you 
must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for 
having a couple of -or I may say, three very silly sisters. We shall have no 
peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel 
Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she 
is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will 
be of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The 
officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, 
that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she 
cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to lock her up for the 
rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion 
continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her 
nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them. She was 
confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or 
augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her 
father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their united 
volubility. In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every 
possibility of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of fancy, the 
streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers. She saw herself the 
object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown. She saw 
all the glories of the camp; its tents stretched forth in the beauteous 
uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with 
scarlet; and to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, 
tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.
Had she known that her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and such 
realities as these, what would have been her sensations? They could have been 
understood only by her mother, who might have felt nearly the same. Lydia's 
going to Brighton was all that consoled her for the melancholy conviction of 
her husband's never intending to go there himself.
But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures 
continued, with little intermissions, to the very last day of Lydia's leaving 
home.
Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. Having been frequently 
in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty well over; the 
agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had even learnt to detect, in 
the very gentleness which had first delighted her, an affectation and a 
sameness to disgust and weary. In his present behaviour to herself, moreover, 
she had a fresh source of displeasure, for the inclination he soon testified 
of renewing those attentions which had marked the early part of their 
acquaintance, could only serve, after what had since passed, to provoke her. 
She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected as the object of 
such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could 
not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however long, and 
for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be 
gratified and her preference secured at any time by their renewal.
On the very last day of the regiment's remaining in Meryton, he dined, with 
others of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth disposed to 
part from him in good humour, that on his making some enquiry as to the manner 
in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's 
and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him if he 
were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and 
a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen him often; and, after 
observing that he was a very gentleman-like man, asked her how she had liked 
him. Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an air of indifference he soon 
afterwards added, "How long did you say that he was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Wickham, with a look which did not escape her. "And pray, may 
I ask?" but checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is it in an address 
that he improves? Has he designed to add aught of civility to his ordinary 
style? for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, 
"that he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he 
ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over 
her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a something in her 
countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, 
while she added - 
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that either his 
mind or manners were in a state of improvement, but that from knowing him 
better, his disposition was better understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for 
a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to 
her again, and said in the gentlest of accents - 
"You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend 
how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the 
appearance of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be of service, 
if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter him from such foul 
misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness, 
to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits 
to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His 
fear of her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good 
deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, 
which I am certain he has very much at heart."
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight 
inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old 
subject of his grievances, and she was in no humour to indulge him. The rest 
of the evening passed with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, 
but with no further attempt to distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at last 
with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton, from 
whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation between her 
and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who shed 
tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her 
good wishes for the felicity of her daughter, and impressive in her 
injunctions that she would not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as 
much as possible -advice, which there was every reason to believe would be 
attended to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding 
farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were uttered without being 
heard.


Chapter 42

Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have 
formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her 
father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour 
which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak 
understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an end 
to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished 
for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. 
Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which 
his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often 
console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the 
country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal 
enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her 
ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of 
happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where 
other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive 
benefit from such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father's 
behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his 
abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she 
endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her 
thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in 
exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly 
reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now, the disadvantages 
which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so 
fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; 
talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability 
of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.
When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she found little other 
cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties abroad were 
less varied than before; and at home she had a mother and sister whose 
constant repinings at the dullness of everything around them threw a real 
gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty might in time regain her 
natural degree of sense, since the disturbers of her brain were removed, her 
other sister, from whose disposition greater evil might be apprehended, was 
likely to be hardened in all her folly and assurance, by a situation of such 
double danger as a watering-place and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she 
found, what has been sometimes found before, that an event to which she had 
looked forward with impatient desire, did not, in taking place, bring all the 
satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary to name 
some other period for the commencement of actual felicity; to have some other 
point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying the 
pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the present, and prepare for 
another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the object of her 
happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours 
which the discontentedness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and could 
she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have been perfect.
"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something to wish for. Were 
the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain. But here, 
by carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence, I 
may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure realised. A scheme 
of which every part promises delight can never be successful; and the general 
disappointment is only warded off by the defence of some little peculiar 
vexation."
When Lydia went away, she promised to write very often and very minutely to 
her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and always 
very short. Those to her mother, contained little else, than that they were 
just returned from the Library, where such and such officers had attended 
them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as made her quite wild; 
that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which she would have described more 
fully, but was obliged to leave off in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called 
her, and they were going to the camp; and from her correspondence with her 
sister there was still less to be learnt -for her letters to Kitty, though 
rather longer, were much too full of lines under the words to be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good humour, 
and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. Everything wore a happier 
aspect. The families who had been in town for the winter came back again, and 
summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored to her 
usual querulous serenity, and by the middle of June Kitty was so much 
recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without tears; an event of such happy 
promise as to make Elizabeth hope, that by the following Christmas, she might 
be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention an officer above once a day, 
unless, by some cruel and malicious arrangement at the War-office, another 
regiment should be quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their Northern tour was now fast 
approaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter arrived 
from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its 
extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a 
fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month; and as 
that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much as they 
had proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and comfort they had 
built on, they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more 
contracted tour; and, according to the present plan, were to go no farther 
northward than Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to 
occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a 
peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some 
years of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably 
as great an object of her curiosity, as all the celebrated beauties of 
Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.
Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on seeing the 
Lakes, and still thought there might have been time enough. But it was her 
business to be satisfied -and certainly her temper to be happy; and all was 
soon right again.
With the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas connected. It was 
impossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley and its 
owner. "But surely," said she, "I may enter his county with impunity, and rob 
it of a few petrified spars without his perceiving me."
The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to pass away before 
her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Gardiner, with their four children, did at length appear at Longbourn. The 
children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to 
be left under the particular care of their cousin Jane, who was the general 
favourite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of temper exactly adapted her 
for attending to them in every way -teaching them, playing with them, and 
loving them.
The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off the next morning 
with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certain -
that of suitableness as companions; a suitableness which comprehended health 
and temper to bear inconveniences -cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure -and 
affection and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there 
were disappointments abroad.
It is not the object of this work to give a description of Derbyshire, nor of 
any of the remarkable places through which their route thither lay; Oxford, 
Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham, etc., are sufficiently known. A 
small part of Derbyshire is all the present concern. To the little town of 
Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residence, and where she had 
lately learned that some acquaintance still remained, they bent their steps, 
after having seen all the principal wonders of the country; and within five 
miles of Lambton, Elizabeth found from her aunt, that Pemberley was situated. 
It was not in their direct road; nor more than a mile or two out of it. In 
talking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an 
inclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, and 
Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.
"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 your acquaintance are 
connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you know."
Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, and 
was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. She must own that she 
was tired of great houses; after going over so many, she really had no 
pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.
Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it were merely a fine house richly 
furnished," said she, "I should not care about it myself; but the grounds are 
delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the country."
Elizabeth said no more; but her mind could not acquiesce. The possibility of 
meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, instantly occurred. It would be 
dreadful! She blushed at the very idea; and thought it would be better to 
speak openly to her aunt, than to run such a risk. But against this, there 
were objections; and she finally resolved that it could be the last resource, 
if her private inquiries as to the absence of the family were unfavourably 
answered.
Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid whether 
Pemberley were not a very fine place, what was the name of its proprietor, 
and, with no little alarm, whether the family were down for the summer. A most 
welcome negative followed the last question -and her alarms being now removed, 
she was at leisure to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself; 
and when the subject was revived the next morning, and she was again applied 
to, could readily answer, and with a proper air of indifference, that she had 
not really any dislike to the scheme.
To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.


Chapter 43

Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley 
Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned in at the lodge, 
her spirits were in a high flutter.
The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They entered 
it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful 
wood stretching over a wide extent.
Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every 
remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for half a mile, 
and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the 
wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on 
the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. 
It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and 
backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural 
importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. 
Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. 
She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural 
beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of 
them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress 
of Pemberley might be something!
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door; and, while 
examining the nearest aspect of the house, all her apprehensions of meeting 
its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chamber-maid had been mistaken. On 
applying to see the place, they were admitted into the hall; and Elizabeth, as 
they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being where she 
was.
The housekeeper came; a respectable looking elderly woman, much less fine, and 
more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the 
dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. 
Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its 
prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, 
receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. 
Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, 
the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as 
far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, 
these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there 
were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their 
furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with 
admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine, with 
less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.
"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been mistress! With these 
rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as 
a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as 
visitors my uncle and aunt. But no," recollecting herself, "that could never 
be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been 
allowed to invite them."
This was a lucky recollection -it saved her from something like regret.
She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master were really 
absent, but had not courage for it. At length, however, the question was asked 
by her uncle; and she turned away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds replied, 
that he was, adding, "but we expect him tomorrow, with a large party of 
friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had not by any 
circumstance been delayed a day.
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached and saw the 
likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended amongst several other miniatures, over the 
mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper 
came forward, and told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son 
of her late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at his own 
expense. "He is now gone into the army," she added, "but I am afraid he has 
turned out very wild."
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth could not return 
it.
"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, "is my 
master -and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other -about 
eight years ago."
"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs. Gardiner, looking 
at the picture; "it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it 
is like or not."
Mrs. Reynolds's respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of 
her knowing her master.
"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"
Elizabeth coloured, and said, "A little."
"And do you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?"
"Yes, very handsome."
"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs you will see a 
finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master's 
favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was 
very fond of them."
This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.
Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when 
she was only eight years old.
"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mr. Gardiner.
"Oh, yes -the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished! 
She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just 
come down for her -a present from my master; she comes here tomorrow with him."
Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant, encouraged her 
communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs. Reynolds, either from 
pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and 
his sister.
"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"
"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I daresay he may spend half his time 
here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months."
Except, thought Elizabeth, when she goes to Ramsgate.
"If your master would marry, you might see more of him."
"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good 
enough for him."
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, "It is very 
much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so."
"I say no more than the truth, and what every body will say that knows him," 
replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far; and she 
listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "I have never 
had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him since he was four 
years old."
This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to her ideas. 
That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion. Her keenest 
attention was awakened; she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her uncle 
for saying:
"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in 
having such a master."
"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I was to go through the world, I could not meet 
with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when 
children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-
tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world."
Elizabeth almost stared at her. "Can this be Mr. Darcy!" thought she.
"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs. Gardiner.
"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him -just as 
affable to the poor."
Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs. 
Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subjects of the 
pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture in vain. 
Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice, to which he 
attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led again to the 
subject; and she dwelt with energy on his many merits, as they proceeded 
together up the great staircase.
"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that ever lived. 
Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think of nothing but themselves. 
There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good 
name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To 
my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."
"In what an amiable light does this place him!" thought Elizabeth.
"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt, as they walked, "is not quite 
consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend."
"Perhaps we might be deceived."
"That is not very likely; our authority was too good."
On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shown into a very pretty 
sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the 
apartments below; and were informed that it was but just done to give pleasure 
to Miss Darcy, who has taken a liking to the room, when last at Pemberley.
"He is certainly a good brother," said Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of 
the windows.
Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight, when she should enter the 
room. "And this is always the way with him," she added. "Whatever can give his 
sister any pleasure, is sure to be pleasure or pain it was in his power to 
bestow! How much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been 
brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she 
stood before the canvas, on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon 
herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than 
it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened its 
impropriety of expression.
When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen, they 
returned downstairs, and taking leave of the housekeeper, were consigned over 
to the gardener, who met them at the hall door.
As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to 
look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and while the former was 
conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly 
came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables.
They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance, 
that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the 
cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, 
and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise; but shortly recovering 
himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms 
of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned away; but stopping on his approach, received his 
compliments with an embarrassment impossible to be overcome. Had his first 
appearance, or his resemblance to the picture they had just been examining, 
been insufficient to assure the other two that they now saw Mr. Darcy, the 
gardener's expression of surprise, on beholding his master, must immediately 
have told it. They stood a little aloof while he was talking to their niece, 
who, astonished and confused, scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and 
knew not what answer she returned to his civil inquiries after her family. 
Amazed at the alteration in his manner since they last parted, every sentence 
that he uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the 
impropriety of her being found there, recurring to her mind, the few minutes 
in which they continued together were some of the most uncomfortable of her 
life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his accent had none of 
its usual sedateness; and he repeated his inquiries as to the time of her 
having left Longbourn, and of her stay in Derbyshire, so often, and in so 
hurried a way, as plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts.
At length every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few moments 
without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself; and took leave.
The others then joined her, and expressed their admiration of his figure; but 
Elizabeth heard not a word, and, wholly engrossed by her own feelings, 
followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her 
coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill judged thing in the world! 
How strange must it appear to him! In what a disgraceful light might it not 
strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely thrown herself in 
his way again! Oh! why did she come? or, why did he thus come a day before he 
was expected? Had they been only ten minutes sooner, they should have been 
beyond the reach of his discrimination, for it was plain that he was that 
moment arrived, that moment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She 
blushed again and again over the perverseness of the meeting. And his 
behaviour, so strikingly altered. What could it mean? That he should even 
speak to her was amazing! but to speak with such civility, to inquire after 
her family! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, 
never had he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What a 
contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put his 
letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, nor how to account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and every step 
was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, or a finer reach of the woods to 
which they were approaching; but it was some time before Elizabeth was 
sensible of any of it; and, though she answered mechanically to the repeated 
appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed to direct her eyes to such objects 
as they pointed out, she distinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were 
all fixed on that one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where 
Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his 
mind; in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of 
everything, she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only because 
he felt himself at ease; yet there had been that in his voice, which was not 
like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing her, she 
could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with composure.
At length, however, the remarks of her companions on her absence of mind 
roused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like herself.
They entered the woods, and bidding adieu to the river for a while, ascended 
some of the higher grounds; whence, in spots where the opening of the trees 
gave the eye power to wander, were many charming views of the valley, the 
opposite hills, with the long range of woods overspreading many, and 
occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish of going round 
the whole park, but feared it might be beyond a walk. With a triumphant smile, 
they were told, that it was ten miles round. It settled the matter; and they 
pursued the accustomed circuit; which brought them again, after some time, in 
a descent among hanging woods, to the edge of the water, in one of its 
narrowest parts. They crossed it by a simple bridge, in character with the 
general air of the scene; it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet 
visited; and the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for 
the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it. 
Elizabeth longed to explore its windings; but when they had crossed the 
bridge, and perceived their distance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner, who was 
not a great walker, could go no farther, and thought only of returning to the 
carriage as quickly as possible. Her niece was, therefore, obliged to submit, 
and they took their way towards the house on the opposite side of the river, 
in the nearest direction; but their progress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner, 
though seldom able to indulge the taste, was very fond of fishing, and was so 
much engaged in watching the occasional appearance of some trout in the water, 
and talking to the man about them, that he advanced but little. Whilst 
wandering on in this slow manner, they were again surprised, and Elizabeth's 
astonishment was quite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr. 
Darcy approaching them, and at no great distance. The walk being here less 
sheltered than on the other side, allowed them to see him before they met. 
Elizabeth, however astonished, was at least more prepared for an interview 
than before, and resolved to appear and to speak with calmness, if he really 
intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed, she felt that he would 
probably strike into some other path. The idea lasted while a turning in the 
walk concealed him from their view; the turning past, he was immediately 
before them. With a glance she saw, that he had lost none of his recent 
civility; and, to imitate his politeness, she began as they met to admire the 
beauty of the place; but she had not got beyond the words "delightful," and 
"charming," when some unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied that 
praise of Pemberley from her might be mischievously construed. Her colour 
changed, and she said no more.
Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her pausing, he asked her 
if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends. This was a 
stroke of civility for which she was quite unprepared; and she could hardly 
suppress a smile, at his being now seeking the acquaintance of some of those 
very people against whom his pride had revolted, in his offer to herself. 
"What will be his surprise," thought she, "when he knows who they are! He 
takes them now for people of fashion."
The introduction, however, was immediately made; and as she named their 
relationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him, to see how he bore it; 
and was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he could from 
such disgraceful companions. That he was surprised by the connection was 
evident; he sustained it, however, with fortitude, and so far from going away, 
turned back with them, and entered into conversation with Mr. Gardiner. 
Elizabeth could not but be pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling, 
that he should know she had some relations for whom there was no need to 
blush. She listened most attentively to all that passed between them, and 
gloried in every expression, every sentence of her uncle, which marked his 
intelligence, his taste, or his good manners.
The conversation soon turned upon fishing; and she heard Mr. Darcy invite him, 
with the greatest civility, to fish there as often as he chose, while he 
continued in the neighbourhood, offering at the same time to supply him with 
fishing tackle, and pointing out those parts of the stream where there was 
usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was walking arm in arm with Elizabeth, 
gave her a look expressive of her wonder. Elizabeth said nothing, but it 
gratified her exceedingly; the compliment must be all for herself. Her 
astonishment, however, was extreme; and continually was she repeating, "Why is 
he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for me -it cannot be for 
my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not 
work such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me."
After walking some time in this way, the two ladies in front, the two 
gentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after descending to the brink of 
the river for the better inspection of some curious water-plant, there chanced 
to be a little alteration. It originated in Mrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued by 
the exercise of the morning, found Elizabeth's arm inadequate to her support, 
and consequently preferred her husband's. Mr. Darcy took her place by her 
niece, and they walked on together. After a short silence, the lady first 
spoke. She wished him to know that she had been assured of his absence before 
she came to the place, and accordingly began by observing, that his arrival 
had been very unexpected "for your housekeeper," she added, "informed us that 
you would certainly not be here till tomorrow; and indeed, before we left 
Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the 
country." He acknowledged the truth of it all; and said that business with his 
steward had occasioned his coming forward a few hours before the rest of the 
party with whom he had been travelling. "They will join me early tomorrow," he 
continued, "and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you, -
Mr. Bingley and his sisters."
Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly driven 
back to the time when Mr. Bingley's name had been last mentioned between them; 
and if she might judge from his complexion, his mind was not very differently 
engaged.
"There is also one other person in the party," he continued after a pause, 
"who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I 
ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at 
Lambton?"
The surprise of such an application was great indeed; it was too great for her 
to know in what manner she acceded to it. She immediately felt that whatever 
desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquainted with her, must be the work of 
her brother, and without looking farther, it was satisfactory; it was 
gratifying to know that his resentment had not made him think really ill of her.
They now walked on in silence; each of them deep in thought. Elizabeth was not 
comfortable; that was impossible; but she was flattered and pleased. His wish 
of introducing his sister to her, was a compliment of the highest kind. They 
soon outstripped the others, and when they had reached the carriage, Mr. and 
Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile behind.
He then asked her to walk into the house; but she declared herself not tired, 
and they stood together on the lawn. At such a time, much might have been 
said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but there seemed an 
embargo on every subject. At last she recollected that she had been 
travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with great perseverance. 
Yet time and her aunt moved slowly -and her patience and her ideas were nearly 
worn out before the tete-a-tete was over. On Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's coming up 
they were all pressed to go into the house and take some refreshment; but this 
was declined, and they parted on each side with the utmost politeness. Mr. 
Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage, and when it drove off, Elizabeth 
saw him walking slowly towards the house.
The observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them pronounced 
him to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected. "He is perfectly 
well behaved, polite, and unassuming," said her uncle.
"There is something a little stately in him, to be sure," replied her aunt; 
"but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the 
housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing 
of it."
"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more than 
civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention. 
His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling."
"To be sure, Lizzy," said her aunt, "he is not so handsome as Wickham; or 
rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are perfectly good. 
But how came you to tell us that he was so disagreeable?"
Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that she had liked him 
better when they met in Kent than before, and that she had never seen him so 
pleasant as this morning.
"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities," replied her 
uncle. "Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his 
word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off 
his grounds."
Elizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character, but said nothing.
"From what we have seen of him," continued Mrs. Gardiner, "I really should not 
have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by any body, as he 
has done by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, 
there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks. And there is 
something of dignity in his countenance, that would not give one an 
unfavourable idea of his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who showed us 
the house did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly help laughing 
aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, and that in the eye of 
a servant comprehends every virtue."
Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say something in vindication of his 
behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave them to understand, in as guarded a 
manner as she could, that by what she had heard from his relations in Kent, 
his actions were capable of a very different construction; and that his 
character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amiable, as they had 
been considered in Hertfordshire. In confirmation of this, she related the 
particulars of all the pecuniary transactions in which they had been 
connected, without actually naming her authority, but stating it to be such as 
might be relied on.
Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they were now approaching 
the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave way to the charm of 
recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing out to her husband all 
the interesting spots in its environs, to think of anything else. Fatigued as 
she had been by the morning's walk, they had no sooner dined than she set off 
again in quest of her former acquaintance, and the evening was spent in the 
satisfactions of an intercourse renewed after many years discontinuance.
The occurrences of the day were too full of interest to leave Elizabeth much 
attention for any of these new friends; and she could do nothing but think, 
and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy's civility, and above all, of his wishing 
her to be acquainted with his sister.


Chapter 44

Elizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit her 
the very day after her reaching Pemberley, and was, consequently resolved not 
to be out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning. But her conclusion 
was false; for on the very morning after their own arrival at Lambton, these 
visitors came. They had been walking about the place with some of their new 
friends, and were just returned to the inn to dress themselves for dining with 
the same family, when the sound of a carriage drew them to a window, and they 
saw a gentleman and lady in a curricle, driving up the street. Elizabeth 
immediately recognising the livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no 
small degree of surprise to her relations, by acquainting them with the honour 
which she expected. Her uncle and aunt were all amazement; and the 
embarrassment of her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance itself, 
and many of the circumstances of the preceding day, opened to them a new idea 
on the business. Nothing had ever suggested it before, but they now felt that 
there was no other way of accounting for such attentions from such a quarter, 
than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While these newly-born notions 
were passing in their heads, the perturbation of Elizabeth's feelings was 
every moment increasing. She was quite amazed at her own discomposure; but 
amongst other causes of disquiet, she dreaded lest the partiality of the 
brother should have said too much in her favour; and, more than commonly 
anxious to please, she naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would 
fail her.
She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen; and as she walked up and 
down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw such looks of inquiring 
surprise in her uncle and aunt, as made everything worse.
Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable introduction took 
place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see, that her new acquaintance was at 
least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her being at Lambton, she had 
heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the observation of a very few 
minutes convinced her that she was only exceedingly shy. She found it 
difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though little 
more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and 
graceful. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good 
humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. 
Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute and unembarrassed an 
observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much relieved by discerning such 
different feelings.
They had not been long together, before Darcy told her that Bingley was also 
coming to wait on her; and she had barely time to express her satisfaction, 
and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's quick step was heard on the 
stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All Elizabeth's anger against him 
had been long done away; but, had she still felt any, it could hardly have 
stood its ground against the unaffected cordiality with which he expressed 
himself, on seeing her again. He inquired in a friendly, though general way, 
after her family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that 
he had ever done.
To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting personage than to 
herself. They had long wished to see him. The whole party before them, indeed, 
excited a lively attention. The suspicions which had just arisen of Mr Darcy 
and their niece, directed their observation towards each with an earnest, 
though guarded, inquiry; and they soon drew from those inquiries the full 
conviction that one of them at least knew what it was to love. Of the lady's 
sensations they remained a little in doubt; but that the gentleman was 
overflowing with admiration was evident enough.
Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the feelings 
of each of her visitors, she wanted to compose her own, and to make herself 
agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where she feared most to fail, she 
was most sure of success, for those to whom she endeavoured to give pleasure 
were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley was ready, Georgiana was eager, and 
Darcy determined, to be pleased.
In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister; and oh! how 
ardently did she long to know, whether any of his were directed in a like 
manner. Sometimes she could fancy that he talked less than on former 
occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that as he looked 
at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But, though this might be 
imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour to Miss Darcy, who 
had been set up as a rival of Jane. No look appeared on either side that spoke 
particular regard. Nothing occurred between them that could justify the hopes 
of his sister. On this point she was soon satisfied; and two or three little 
circumstances occurred ere they parted, which, in her anxious interpretation, 
denoted a recollection of Jane, not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of 
saying more that might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observed 
to her, at a moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which 
had something of real regret, that it "was a very long time since he had had 
the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before she could reply, he added, "It is 
above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November; when we were 
all dancing together at Netherfield."
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and he afterwards took 
occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the rest, whether all her 
sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question, nor in the 
preceding remark; but there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning.
It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself; but, 
whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general 
complaisance, and in all that he said, she heard an accent so far removed from 
hauteur or disdain of his companions, as convinced her that the improvement of 
manners which she had yesterday witnessed, however temporary its existence 
might prove, had at least outlived one day. When she saw him thus seeking the 
acquaintance, and courting the good opinion of people with whom any 
intercourse a few months ago would have been a disgrace; when she saw him thus 
civil, not only to herself, but to the very relations whom he had openly 
disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage, the 
difference, the change was so great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that 
she could hardly restrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even in 
the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at 
Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from self-
consequence, or unbending reserve, as now, when no importance could result 
from the success of his endeavours, and when even the acquaintance of those to 
whom his attentions were addressed, would draw down the ridicule and censure 
of the ladies both at Netherfield and Rosings.
Their visitors stayed with them above half an hour; and when they arose to 
depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing their wish of 
seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, before 
they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a diffidence which marked her 
little in the habit of giving invitations, readily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner 
looked at her niece, desirous of knowing how she, whom the invitation most 
concerned, felt disposed as to its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned away 
her head. Presuming, however, that this studied avoidance spoke rather a 
momentary embarrassment than any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her 
husband, who was fond of society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she 
ventured to engage for her attendance, and the day after the next was fixed on.
Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth again, 
having still a great deal to say to her, and many inquiries to make after all 
their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, construing all this into a wish of 
hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased; and on this account, as well as 
some others, found herself, when their visitors left them, capable of 
considering the last half hour with some satisfaction, though while it was 
passing, the enjoyment of it had been little. Eager to be alone, and fearful 
of inquiries or hints from her uncle and aunt, she stayed with them only long 
enough to hear their favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to 
dress.
But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's curiosity; it was not 
their wish to force her communication. It was evident that she was much better 
acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of; it was evident 
that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to interest, but nothing 
to justify inquiry.
of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far as 
their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could not be 
untouched by his politeness, and had they drawn his character from their own 
feelings and his servant's report, without any reference to any other account, 
the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known would not have recognised it 
for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest, however, in believing the house-
keeper; and they soon became sensible, that the authority of a servant who had 
known him since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated 
respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred 
in the intelligence of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen its 
weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, 
and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small market-
town where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he was 
a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.
With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held there 
in much estimation; for though the chief of his concerns with the son of his 
patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet a well-known fact that, on his 
quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind him, which Mr. Darcy 
afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the 
last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not long enough 
to determine her feelings towards one in that mansion; and she lay awake two 
whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She certainly did not hate him. No; 
hatred had vanished long ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever 
feeling a dislike against him, that could be so called. The respect created by 
the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly 
admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feelings; and it was 
now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so 
highly in his favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a 
light, which yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem, 
there was a motive within her of good-will which could not be overlooked. It 
was gratitude. Gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving 
her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner 
in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. 
He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, 
on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and 
without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where 
their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her 
friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a change in a man of 
so much pride excited not only astonishment but gratitude -for to love, ardent 
love, it must be attributed; and as such its impression on her was of a sort 
to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be exactly 
defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real 
interest in his welfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that 
welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of 
both that she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still 
possessed, of bringing on the renewal of his addresses.
It had been settled in the evening, between the aunt and niece, that such a 
striking civility as Miss Darcy's, in coming to them on the very day of her 
arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a late breakfast, ought 
to be imitated, though it could not be equalled, by some exertion of 
politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it would be highly expedient 
to wait on her at Pemberley the following morning. They were, therefore, to 
go. Elizabeth was pleased; though, when she asked herself the reason, she had 
very little to say in reply.
Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been 
renewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting some of 
the gentlemen at Pemberley by noon.


Chapter 45

Convinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her had 
originated in jealousy, she could not help feeling how very unwelcome her 
appearance at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious to know with how much 
civility on that lady's side, the acquaintance would now be renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose 
northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows opening to the 
ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the 
house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered 
over the intermediate lawn.
In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. 
Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London. 
Georgiana's reception of them was very civil; but attended with all that 
embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing 
wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior, the belief of 
her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, did her 
justice, and pitied her.
By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsey; and on 
their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be, succeeded 
for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-
looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind of discourse, proved her 
to be more truly well-bred than either of the others; and between her and Mrs. 
Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried 
on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in it; and 
sometimes did venture a short sentence, when there was least danger of its 
being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched by Miss Bingley, and 
that she could not speak a word, especially to Miss Darcy, without calling her 
attention. This observation would not have prevented her from trying to talk 
to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance; but she 
was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying much. Her own thoughts were 
employing her. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would 
enter the room. She wished, she feared that the master of the house might be 
amongst them; and whether she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely 
determine. After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour, without hearing 
Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold 
inquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal indifference 
and brevity, and the other said no more.
The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of 
servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits in 
season; but this did not take place till after many a significant look and 
smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her 
post. There was now employment for the whole party; for though they could not 
all talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, 
nectarines, and peaches, soon collected them round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether she 
most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which 
prevailed on his entering the room; and then, though but a moment before she 
had believed her wishes to predominate, she began to regret that he came.
He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two or three other 
gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and had left him only on 
learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to Georgiana that 
morning. No sooner did he appear, than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be 
perfectly easy and unembarrassed; a resolution the more necessary to be made, 
but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she saw that the suspicions of 
the whole party were awakened against them, and that there was scarcely an eye 
which did not watch his behaviour when he first came into the room. In no 
countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's, 
in spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of 
its objects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions 
to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance, 
exerted herself much more to talk; and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for 
his sister and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded, as much as possible, 
every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss Bingley saw all this 
likewise; and, in the imprudence of anger, took the first opportunity of 
saying, with sneering civility:
"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the --shire Militia removed from Meryton? They must 
be a great loss to your family."
In Darcy's presence she dared not mention Wickham's name; but Elizabeth 
instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and the various 
recollections connected with him gave her a moment's distress; but, exerting 
herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered the 
question in a tolerably disengaged tone. While she spoke, an involuntary 
glance showed her Darcy with an heightened complexion, earnestly looking at 
her, and his sister overcome with confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes. 
Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she 
undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint; but she had merely intended to 
discompose Elizabeth, by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she 
believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her 
in Darcy's opinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter of all the follies and 
absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that corps. 
Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement. To no 
creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible, except to 
Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her brother was particularly 
anxious to conceal it, from that very wish which Elizabeth had long ago 
attributed to him, of their becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly 
formed such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his endeavour to 
separate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to 
his lively concern for the welfare of his friend.
Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion; and as 
Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to Wickham, 
Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any 
more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her 
interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed to 
turn his thoughts from Elizabeth, seemed to have fixed them on her more, and 
more cheerfully.
Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above 
mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage, Miss 
Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, 
behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's 
recommendation was enough to ensure her favour: his judgment could not err, 
and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth, as to leave Georgiana without 
the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable. When Darcy 
returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part 
of what she had been saying to his sister.
"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never 
in my life saw any one so much altered as she is since the winter. She is 
grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have 
known her again."
However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented 
himself with coolly replying, that he perceived no other alteration than her 
being rather tanned, -no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.
"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I never could see any 
beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her 
features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing 
marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; 
and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I never could 
perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, 
which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-
sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."
Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the 
best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always wise; and 
in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the success she 
expected. He was resolutely silent however; and, from a determination of 
making him speak, she continued - 
"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were 
to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect your 
saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, `She a beauty! I 
should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she seemed to improve on 
you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."
"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, "but that was only 
when I first knew her, for it is many months since I have considered her as 
one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."
He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having 
forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their 
visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested them both. 
The looks and behaviour of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of 
the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked of his sister, 
his friends, his house, his fruit -of everything but himself; yet Elizabeth 
was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would 
have been highly gratified by her niece's beginning the subject.


Chapter 46

Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane, 
on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on 
each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the third, her 
repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters 
from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent 
elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the 
direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her uncle and 
aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one 
missent must be first attended to; it had been written five days ago. The 
beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, 
with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a 
day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. 
It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most 
unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you -be assured 
that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express 
came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel 
Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his 
officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, 
however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So 
imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that 
his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily 
believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at 
heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can 
give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. 
How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him; 
we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is 
conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express 
was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles 
of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a 
few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for 
I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make 
it out, but I hardly know what I have written."
Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she 
felt, Elizabeth, on finishing this letter, instantly seized the other, and 
opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been written a 
day later than the conclusion of the first.
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I wish 
this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so 
bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly 
know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be 
delayed. Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would 
be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too 
much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came 
yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the 
express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that 
they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his 
belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was 
repeated to Colonel F. who instantly taking the alarm, set off from B. 
intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no 
farther; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney-coach, and 
dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after 
this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to 
think. After making every possible inquiry on that side London, Colonel F. 
came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and 
at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success, no such people 
had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to 
Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to 
his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F. but no one can throw any 
blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and 
mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances 
might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to 
pursue their first plan; and even if he could form such a design against a 
young woman of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so 
lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is 
not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed 
my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is 
really ill and keeps her room. Could she exert herself it would be better, but 
this is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in my life saw him so 
affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as 
it was a matter of confidence one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest 
Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but 
now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am 
not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take up 
my pen again to do, what I have just told you I would not, but circumstances 
are such, that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here, as soon 
as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of 
requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My 
father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover 
her. What he means to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will 
not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel 
Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an 
exigence my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he 
will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness."
"Oh, where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she 
finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing a moment of 
the time so precious; but as she reached the door it was opened by a servant, 
and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and 
before he could recover himself enough to speak, she, in whose mind every idea 
was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed: "I beg your pardon, 
but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner, this moment, on business that 
cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."
"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; 
then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let 
the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you 
cannot go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how little 
would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the servant, 
therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent as made her 
almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking 
so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain 
from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, "Let me call your 
maid. Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief? A glass of 
wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."
"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There is 
nothing the matter with me. I am quite well, I am only distressed by some 
dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not 
speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something 
indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At 
length she spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such 
dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My youngest sister has 
left all her friends -has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of -of Mr. 
Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to 
doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him 
to -she is lost for ever."
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I consider," she added in a yet more 
agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had 
I but explained some part of it only -some part of what I learnt, to my own 
family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is 
all, all too late now."
"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved -shocked. But is it certain -
absolutely certain?"
"Oh yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost 
to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate 
assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be 
done, I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be 
worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. 
It is every way horrible!"
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.
"When my eyes were opened to his real character. -Oh, had I known what I 
ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew not -I was afraid of doing too much. 
Wretched, wretched mistake!"
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and 
down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. 
Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking; 
everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance 
of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief 
of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded to 
palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to 
make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that 
she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia -the 
humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up every 
private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon 
lost to everything else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only 
recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a 
manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "I 
am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead 
in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing, concern. Would to heaven 
that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer 
consolation to such distress. But I will not torment you with vain wishes, 
which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, 
I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley 
today."
"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent 
business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it 
possible. I know it cannot be long."
He readily assured her of his secrecy -again expressing his sorrow for her 
distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to 
hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious, 
parting look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should 
ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had marked their 
several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a retrospective glance over 
the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, 
sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its 
continuance and would formerly have rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change 
of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise, -if the 
regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison 
of what is so often described as arising on a first interview with its object, 
and even before two words have been exchanged -nothing can be said in her 
defence, except that she had given somewhat of a trial to the latter method, 
in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill success might, perhaps, 
authorise her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that 
as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what 
Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that 
wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she 
entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she 
thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the 
least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first 
letter remained on her mind, she was all surprise -all astonishment, that 
Wickham should marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry for money; 
and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But 
now it was all too natural. For such an attachment as this, she might have 
sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately 
engaging in an elopement, without the intention of marriage, she had no 
difficulty in believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would 
preserve her from falling an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that Lydia 
had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia had wanted only 
encouragement to attach herself to any body. Sometimes one officer, sometimes 
another, had been her favourite, as their attentions raised them in her 
opinion. Her affections had been continually fluctuating, but never without an 
object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards such a girl -
Oh! how acutely did she now feel it.
She was wild to be at home -to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to share with 
Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged; 
a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and requiring constant 
attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, 
her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered 
the room the misery of her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had 
hurried back in alarm, supposing, by the servant's account, that their niece 
was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she 
eagerly communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters 
aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy. 
Though Lydia had never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could 
not but be deeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and 
after the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readily 
promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, 
thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one 
spirit, everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were 
to be off as soon as possible. "But what is to be done about Pemberley?" cried 
Mrs. Gardiner. "John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us; was it 
so?"
"Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement. That is all 
settled."
"That is all settled," repeated the other, as she ran into her room to 
prepare. "And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real truth? 
Oh, that I knew how it was!"
But wishes were vain; or at best could serve only to amuse her in the hurry 
and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to be idle, 
she would have remained certain that all employment was impossible to one so 
wretched as herself; but she had her share of business as well as her aunt, 
and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to all their friends in 
Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw 
the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at 
the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the 
misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she 
could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.


Chapter 47

I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth," said her uncle, as they drove 
from the town; "and really, upon serious consideration, I am much more 
inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the matter. It 
appears to me so very unlikely, that any young man should form such a design 
against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was 
actually staying in his Colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to hope 
the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he 
expect to be noticed again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel 
Forster? His temptation is not adequate to the risk."
"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.
"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner, "I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It 
is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and interest, for him to 
be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Can you yourself, 
Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe him capable of it?"
"Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect I 
can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not hope it. 
Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the case?"
"In the first place," replied Mr. Gardiner, "there is no absolute proof that 
they are not gone to Scotland."
"Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney coach is such a 
presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnet 
road."
"Well, then -supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though for the 
purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose. It is not likely 
that money should be very abundant on either side; and it might strike them 
that they could be more economically, though less expeditiously, married in 
London than in Scotland."
"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage 
be private? Oh, no, no, this is not likely. His most particular friend, you 
see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. 
Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And 
what claims has Lydia -what attractions has she beyond youth, health, and good 
humour, that could make him for her sake forego every chance of benefiting 
himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the apprehension of disgrace in 
the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to 
judge; for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But 
as to your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no 
brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father's behaviour, 
from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what 
was going forward in his family, that he would do as little, and think as 
little about it, as any father could do, in such a matter."
"But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him, as to 
consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?"
"It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed," replied Elizabeth, with tears 
in her eyes, "that a sister's sense of decency, and virtue in such a point 
should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not 
doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never been taught to think 
on serious subjects; and for the last half year, nay, for a twelve-month, she 
has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to 
dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any 
opinions that came in her way. Since the --shire were first quartered in 
Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She 
has been doing everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, 
to give greater -what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which 
are naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of 
person and address that can captivate a woman."
"But you see that Jane," said her aunt, "does not think so ill of Wickham, as 
to believe him capable of the attempt."
"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be their 
former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt, till it 
were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really 
is. We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word. That 
he has neither integrity nor honour. That he is as false and deceitful as he 
is insinuating."
"And do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity as to 
the mode of her intelligence was all alive.
"I do, indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you the other day, of 
his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when last at 
Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved with such 
forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances 
which I am not at liberty -which it is not worth while to relate; but his lies 
about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, 
I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he 
knew to the contrary himself. He must know that she was as amiable and 
unpretending as we have found her."
"But does Lydia know nothing of this; can she be ignorant of what you and Jane 
seem so well to understand?"
"Oh yes! that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw so much 
both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the 
truth myself. And when I returned home the --shire was to leave Meryton in a 
week or fortnight's time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to whom I 
related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public; 
for of what use could it apparently be to any one, that the good opinion, 
which all the neighbourhood had of him, should then be overthrown? And even 
when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of 
opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That she could be in 
any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a consequence 
as this should ensue, you may easily believe, was far enough from my thoughts."
"When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, 
to believe them fond of each other?"
"Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either side; and 
had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware that ours is not 
a family, on which it could be thrown away. When first he entered the corps, 
she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all were. Every girl in, or near 
Meryton, was out of her senses about him for the first two months; but he 
never distinguished her by any particular attention; and, consequently, after 
a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave 
way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again 
became her favourites." It may be easily believed, that however little of 
novelty could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this 
interesting subject, by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them 
from it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it 
was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, 
she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on the 
road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a comfort to 
Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long 
expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing on the 
steps of the house, as they entered the paddock; and when the carriage drove 
up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces and displayed 
itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of capers and frisks, was the 
first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out, and after giving each of them an hasty kiss, hurried 
into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running downstairs from her mother's 
apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of 
both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been heard of the 
fugitives.
"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope 
everything will be well."
"Is my father in town?"
"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word."
"And have you heard from him often?"
"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say that he 
had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I particularly 
begged him to do. He merely added, that he should not write again, till he had 
something of importance to mention."
"And my mother -How is she? How are you all?"
"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly shaken. 
She is upstairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does 
not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank heaven! are quite well."
"But you -How are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale. How much you must 
have gone through!"
Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their 
conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were engaged 
with their children, was now put an end to, by the approach of the whole 
party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both, 
with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing room, the questions which Elizabeth had 
already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon found that 
Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which 
the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted her; she still 
expected that it would all end well, and that every morning would bring some 
letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explain their proceedings, and 
perhaps, announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes 
conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with tears 
and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous conduct of 
Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage, blaming everybody 
but the person to whose ill judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must 
be principally owing.
"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point of going to Brighton with 
all my family, this would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia had nobody to 
take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I 
am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not 
the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after. I 
always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was 
overruled, as I always am. Poor, dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone 
away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he 
will be killed, and what is to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us 
out, before he is cold in his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I 
do not know what we shall do."
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after 
general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her that 
he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr. Bennet in 
every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he, "though it is right to be 
prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain. It is 
not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few more days we may gain some 
news of them, and till we know that they are not married, and have no design 
of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to 
town I shall go to my brother, and make him come home with me to Gracechurch 
Street, and then we may consult together as to what is to be done."
"Oh, my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is exactly what I could most 
wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out, wherever they may 
be; and if they are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding 
clothes, do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much 
money as she chooses, to buy them, after they are married. And, above all 
things, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in -
that I am frightened out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such 
flutterings, all over me, such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and 
such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell 
my dear Lydia, not to give any directions about her clothes, till she had seen 
me, for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind 
you are! I know you will contrive it all."
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours in the 
cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in her hopes as 
her fears; and, after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on the 
table, they left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who 
attended, in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real occasion 
for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to oppose it, for 
they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the 
servants, while they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of 
the household, and the one whom they could most trust, should comprehend all 
her fears and solicitude on the subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been too 
busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their appearance before. 
One came in from her books, and the other from her toilette. The faces of 
both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible in either, 
except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger which she had 
herself incurred in the business, had given something more of fretfulness than 
usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself 
to whisper to Elizabeth, with countenance of grave reflection, soon after they 
were seated at table - 
"This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be much talked of. But 
we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each 
other the balm of sisterly consolation."
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added, "Unhappy 
as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that 
loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable -that one false step involves her 
in endless ruin -that her reputation is no less brittle that it is beautiful, -
and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the 
undeserving of the other sex."
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to make 
any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such kind of moral 
extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an hour 
by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity of 
making many inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining 
in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel of this event, which 
Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss Bennet could not assert to 
be wholly impossible; the former continued the subject, by saying, "But tell 
me all and everything about it, which I have not already heard. Give me 
further particulars. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no apprehension of 
anything before the elopement took place? They must have seen them together 
for ever."
"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality, 
especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so grieved 
for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to 
us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of their not 
being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension first got abroad, it hastened 
his journey."
"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of their 
intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"
"Yes; but, when questioned by him Denny denied knowing anything of their plan, 
and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his persuasion 
of their not marrying -and from that, I am inclined to hope, he might have 
been misunderstood before."
"And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a doubt, I 
suppose, of their being really married?"
"How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains! I felt a 
little uneasy -a little fearful of my sister's happiness with him in marriage, 
because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite right. My father and 
mother knew nothing of that, they only felt how imprudent a match it must be. 
Kitty then owned, with a very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of 
us, that in Lydia's last letter, she had prepared her for such a step. She had 
known, it seems, of their being in love with each other, many weeks."
"But not before they went to Brighton?"
"No, I believe not."
"And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he know 
his real character?"
"I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly did. 
He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad affair has 
taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt; but I hope this 
may be false."
"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him, this 
could not have happened!"
"Perhaps it would have been better," replied her sister. "But to expose the 
former faults of any person, without knowing what their present feelings were, 
seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions."
"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia's note to his wife?"
"He brought it with him for us to see."
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These were 
the contents:

"MY DEAR HARRIET, -You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot 
help laughing myself at your surprise tomorrow morning, as soon as I am 
missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with whom, I shall 
think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is 
an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. 
You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, 
for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them, and sign my 
name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for 
laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my engagement and 
dancing with him to night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows 
all, and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great 
pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you 
would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are 
packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to 
our good journey. -Your affectionate friend,
25%
"LYDIA BENNET."

"Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" cried Elizabeth when she had finished 
it. "What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment! But at least it 
shows, that she was serious in the object of her journey. Whatever he might 
afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. My poor 
father! how he must have felt it!"
"I never saw any one so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten 
minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in such 
confusion!"
"Oh, Jane," cried Elizabeth, "was there a servant belonging to it, who did not 
know the whole story before the end of the day?"
"I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time, is very 
difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to give her 
every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so much as I might have 
done! but the horror of what might possibly happen almost took from me my 
faculties."
"Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh, 
that I had been with you! you have had every care and anxiety upon yourself 
alone."
"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every fatigue, I 
am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty is slight and 
delicate; and Mary studies so much that her hours of repose should not be 
broken in on. My aunt Philips came to Longbourn on Tuesday, after my father 
went away; and was so good as to stay till Thursday with me. She was of great 
use and comfort to us all, and Lady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here 
on Wednesday morning to condole with us, and offered her services, or any of 
her daughters, if they could be of use to us."
"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth; "perhaps she meant 
well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see too little of one's 
neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence, insufferable. Let them 
triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied."
She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had intended 
to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.
"He meant, I believe," replied Jane, "to go to Epsom, the place where they 
last changed horses, see the postillions, and try if anything could be made 
out from them. His principal object must be to discover the number of the 
hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come with a fare from 
London; and as he thought the circumstance of a gentleman and lady's removing 
from one carriage into another, might be remarked, he meant to make inquiries 
at Clapham. If he could anyhow discover at what house the coachman had before 
set down his fare, he determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might 
not be impossible to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know 
of any other designs that he had formed; but he was in such a hurry to be 
gone, and his spirits so greatly discomposed that I had difficulty in finding 
out even so much as this."


Chapter 48

The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, 
but the post came in without bringing a single line from him. His family knew 
him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and dilatory 
correspondent, but at such a time, they had hoped for exertion. They were 
forced to conclude, that he had no pleasing intelligence to send, but even of 
that they would have been glad to be certain. Mr. Gardiner had waited only for 
the letters before he set off.
When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant information 
of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting, to prevail on Mr. 
Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could, to the great consolation 
of his sister, who considered it as the only security for her husband's not 
being killed in a duel.
Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few days 
longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable to her nieces. 
She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a great comfort to them 
in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also visited them frequently, and 
always, as she said, with the design of cheering and heartening them up, 
though as she never came without reporting some fresh instance of Wickham's 
extravagance or irregularity, she seldom went away without leaving them more 
dispirited than she found them.
All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man, who, but three months before, 
had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt to every 
tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of 
seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family. Everybody declared 
that he was the wickedest young man in the world; and everybody began to find 
out, that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness. 
Elizabeth, though she did not credit above half of what was said, believed 
enough to make her former assurance of her sister's ruin still more certain; 
and even Jane, who believed still less of it, became almost hopeless, more 
especially as the time was now come, when, if they had gone to Scotland, which 
she had never before entirely despaired of, they must in all probability have 
gained some news of them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday, his wife received a letter 
from him; it told them, that on his arrival, he had immediately found out his 
brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street. That Mr. Bennet had 
been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but without gaining any 
satisfactory information; and that he was now determined to inquire at all the 
principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet thought it possible they might have 
gone to one of them, on their first coming to London, before they procured 
lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure, 
but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He 
added, that Mr. Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London, 
and promised to write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this 
effect:
"I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if possible, 
from some of the young man's intimates in the regiment, whether Wickham has 
any relations or connections, who would be likely to know in what part of the 
town he had now concealed himself. If there were any one, that one could apply 
to, with a probability of gaining such a clue as that, it might be of 
essential consequence. At present we have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster 
will, I daresay, do everything in his power to satisfy us on this head. But, 
on second thoughts, perhaps Lizzy could tell us, what relations he has now 
living, better than any other person."
Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference for her 
authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any information of so 
satisfactory a nature, as the compliment deserved.
She had never heard of his having had any relations, except a father and 
mother, both of whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however, that 
some of his companions in the --shire might be able to give more information; 
and though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application was a 
something to look forward to.
Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious part of 
each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was the first 
grand object of every morning's impatience. Through letters, whatever of good 
or bad was to be told, would be communicated, and every succeeding day was 
expected to bring some news of importance.
But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for their 
father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane had 
received directions to open all that came for him in his absence, she 
accordingly read; and Elizabeth who knew what curiosities his letters always 
were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as follows:

"MY DEAR SIR, -I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my 
situation in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now 
suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from 
Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerely 
sympathise with you, and all your respectable family, in your present 
distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding from a cause 
which no time can remove. No arguments shall be wanting on my part that can 
alleviate so severe a misfortune, or that may comfort you, under a 
circumstance that must be, of all others, most afflicting to a parent's mind. 
The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this. 
And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose, as my 
dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your 
daughter has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same 
time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think 
that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of 
such an enormity at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you are grievously 
to be pitied, in which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins but 
likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have related the 
affair. They agree with me in apprehending that this false step in one 
daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady 
Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a 
family? And this consideration leads me, moreover, to reflect, with augmented 
satisfaction, on a certain event of last November; for had it been otherwise, 
I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me advise you 
then, my dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your 
unworthy child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits 
of her own heinous offence. I am, dear sir, etc., etc."

Mr. Gardiner did not write again, till he had received an answer from Colonel 
Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send. It was not 
known that Wickham had a single relation, with whom he kept up any connection, 
and it was certain that he had no near one living. His former acquaintance had 
been numerous; but since he had been in the militia, it did not appear that he 
was on terms of particular friendship with any of them. There was no one 
therefore who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in 
the wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for 
secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia's relations, for it had 
just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him, to a very 
considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds 
would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton. He owed a good deal in 
the town, but his debts of honour were still more formidable. Mr. Gardiner did 
not attempt to conceal these particulars from the Longbourn family; Jane heard 
them with horror. "A gamester!" she cried. "This is wholly unexpected. I had 
not an idea of it."
Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see their father 
at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered spiritless by the 
ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded to his brother-in-law's 
entreaty that he would return to his family, and leave it to him to do 
whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for continuing their pursuit. 
When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did not express so much satisfaction as 
her children expected, considering what her anxiety for his life had been 
before.
"What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?" she cried. "Sure he will 
not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make 
him marry her, if he comes away?"
As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she and her 
children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet came from it. 
The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their journey, and brought 
its master back to Longbourn.
Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her 
Derbyshire friend, that had attended her from that part of the world. His name 
had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece; and the kind of 
half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of their being followed by a 
letter from him, had ended in nothing. Elizabeth had received none since her 
return, that could come from Pemberley.
The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the 
lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be fairly 
conjectured from that, though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well 
acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known 
nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat 
better. It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual philosophic 
composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the habit of saying; made 
no mention of the business that had taken him away, and it was some time 
before his daughters had courage to speak of it.
It was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that Elizabeth 
ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly expressing her 
sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, "Say nothing of that. Who 
should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it."
"You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied Elizabeth.
"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall 
into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. 
I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon 
enough."
"Do you suppose them to be in London?"
"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"
"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.
"She is happy, then," said her father drily; "and her residence there will 
probably be of some duration."
Then, after a short silence, he continued - 
"Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last 
May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind."
They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's tea.
"This is a parade," cried he, "which does one good; it gives such an elegance 
to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in my library, in my 
nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can, -or, perhaps, 
I may defer it, till Kitty runs away."
"I am not going to run away, papa," said Kitty fretfully. "If I should ever go 
to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia."
"You go to Brighton! I would not trust you so near it as East Bourne for fifty 
pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the 
effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass 
through the village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up 
with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors, till you can 
prove, that you have spent ten minutes of every day in rational manner."
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.
"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl 
for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them."


Chapter 49

Two days after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking 
together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming 
towards them, and, concluding that she came to call them to their mother, went 
forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected summons, when they 
approached her, she said to Miss Bennet: "I beg your pardon, madam, for 
interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from 
town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask."
"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town."
"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, "don't you know there is 
an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here this half hour, 
and master has had a letter."
Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They ran 
through the vestibule into the breakfast room; from thence to the library; -
their father was in neither; and they were on the point of seeking him 
upstairs with their mother, when they were met by the butler, who said:
"If you are looking for my master, ma'am, he is walking towards the little 
copse."
Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more, and 
ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately pursuing his way 
towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.
Jane, who was not so light, nor so much in the habit of running as Elizabeth, 
soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath, came up with him, 
and eagerly cried out - 
"Oh, papa, what news? what news? Have you heard from my uncle?"
"Yes, I have had a letter from him by express."
"Well, and what news does it bring -good or bad?"
"What is there of good to be expected?" said he, taking the letter from his 
pocket; "but perhaps you would like to read it."
Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.
"Read it aloud," said their father, "for I hardly know myself what it is about."

"GRACECHURCH STREET,
"Monday, August 2.
"MY DEAR BROTHER, -At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and 
such as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after you 
left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of London 
they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet. It is enough to know they 
are discovered. I have seen them both -"
25%
"Then it is as I always hoped," cried Jane; "they are married!"
Elizabeth read on:
25%
"I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find there was any 
intention of being so; but if you are willing to perform the engagements which 
I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long before they 
are. All that is required of you is to assure to your daughter, by settlement, 
her equal share of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after 
the decease of yourself and my sister; and, moreover, to enter into an 
engagement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per annum. 
These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in 
complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send 
this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You will 
easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham's circumstances 
are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has been 
deceived in that respect; and I am happy to say there will be some little 
money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in 
addition to her own fortune. If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me 
full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I will 
immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper settlement. 
There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to town again; 
therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. 
Send back your answer as soon as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. 
We have judged it best that my niece should be married from this house, of 
which I hope you will approve. She comes to us today. I shall write again as 
soon as anything more is determined on. -Yours, etc.
"EDW. GARDINER."

"Is it possible!" cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. "Can it be possible 
that he will marry her?"
"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him," said her 
sister. "My dear father, I congratulate you."
"And have you answered the letter?" said Elizabeth.
"No; but it must be done soon."
Most earnestly did she then entreat him to lose no more time before he wrote.
"Oh, my dear father," she cried, "come back and write immediately. Consider 
how important every moment is in such a case."
"Let me write for you," said Jane, "if you dislike the trouble yourself."
"I dislike it very much," he replied; "but it must be done."
And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.
"And may I ask?" said Elizabeth; "but the terms, I suppose, must be complied 
with."
"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so little."
"And they must marry! Yet he is such a man."
"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there are 
two things that I want very much to know: one is, how much money your uncle 
has laid down, to bring it about; and the other, how I am ever to pay him."
"Money! my uncle!" cried Jane, "what do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation 
as one hundred a-year during my life, and fifty after I am gone."
"That is very true," said Elizabeth; "though it had not occurred to me before. 
His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh, it must be my 
uncle's doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. A 
small sum could not do all this."
"No," said her father; "Wickham's a fool if he takes her with a farthing less 
than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him, in the 
very beginning of our relationship."
"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?"
Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in thought, continued silent 
till they reached the house. Their father then went to the library to write, 
and the girls walked into the breakfast room.
"And they are really to be married!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as they were by 
themselves "How strange this is! And for this we are to be thankful. That they 
should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his 
character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!"
"I comfort myself with thinking," replied Jane, "that he certainly would not 
marry Lydia, if he had not a real regard for her. Though our kind uncle has 
done something towards clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand 
pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced. He has children of his own, 
and may have more. How could he spare half ten thousand pounds?"
"If we are ever able to learn what Wickham's debts have been," said Elizabeth, 
"and how much is settled on his side on our sister, we shall exactly know what 
Mr. Gardiner has done for them, because Wickham has not sixpence of his own. 
The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be requited. Their taking her 
home, and affording her their personal protection and countenance, is such a 
sacrifice to her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge. By 
this time she is actually with them! If such goodness does not make her 
miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, 
when she first sees my aunt!"
"We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side," said Jane: 
"I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry her is a 
proof, I will believe, that he is come to a right way of thinking. Their 
mutual affection will steady them; and I flatter myself they will settle so 
quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in time make their past 
imprudence forgotten."
"Their conduct has been such," replied Elizabeth, "as neither you, nor I, nor 
anybody can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it."
It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood perfectly 
ignorant of what had happened. They went to the library, therefore, and asked 
their father, whether he would not wish them to make it known to her. He was 
writing, and, without raising his head, coolly replied - 
"Just as you please."
"May we take my uncle's letter to read to her?"
"Take whatever you like, and get away."
Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-table, and they went upstairs 
together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one communication would, 
therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation for good news, the letter 
was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane had 
read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's being soon married, her joy burst forth, 
and every following sentence added to its exuberance. She was now in an 
irritation as violent from delight, as she had ever been fidgety from alarm 
and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was 
disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her 
misconduct.
"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried, "this is delightful indeed! She will be 
married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind 
brother! I knew how it would be -I knew he would manage everything. How I long 
to see her! and to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! 
I will write to my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run 
down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will 
go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a 
moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!"
Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of these 
transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardiner's 
behaviour laid them all under.
"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, "in a great measure 
to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. 
Wickham with money."
"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do it but her own 
uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children must have had 
all his money you know; and it is the first time we have ever had anything 
from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a short time I shall 
have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds. And she was only 
sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I 
can't write; so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with your 
father about the money afterwards; but the things should be ordered 
immediately."
She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and cambric, 
and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had not Jane, 
though with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till her father was at 
leisure to be consulted. One day's delay, she observed, would be of small 
importance; and her mother was too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual. 
Other schemes too came into her head.
"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, 
good news to my sister Philips. And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas 
and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a 
great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? 
Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is 
going to be married; and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at 
her wedding."
Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth, received her 
congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took refuge in 
her own room, that she might think with freedom. Poor Lydia's situation must, 
at best, be bad enough; but that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. 
She felt it so; and though, in looking forward, neither rational happiness nor 
worldly prosperity could be justly expected for her sister, in looking back to 
what they had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what 
they had gained.


Chapter 50

Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, 
instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the 
better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. He now 
wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia would 
not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now 
be purchased for her. The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most 
worthless young men in Great Britain to be her husband might then have rested 
in its proper place.
He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to any one 
should be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and he was 
determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance, and to 
discharge the obligation as soon as he could.
When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; 
for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off 
the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children 
would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the 
world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after 
Lydia's birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been 
despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn 
for economy, and her husband's love of independence had alone prevented their 
exceeding their income.
Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and the 
children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the latter, 
depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia 
at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation 
in acceding to the proposal before him. In terms of grateful acknowledgment 
for the kindness of his brother, though expressed most concisely, he then 
delivered on paper his perfect approbation of all that was done, and his 
willingness to fulfil the engagements that had been made for him. He had never 
before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it 
would be done with so little inconvenience to himself, as by the present 
arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a-year the loser, by the hundred 
that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket allowance, and 
the continual presents in money which passed to her through her mother's 
hands, Lydia's expenses had been very little within that sum.
That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was 
another very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present was to have as 
little trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage 
which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally 
returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dispatched; for, 
though dilatory in undertaking business, he was quick in its execution. He 
begged to know further particulars of what he was indebted to his brother; but 
was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.
The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate speed 
through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. 
To be sure it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss 
Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been 
secluded from the world, in some distant farm house. But there was much to be 
talked of, in marrying her; and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, 
which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost 
but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such 
an husband, her misery was considered certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been downstairs, but on this happy 
day, she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in spirits 
oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her triumph. The 
marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of her wishes, since 
Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of accomplishment, and her thoughts and 
her words ran wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, 
new carriages, and servants. She was busily searching through the 
neighbourhood for a proper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or 
considering what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and 
importance.
"Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would quit it, or the great 
house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! 
I could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis Lodge, the 
attics are dreadful."
Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption, while the servants 
remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "Mrs. Bennet, before 
you take any, or all of these houses, for your son and daughter, let us come 
to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighbourhood they shall 
never have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either, by 
receiving them at Longbourn."
A long dispute followed this declaration; but Mr. Bennet was firm: it soon led 
to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror, that her husband 
would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He protested that 
she should receive from him no mark of affection whatever, on the occasion. 
Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend it. That his anger could be carried to 
such a point of inconceivable resentment, as to refuse his daughter a 
privilege, without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all 
that she could believe possible. She was more alive to the disgrace, which her 
want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense 
of shame at the eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took 
place.
Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of the 
moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister; 
for since her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination to the 
elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavourable beginning from all 
those who were not immediately on the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means. There were few 
people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended; but at the 
same time, there was no one, whose knowledge of a sister's frailty would have 
mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it, 
individually to herself; for at any rate, there seemed a gulf impassable 
between them. Had Lydia's marriage been concluded on the most honourable 
terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a 
family, where to every other objection would now be added, an alliance and 
relationship of the nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.
From such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink. The wish of 
procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his feeling in 
Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive such a blow as this. She 
was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. 
She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be 
benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance 
of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with 
him; when it was no longer likely they should meet.
What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the proposals 
which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been gladly 
and gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most 
generous of his sex. But while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.
She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who, in disposition 
and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike 
her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have 
been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have 
been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and 
knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.
But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what 
connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and 
precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their 
family. How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence, 
she could not imagine. But how little of permanent happiness could belong to a 
couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger 
than their virtue, she could easily conjecture. Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again 
to his brother. To Mr. Bennet's acknowledgments he briefly replied, with 
assurances of his eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his family; and 
concluded with entreaties that the subject might never be mentioned to him 
again. The principal purport of his letter was to inform them, that Mr. 
Wickham had resolved on quitting the Militia.
25%
"It was greatly my wish that he should do so," he added, "as soon as his 
marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me in considering a 
removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on his account and my 
niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intention to go into the Regulars, and among his 
former friends there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in 
the army. He has the promise of an ensigncy in General --'s regiment, now 
quartered in the north. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of 
the kingdom. He promises fairly; and I hope among different people, where they 
may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have 
written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of our present arrangements, and to 
request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near 
Brighton with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. 
And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his 
creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list, according to his 
information? He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not 
deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a 
week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to 
Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs. Gardiner that my niece is very desirous 
of seeing you all before she leaves the south. She is well, and begs to be 
dutifully remembered to you and her mother. -Yours, etc.
"E. GARDINER."

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham's removal from 
the --shire, as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so 
well pleased with it. Lydia's being settled in the North, just when she had 
expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had by no means given 
up her plan of their residing in Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; 
and besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment 
where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites.
"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," said she, "it will be quite shocking to send 
her away. And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very 
much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General --'s regiment."
His daughter's request, for such it might be considered, of being admitted 
into her family again before she set off for the North, received at first an 
absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake 
of their sister's feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed on her 
marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so 
mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were 
married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they 
wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing, that she should be 
able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was 
banished to the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, 
he sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon as 
the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth was 
surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme, and, had she 
consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him would have been the 
last object of her wishes.


Chapter 51

Their sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her, 
probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them at 
-and they were to return in it, by dinner-time. Their arrival was dreaded by 
the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings 
which would have attended herself, had she been the culprit, was wretched in 
the thought of what her sister must endure.
They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room, to receive them. 
Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to the door; 
her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy.
Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and she 
ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her 
with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who 
followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an alacrity which showed no 
doubt of their happiness.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite so 
cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely opened 
his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was enough to 
provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia 
was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned 
from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations, and when at length 
they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took notice of some little 
alteration in it, and observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since 
she had been there.
Wickham was not at all more distressing than herself, but his manners were 
always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been exactly what 
they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their 
relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed 
him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving within herself 
to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, 
and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion 
suffered no variation of colour.
There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither of them 
talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near Elizabeth, began 
inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good-humoured 
ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her replies. They seemed each of 
them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the past was 
recollected with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects, which her 
sisters would not have alluded to for the world.
"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I went away; it 
seems but a fortnight, I declare; and yet there have been things enough 
happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure I had no more 
idea of being married till I came back again! though I thought it would be 
very good fun if I was."
Her father lifted up his eyes, Jane was distressed, Elizabeth looked 
expressively at Lydia: but she, who never heard nor saw anything of which she 
chose to be insensible, gaily continued, "Oh, mamma, do the people hereabouts 
know I am married today? I was afraid they might not; and we overtook William 
Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he should know it, and so I let 
down the side glass next to him, and took off my glove and let my hand just 
rest upon the window-frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed 
and smiled like anything."
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up and ran out of the room; and 
returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to the dining 
parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, 
walk up to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to her eldest sister: 
"Ah, Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a 
married woman."
It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment, from 
which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good spirits 
increased. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all their other 
neighbours, and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham," by each of them; and, 
in the meantime, she went after dinner to show her ring and boast of being 
married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.
"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast room, 
"and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my 
sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They 
must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, 
mamma, we did not all go."
"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But, my dear Lydia, I don't at 
all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?"
"Oh, Lord! yes; there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all things. You 
and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We shall be at Newcastle 
all the winter, and I daresay there will be some balls, and I will take care 
to get good partners for them all."
"I should like it beyond anything!" said her mother.
"And then, when you go away! you may leave one or two of my sisters behind 
you; and I daresay I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over."
"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not 
particularly like your way of getting husbands."
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had 
received his commission before he left London, and he was to join his regiment 
at the end of a fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short; and she 
made the most of the time, by visiting about with her daughter, and having 
very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to all; to avoid 
a family circle was even more desirable to such as did think, than such as did 
not.
Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it; 
not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her present observation 
to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that their elopement had been 
brought on by the strength of her love, rather than by his; and she would have 
wondered why, without violently caring for her, he chose to elope with her at 
all, had she not felt certain that his flight was rendered necessary by 
distress of circumstances; and if that were the case, he was not the young man 
to resist an opportunity of having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion; 
no one was to be put in competition with him. He did everything best in the 
world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September, 
than any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder 
sisters, she said to Elizabeth.
"Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by, 
when I told mamma, and the others, all about it. Are not you curious to hear 
how it was managed?"
"No, really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too little said on 
the subject."
"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were married, 
you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in that parish. 
And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle and 
aunt and I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the church. 
Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid you know 
that something would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite 
distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and 
talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear 
above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear 
Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat.
"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten, as usual; I thought it would never be 
over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt were 
horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe me, I did 
not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one 
party, or scheme, or anything! To be sure London was rather thin, but, 
however, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came 
to the door, my uncle was called away upon business, to that horrid man Mr. 
Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it. 
Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give 
me away; and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But, 
luckily, he came back again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. 
However, I recollected afterwards, that if he had been prevented going, the 
wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."
"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
"Oh, yes! he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me! I 
quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so 
faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"
"If it was to be a secret," said Jane, "say not another word on the subject. 
You may depend upon my seeking no further."
"Oh, certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; "we will ask 
you no questions."
"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and 
then Wickham would be so angry."
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power, 
by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it was 
impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister's 
wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people, where he had 
apparently least to do, and least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the 
meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satisfied 
with none. Those that best pleased her, as placing his conduct in the noblest 
light, seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense; and hastily 
seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an 
explanation of what Lydia had dropped, if it were compatible with the secrecy 
which had been intended.
"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my curiosity must be to know 
how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a 
stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray 
write instantly, and let me understand it -unless it is, for very cogent 
reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary; and 
then I must endeavour to be satisfied with ignorance."
"Not that I shall, though," she added to herself, as she finished the letter; 
"and, my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable manner, I shall 
certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out."
Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth 
privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it -till it 
appeared whether her inquiries would receive any satisfaction, she had rather 
be without a confidante.


Chapter 52

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

"GRACECHURCH STREET,
September 6.
"MY DEAR NIECE, -I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole 
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will not comprise 
what I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised by your application; 
I did not expect it from you. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean 
to let you know that I had not imagined such inquiries to be necessary on your 
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your 
uncle is as much surprised as I am, and nothing but the belief of your being a 
party concerned would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are 
really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my 
coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. 
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I 
arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as yours seems to have 
been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out where your sister and 
Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them both -Wickham 
repeatedly, Lydia once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one 
day after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. 
The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to himself that 
Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well known as to make it impossible 
for any young woman of character to love or confide in him. He generously 
imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before 
thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His 
character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step 
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself. 
If he had another motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He had been 
some days in town before he was able to discover them; but he had something to 
direct his search, which was more than we had, and the consciousness of this 
was another reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, 
a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was 
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not 
say what. She then took a large house in Edward Street, and has since 
maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, 
intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him 
as soon as he got to town. But it was two or three days before he could get 
from her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without 
bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be 
found. Wickham, indeed, had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and 
had she been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up 
their abode with her. At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-
for direction. They were in -- Street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted 
on seeing Lydia. His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to 
persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her 
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his 
assistance as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on 
remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she wanted no help 
of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be 
married some time or other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were 
her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, 
which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had never 
been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment on account 
of some debts of honour which were very pressing, and scrupled not to lay all 
the ill consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. He meant to 
resign his commission immediately; and as to his future situation, he could 
conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know 
where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why 
he had not married your sister at once? Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to 
be very rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his 
situation must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this 
question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually making his 
fortune by marriage, in some other country. Under such circumstances, however, 
he was not likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief. They 
met several times, for there was much to be discussed. Wickham, of course, 
wanted more than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable. 
Everything being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your 
uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch Street the 
evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy 
found, on further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit 
town the next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he 
could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed 
seeing him till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name, 
and till the next day it was only known that a gentleman had called on 
business. On Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home, 
and, as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together. They met again 
on Sunday, and then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as 
soon as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was 
very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his 
character, after all. He has been accused of many faults at different times, 
but this is the true one.
Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do 
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it) your uncle would 
most readily have settled the whole. They battled it together for a long time, 
which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But 
at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of 
use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of 
it, which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your letter this 
morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation that would 
rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due. But, 
Lizzy, this must go no further than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty 
well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be 
paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds, 
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his commission 
purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him alone was such as I 
have given above. It was owing to him, to his reserve, and want of proper 
consideration, that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and, 
consequently, that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there 
was some truth in this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's 
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this fine 
talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would 
never have yielded if we had not given him credit for another interest in the 
affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends, who 
were still staying at Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London 
once more when the wedding took place, and all the money matters were then to 
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you everything. It is a 
relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at least it 
will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham had 
constant admission to the house. He was exactly what he had been when I knew 
him in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was satisfied with 
her behaviour while she stayed with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's 
letter last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece 
with it, and therefore what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain. I 
talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner, representing to her all 
the wickedness of what she had done, and all the unhappiness she had brought 
on her family. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not 
listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear 
Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was 
punctual in his return, and, as Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He 
dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again on Wednesday or 
Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this 
opportunity of saying (what I was never bold enough to say before) how much I 
like him. His behaviour to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when 
we were in Derbyshire. His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants 
nothing but a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his 
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly; he hardly ever mentioned your 
name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive me if I have been very 
presuming, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I 
shall never be quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, 
with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write 
no more. The children have been wanting me this half hour. - 
Yours, very sincerely,
"M. GARDINER."

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in 
which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest 
share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of 
what Mr. Darcy might have feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too 
great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain 
of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had 
followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and 
mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been 
necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was 
reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, 
the man whom he always most wished to avoid and whose very name it was 
punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could 
neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. 
But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt 
that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his 
affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to 
overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with 
Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the 
connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. 
But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary 
stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he 
had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would 
not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, 
that remaining partiality for her might assist his endeavours in a cause where 
her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly 
painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never 
receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, 
everything to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious 
sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed 
towards him. For herself, she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud 
that in a cause of compassion and honour he had been able to get the better of 
himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was 
hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, 
though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle 
had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy 
and herself.
She was roused from her seat and her reflections by some one's approach; and, 
before she could strike into another path, she was overtaken by Wickham.
"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?" said he, as he 
joined her.
"You certainly do," she replied, with a smile; "but it does not follow that 
the interruption must be unwelcome."
"I should be sorry indeed if it were. We were always good friends; and now we 
are better."
"True. Are the others coming out?"
"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to Meryton. 
And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt that you have actually 
seen Pemberley."
She replied in the affirmative.
"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much for 
me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the old house-
keeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of me. But of 
course she did not mention my name to you."
"Yes she did."
"And what did she say?"
"That you were gone into the army, and, she was afraid, had -not turned out 
well. At such a distance as that, you know, things are strangely 
misrepresented."
"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips.
Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said:
"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other several 
times. I wonder what he can be doing there?"
"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said Elizabeth. "It 
must be something particular to take him there at this time of year."
"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I 
understood from the Gardiners that you had."
"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."
"And do you like her?"
"Very much."
"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year or 
two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad you liked 
her. I hope she will turn out well."
"I daresay she will; she has got over the most trying age."
"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"
"I do not recollect that we did."
"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A most 
delightful place! Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited me in every 
respect."
"How should you have liked making sermons?"
"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and the 
exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to repine; but, to be 
sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of 
such a life, would have answered all my ideas of happiness! But it was not to 
be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance, when you were in Kent?"
"I have heard, from authority which I thought as good, that it was left you 
conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."
"You have! yes, there was something in that; I told you so from the first, you 
may remember."
"I did hear, too, that there was a time when sermon-making was not so 
palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually declared your 
resolution of never taking orders, and that the business had been compromised 
accordingly."
"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember what I 
told you on that point, when first we talked of it."
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast to get 
rid of him, and unwilling for her sister's sake, to provoke him, she only said 
in reply, with a good-humoured smile - 
"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel 
about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one mind."
She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he 
hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.


Chapter 53

Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with his conversation, that he never 
again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth, by 
introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she had said 
enough to keep him quiet.
The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was forced to 
submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means entered into her 
scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a 
twelvemonth.
"Oh, my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall we meet again?"
"Oh, Lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years, perhaps."
"Write to me very often, my dear."
"As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for 
writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do."
Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his wife's. He smiled, 
looked handsome, and said many pretty things.
"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the 
house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am 
prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself, to produce a 
more valuable son-in law."
The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.
"I often think," said she, "that there is nothing so bad as parting with one's 
friends. One seems so forlorn without them."
"This is the consequence, you see, madam, of marrying a daughter," said 
Elizabeth. "It must make you better satisfied that your other four are single."
"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married but only 
because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If that had been 
nearer, she would not have gone so soon."
But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into, was shortly 
relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of 
news, which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield 
had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming 
down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite 
in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.
"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister" (for Mrs. Philips 
first brought her the news.) "Well, so much the better. Not that I care about 
it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see 
him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he 
likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, 
sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it 
quite certain he is coming?"
"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton 
last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose to know the 
truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. He comes down on 
Thursday, at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the 
butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she 
has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."
Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming, without changing colour. 
It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Elizabeth; but now, as 
soon as they were alone together, she said:
"I saw you look at me today, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present 
report; and I know I appeared distressed; but don't imagine it was from any 
silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that I should 
be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with 
pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone; because we 
shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other 
people's remarks."
Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in Derbyshire, 
she might have supposed him capable of coming there, with no other view than 
what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial to Jane, and she 
wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there with his friend's 
permission, or being bold enough to come without it.
"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man cannot come to a 
house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation! I 
will leave him to himself."
In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings, 
in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive that her 
spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than she 
had often seen them.
The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents, about a 
twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.
"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "you will wait 
on him of course."
"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised if I went to 
see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I 
will not be sent on a fool's errand again."
His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention would 
be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to Netherfield.
"'Tis an etiquette I despise," said he. "If he wants our society, let him seek 
it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours in running after my 
neighbours every time they go away, and come back again."
"Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on 
him. But, however, that shan't prevent my asking him to dine here, I am 
determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make 
thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for him."
Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband's 
incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her neighbours might 
all see Mr. Bingley in consequence of it, before they did. As the day of his 
arrival drew near:
"I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," said Jane to her sister. "It would 
be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can hardly bear 
to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well; but she does not 
know, no one can know, how much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be 
when his stay at Netherfield is over!"
"I wish I could say anything to comfort you," replied Elizabeth; "but it is 
wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual satisfaction of 
preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because you have always so much."
Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants, 
contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety and 
fretfulness on her side, might be as long as it could. She counted the days 
that must intervene before their invitation could be sent; hopeless of seeing 
him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she 
saw him from her dressing-room window, enter the paddock, and ride towards the 
house.
Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept 
her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went to the 
window -she looked, she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her 
sister.
"There is a gentleman with him, mamma," said Kitty; "who can it be?"
"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not know."
"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to be with him 
before. Mr. what's his name -that tall, proud man."
"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! and so it does, I vow. Well, any friend of Mr. 
Bingley's will always be welcome here to be sure; but else I must say that I 
hate the very sight of him."
Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little of 
their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness which must 
attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time after receiving his 
explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the 
other, and of course for themselves; and their mother talked on, of her 
dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be civil to him only as Mr. 
Bingley's friend, without being heard by either of them. But Elizabeth had 
sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had 
never yet had courage to show Mrs. Gardiner's letter, or to relate her own 
change of sentiment towards him. To Jane, he could be only a man whose 
proposals she had refused, and whose merit she had under-valued; but to her 
own more extensive information, he was the person, to whom the whole family 
were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an 
interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as what 
Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming -at his coming to 
Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost equal 
to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.
The colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half a minute 
with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as 
she thought for that space of time, that his affection and wishes must still 
be unshaken. But she would not be secure.
"Let me first see how he behaves," said she; "it will then be early enough for 
expectation."
She sat intently at work striving to be composed, and without daring to lift 
up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her sister, as 
the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little paler than usual, 
but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the gentlemen's appearing, her 
colour increased; yet she received them with tolerable ease, and with a 
propriety of behaviour equally free from any symptom of resentment, or any 
unnecessary complaisance.
Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down again 
to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She had 
ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and she 
thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had 
seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps, he could not in her mother's presence be 
what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an 
improbable, conjecture.
Bingley she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period saw him 
looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs. Bennet with a 
degree of civility, which made her two daughters ashamed, especially when 
contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her curtsey and address 
of his friend.
Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the 
preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was hurt and 
distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill applied.
Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did, a question which 
she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. He was not 
seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of his silence; but it had not been 
so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends, when he could not to 
herself. But now several minutes elapsed, without bringing the sound of his 
voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she 
raised her eyes to his face, she as often found him looking at Jane, as at 
herself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness, and 
less anxiety to please than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She 
was disappointed, and angry with herself for being so.
"Could I expect it to be otherwise!" said she. "Yet why did he come?"
She was in no humour for conversation with any one but himself; and to him she 
had hardly courage to speak.
She inquired after his sister, but could do no more.
"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.
He readily agreed to it. "I began to be afraid you would never come back 
again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; 
but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the 
neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one 
of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have 
seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know; though it 
was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said: `Lately, George Wickham, 
Esq to Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a syllable said of her father, 
or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardiner's 
drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of 
it. Did you see it?"
Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth dared not 
lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could not tell.
"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married," 
continued her mother; "but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to 
have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place 
quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay, I do not know how long. 
His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the --
shire, and of his being gone into the Regulars. Thank heaven! he has some 
friends, though, perhaps not so many as he deserves."
Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery of 
shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her, however, the 
exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually done before; and 
she asked Bingley, whether he meant to make any stay in the country at 
present. A few weeks, he believed.
"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley," said her mother, "I 
beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please, on Mr. Bennet's 
manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the 
best of the coveys for you."
Elizabeth's misery increased at such unnecessary, such officious attention! 
Were the same fair prospect to arise at present, as had flattered them a year 
ago, everything, she was persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious 
conclusion. At that instant she felt, that years of happiness could not make 
Jane or herself amends, for moments of such painful confusion.
"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself, "is never more to be in 
company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure, that will 
atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either one or the other 
again!"
Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no compensation, 
received soon afterwards material relief, from observing how much the beauty 
of her sister rekindled the admiration of her former lover. When first he came 
in, he had spoken to her but little; but every five minutes seemed to be 
giving her more of his attention. He found her as handsome as she had been 
last year; as good-natured, and as unaffected, though not quite so chatty. 
Jane was anxious that no difference should be perceived in her at all, and was 
really persuaded that she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily 
engaged, that she did not always know when she was silent.
When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her intended 
civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at Longbourn in a few 
days' time.
"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley," she added, "for when you went 
to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us, as soon as 
you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you, I was very much 
disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement."
Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of his 
concern at having been prevented by business. They then went away.
Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there that 
day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did not think anything 
less than two courses could be good enough for a man, on whom she had such 
anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand 
a-year.


Chapter 54

As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits; or in 
other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that must deaden 
them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed her.
"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent," said she, "did he 
come at all?"
She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.
"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when he was 
in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer 
cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing man! I will think no more about him."
Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of her 
sister, who joined her with a cheerful look which showed her better satisfied 
with their visitors, than Elizabeth.
"Now," said she, "that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly easy. I 
know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by his coming. I 
am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen, that on both 
sides, we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance."
"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said Elizabeth, laughingly. "Oh, Jane! take 
care."
"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as to be in danger now."
"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you 
as ever."
They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in the 
mean while, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good-humour and 
common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had revived.
On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two, who 
were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as sportsmen, 
were in very good time. When they repaired to the dining-room, Elizabeth 
eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place which, in all 
their former parties, had belonged to him, by her sister. Her prudent mother, 
occupied by the same ideas, forbore to invite him to sit by herself. On 
entering the room, he seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and 
happened to smile; it was decided. He placed himself by her.
Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it 
with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that Bingley had received 
his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turned towards 
Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing alarm.
His behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as showed an 
admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded 
Elizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's happiness, and his own, 
would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the consequence, 
she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It gave her all the 
animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in no cheerful humour. Mr. 
Darcy was almost as far from her as the table could divide them. He was on one 
side of her mother. She knew how little such a situation would give pleasure 
to either, or make either appear to advantage. She was not near enough to hear 
any of their discourse; but she could see how seldom they spoke to each other, 
and how formal and cold was their manner, whenever they did. Her mother's 
ungraciousness made the sense of what they owed him more painful to 
Elizabeth's mind; and she would, at times, have given anything to be 
privileged to tell him, that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by 
the whole of the family.
She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing 
them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away without 
enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than the mere 
ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy, the period 
which passed in the drawing-room, before the gentlemen came, was wearisome and 
dull to a degree, that almost made her uncivil. She looked forward to their 
entrance, as the point on which all her chance of pleasure for the evening 
must depend.
"If he does not come to me then," said she, "I shall give him up for ever."
The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have answered her 
hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table, where Miss Bennet 
was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee, in so close a 
confederacy, that there was not a single vacancy near her, which would admit 
of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching, one of the girls moved closer 
to her than ever, and said, in a whisper:
"The men shan't come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them; do we?"
Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with her 
eyes, envied every one to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help 
any body to coffee; and then was enraged against herself for being silly!
"A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect 
a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not protest 
against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no 
indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!"
She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup 
himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying: "Is your sister at 
Pemberley still?"
"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas."
"And quite alone? Have all her friend left her?"
"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough these 
three weeks."
She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse with her, 
he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for some minutes, in 
silence; and, at last, on the young lady's whispering to Elizabeth again, he 
walked away.
When the tea things were removed, and the card-tables placed, the ladies all 
rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him, when all her 
views were overthrown, by seeing him fall a victim to her mother's rapacity 
for whist players, and in a few moments after seated with the rest of the 
party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were confined for the 
evening at different tables, and she had nothing to hope, but that his eyes 
were so often turned towards her side of the room, as to make him play as 
unsuccessfully as herself.
Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to supper; but 
their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the others, and she had no 
opportunity of detaining them.
"Well, girls," said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, "what say 
you to the day? I think everything has passed off uncommonly well, I assure 
you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The venison was roasted 
to a turn -and everybody said, they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was 
fifty times better than what we had at the Lucases last week; and even Mr. 
Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges were remarkably well done; and I 
suppose he has two or three French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never 
saw you look in greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether 
you did not. And what do you think she said besides? `Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we 
shall have her at Netherfield at last.' She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long 
is as good a creature as ever lived -and her nieces are very pretty behaved 
girls, and not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously."
Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits; she had seen enough of 
Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she would get him at last; 
and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy humour, were 
so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at not seeing him there 
again the next day, to make his proposals.
"It has been a very agreeable day," said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. "The party 
seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other I hope we may often 
meet again."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I assure 
you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an agreeable and 
sensible young man, without having a wish beyond it. I am perfectly satisfied 
from what his manners now are, that he never had any design of engaging my 
affection. It is only that he is blessed with greater sweetness of address, 
and a stronger desire of generally pleasing than any other man."
"You are very cruel," said her sister, "you will not let me smile, and are 
provoking me to it every moment."
"How hard it is in some cases to be believed!"
"And how impossible in others!"
"But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I acknowledge?"
"That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to 
instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive me; and 
if you persist in indifference, do not make me your confidante."


Chapter 55

A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend 
had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days time. 
He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. 
Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many expressions of concern, 
he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.
"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shall be more lucky."
"He should be particularly happy at any time, etc., etc.; and if she would 
give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them."
"Can you come tomorrow?"
Yes, he had no engagement at all for tomorrow; and her invitation was accepted 
with alacrity.
He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them 
dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room, in her dressing-gown, and 
with her hair half finished, crying out - 
"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come -Mr. Bingley is come. He 
is indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this 
moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss Lizzy's hair."
"We will be down as soon as we can," said Jane; "but I daresay Kitty is 
forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago."
"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! where 
is your sash, my dear?"
But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down 
without one of her sisters.
The same anxiety to get them by themselves, was visible again in the evening. 
After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his custom, and Mary went 
upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the five being thus removed, Mrs. 
Bennet sat looking and winking at Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable 
time, without making any impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; 
and when at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, "What is the matter, 
mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?"
"Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you." She then sat still five 
minutes longer; but, unable to waste such a precious occasion, she suddenly 
got up, and saying to Kitty - 
"Come here, my love, I want to speak to you," took her out of the room. Jane 
instantly gave a look at Elizabeth, which spoke her distress at such 
premeditation, and her entreaty that she would not give in to it. In a few 
minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door, and called out - 
"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you."
Elizabeth was forced to go.
"We may as well leave them by themselves, you know;" said her mother as soon 
as she was in the hall. "Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing 
room."
Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained quietly in 
the hall till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned into the drawing 
room.
Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was everything 
that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His ease and 
cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their evening party; 
and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her 
silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance, particularly 
grateful to the daughter.
He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went away, an 
engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs. Bennet's means, for 
his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.
After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed 
between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in the happy 
belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within 
the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably persuaded that all 
this must have taken place with that gentleman's concurrence.
Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the 
morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more agreeable 
than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in 
Bingley, that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into silence; and he 
was more communicative, and less eccentric that the other had ever seen him. 
Bingley of course returned with him to dinner; and in the evening Mrs. 
Bennet's invention was again at work to get everybody away from him and her 
daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went into the breakfast room 
for that purpose soon after tea; for as the others were all going to sit down 
to cards, she could not be wanted to counteract her mother's schemes.
But on returning to the drawing room when her letter was finished, she saw, to 
her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother had been too 
ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley 
standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation; and 
had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round 
and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation was 
awkward enough; but hers she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was 
uttered by either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when 
Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whispering 
a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.
Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give 
pleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest 
emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.
"'Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! Why is 
not everybody as happy!"
Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight, 
which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh 
source of happiness to Jane. But she would not allow herself to stay with her 
sister, or say half that remained to be said, for the present.
"I must go instantly to my mother," she cried; "I would not on any account 
trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it from any one 
by myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh, Lizzy, to know that what I 
have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear 
so much happiness!"
She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the card-
party, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty.
Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with 
which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many previous 
months of suspense and vexation.
"And this," said she, "is the end of all his friend's anxious circumspection! 
of all his sister's falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest, most 
reasonable end!"
In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her father 
had been short and to the purpose.
"Where is your sister?" said he hastily, as he opened the door.
"With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I daresay."
He then shut the door, and coming up to her, claimed the good wishes and 
affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her delight 
in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with great cordiality; 
and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen to all he had to say of 
his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections; and in spite of his being a 
lover, Elizabeth really believed all his expectations of felicity to be 
rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding, 
and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling 
and taste between her and himself.
It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of Miss 
Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as made her 
look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was 
coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or speak her approbation 
in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she talked to Bingley of 
nothing else, for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his 
voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was.
Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their visitor 
took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he turned to his 
daughter and said:
"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."
Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.
"You are a good girl," he replied, "and I have great pleasure in thinking you 
will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well 
together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so 
complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy that every servant 
will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."
"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be 
unpardonable in me."
"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you 
talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a-year, and very likely more." 
Then addressing her daughter, "Oh, my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am 
sure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always 
said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for 
nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into 
Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you should come 
together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!"
Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her favourite 
child. At the moment she cared for no other. Her younger sisters soon began to 
make interest with her for objects of happiness which she might in future be 
able to dispense.
Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty begged 
very hard for a few balls there every winter.
Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn; coming 
frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper; unless 
when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough detested, had given him 
an invitation to dinner, which he thought himself obliged to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for while 
he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on any one else; but she found 
herself considerably useful to both of them, in those hours of separation that 
must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always attached himself to 
Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking of her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane 
constantly sought the same means of relief.
"He has made me so happy," said she, one evening, "by telling me, that he was 
totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed it 
possible."
"I suspected as much," replied Elizabeth. "But how did he account for it?"
"It must have been his sisters' doing. They were certainly no friends to his 
acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have chosen so 
much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see, as I trust they 
will, that their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented, 
and we shall be on good terms again; though we can never be what we once were 
to each other."
"That is the most unforgiving speech," said Elizabeth, "that I ever heard you 
utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again the dupe of Miss 
Bingley's pretended regard!"
"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he 
really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would 
have prevented his coming down again!"
"He made a little mistake, to be sure; but it is to the credit of his modesty."
This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and the 
little value he put on his own good qualities.
Elizabeth was pleased to find, that he had not betrayed the interference of 
his friend, for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the 
world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.
"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" cried Jane. 
"Oh, Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! 
If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!"
"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till 
I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, 
no, let me shift for myself; and perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet 
with another Mr. Collins in time."
The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a secret. 
Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and she ventured, 
without any permission, to do the same by all her neighbours in Meryton.
The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the world, 
though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away, they had been 
generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.


Chapter 56

One morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been 
formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the 
dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of 
a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was 
too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not 
answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses were post; and neither 
the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to 
them. As it was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly 
prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and 
walk away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures 
of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the 
door was thrown open, and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de 
Bourgh.
They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their astonishment was 
beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, though she 
was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what Elizabeth felt.
She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other 
reply to Elizabeth's salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat 
down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her name to her mother on 
her ladyship's entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.
Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high 
importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a 
moment in silence, she said, very stiffly, to Elizabeth - 
"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother?"
Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.
"And that, I suppose, is one of your sisters?"
"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a Lady Catherine. "She 
is my youngest girl but one, my youngest of all is lately married; and my 
eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man, who, I 
believe, will soon become a part of the family."
"You have a very small park here," returned Lady Catherine, after a short 
silence.
"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I daresay; but I assure you, 
it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's."
"This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening in summer; the 
windows are full west."
Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then added 
- 
"May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. and Mrs. 
Collins well?"
"Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last."
Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from Charlotte, 
as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no letter appeared, 
and she was completely puzzled.
Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some 
refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely 
declined eating anything; and then rising up, said to Elizabeth:
"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on 
one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will 
favour me with your company."
"Go, my dear," cried her mother, "and shew her ladyship about the different 
walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage."
Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol, attended her 
noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened 
the doors into the dining-parlour and drawing-room, and pronouncing them, 
after a short survey, to be decent looking rooms, walked on.
Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her waiting-woman 
was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the 
copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for conversation with a 
woman, who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.
"How could I ever think her like her nephew?" said she, as she looked in her 
face.
As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner:
"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey 
hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come."
Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.
"Indeed, you are mistaken, madam. I have not been at all able to account for 
the honour of seeing you here."
"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, "you ought to know that 
I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you 
shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity 
and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not 
depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I 
was told, that not only your sister was on the point of being most 
advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in 
all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. 
Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood; though I would not 
injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly 
resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known 
to you."
"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, colouring with 
astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. 
What could your ladyship propose by it?"
"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted."
"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family," said Elizabeth coolly, 
"will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in 
existence."
"If! do you, then, pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously 
circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?"
"I never heard that it was."
"And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?"
"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask 
questions, which I shall not choose to answer."
"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, 
has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?"
"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."
"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But 
your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him 
forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him 
in."
"If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it."
"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such 
language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am 
entitled to know all his dearest concerns."
"But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as this ever 
induce me to be explicit."
"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption 
to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my 
daughter. Now, what have you to say?"
"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make 
an offer to me."
Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied - 
"The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy, they 
have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of his mother, as 
well as of her's. While in their cradles, we planned the union: and now, at 
the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, in their 
marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance 
in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the 
wishes of his friends? To his tacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you 
lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? have you not heard me say 
that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?"
"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? if there is no other 
objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it, 
by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You 
both did as much as you could, in planning the marriage. Its completion 
depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined 
to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? and if I am that choice, 
why may not I accept him?"
"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss 
Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if 
you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, 
slighted, and despised, by every one connected with him. Your alliance will be 
a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us."
"These are heavy misfortunes," replied Elizabeth. "But the wife of Mr. Darcy 
must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her 
situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine."
"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for 
my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score?
"Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with 
the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from 
it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in 
the habit of brooking disappointment."
"That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it 
will have no effect on me."
"I will not be interrupted! Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are 
formed for each other. They are descended on the maternal side, from the same 
noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient, 
though untitled families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are 
destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective 
houses; and what is to divide them? the upstart pretensions of a young woman 
without family, connections, or fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must 
not, shall not be! If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish 
to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up."
"In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that 
sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter: so far we are equal."
"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your 
uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition."
"Whatever my connections may be," said Elizabeth, "if your nephew does not 
object to them, they can be nothing to you."
"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?" Though Elizabeth would not, 
for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question; 
she could not but say, after a moment's deliberation - 
"I am not."
Lady Catherine seemed pleased.
"And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?"
"I will make no promise of the kind."
"Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more 
reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will 
ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I 
require."
"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything 
so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; 
but would my giving you the wished-for promise, make their marriage at all 
more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept 
his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady 
Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary 
application, have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You 
have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such 
persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference 
in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern 
yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the 
subject."
"Not so hasty if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I 
have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the 
particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that 
the young man's marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expense of your 
father and uncle. And is such a girl to be my nephew's sister? Is her husband, 
is the son of his late father's steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth! 
of what are you thinking! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?"
"You can now have nothing farther to say," she resentfully answered. "You have 
insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house."
And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned back. Her 
ladyship was highly incensed.
"You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, 
selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him 
in the eyes of everybody?"
"Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments."
"You are then resolved to have him?"
"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which 
will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or 
to any person so wholly unconnected with me."
"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of 
duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of 
all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world."
"Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude," replied Elizabeth, "have any 
possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either would be 
violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of 
his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by his 
marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern -and the world in 
general would have too much sense to join in the scorn."
"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall 
now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever 
be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend 
upon it I will carry my point."
In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of the 
carriage, when turning hastily round, she added.
"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. 
You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."
Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her ladyship to 
return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage 
drive away as she proceeded upstairs. Her mother impatiently met her at the 
door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again 
and rest herself.
"She did not choose it," said her daughter, "she would go."
"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously 
civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well. She 
is on her road somewhere, I daresay, and so, passing through Meryton, thought 
she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to 
you, Lizzy?"
Elizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to acknowledge 
the substance of their conversation was impossible.


Chapter 57

The discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth 
into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many hours learn to 
think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it appeared, had actually 
taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings, for the sole purpose of 
breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a rational scheme, 
to be sure! but from what the report of their engagement could originate, 
Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine; till she recollected that his being the 
intimate friend of Bingley, and her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a 
time when the expectation of one wedding made every body eager for another, to 
supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of 
her sister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at 
Lucas Lodge, therefore, (for through their communication with the Collinses, 
the report she concluded had reached Lady Catherine,) had only set that down, 
as almost certain and immediate, which she had looked forward to as possible, 
at some future time.
In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help feeling 
some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting in this 
interference. From what she had said of her resolution to prevent their 
marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate an application to 
her nephew; and how he might take a similar representation of the evils 
attached to a connection with her, she dared not pronounce. She knew not the 
exact degree of his affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, 
but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her ladyship than 
she could do; and it was certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a 
marriage with one, whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his 
aunt would address him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he 
would probably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak 
and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.
If he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often 
seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle 
every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished 
could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see 
him in her way through town; and his engagement to Bingley of coming again to 
Netherfield must give way.
"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his 
friend within a few days," she added, "I shall know how to understand it. I 
shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his constancy. If he is 
satisfied with only regretting me, when he might have obtained my affections 
and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him at all." The surprise of the rest 
of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great; but they 
obligingly satisfied it, with the same kind of supposition, which had appeased 
Mrs. Bennet's curiosity; and Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the 
subject.
The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who 
came out of his library with a letter in his hand.
"Lizzy," said he, "I was going to look for you; come into my room."
She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell her, 
was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with 
the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lady 
Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.
She followed her father to the fire-place, and they both sat down. He then said:
"I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As 
it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not 
know before, that I had two daughters on the brink of matrimony. Let me 
congratulate you, on a very important conquest."
The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks in the instantaneous conviction 
of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt; and she was 
undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or 
offended that his letter was not rather addressed to herself; when her father 
continued - 
"You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters as 
these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your 
admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins."
"From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?"
"Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with congratulations 
on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of which it seems he has 
been told, by some of the good-natured, gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport 
with your impatience, by reading what he says on that point. What relates to 
yourself, is as follows: `Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations 
of Mrs. Collins and myself on this happy event, let me add a short hint on the 
subject of another; of which we have been advertised by the same authority. 
Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of 
Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her 
fate may be reasonably looked up to, as one of the most illustrious personages 
in this land.'
"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this? -`This young gentleman 
is blessed, in a peculiar way, with everything the heart of mortal can most 
desire, -splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet, in 
spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, 
of what evils you may incur, by a precipitate closure with this gentleman's 
proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage 
of.'
"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out.
" `My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to imagine that 
his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with a friendly 
eye.'
"Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I have surprised you. 
Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man, within the circle of our 
acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what 
they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, 
and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is admirable!"
Elizabeth tried to join in her father's pleasantry, but could only force one 
most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little 
agreeable to her.
"Are you not diverted?"
"Oh, yes. Pray read on."
" `After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship last 
night, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she felt 
on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some family 
objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give her consent to what 
she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest 
intelligence of this to my cousin, that she and her noble admirer may be aware 
of what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been 
properly sanctioned.' Mr. Collins, moreover, adds: `I am truly rejoiced that 
my cousin Lydia's sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only 
concerned that their living together before the marriage took place, should be 
so generally known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or 
refrain from declaring my amazement, at hearing that you received the young 
couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an encouragement 
of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should very strenuously 
have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as a christian, but never 
to admit them in your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your 
hearing.' -That is his notion of christian forgiveness! The rest of his letter 
is only about his dear Charlotte's situation, and his expectation of a young 
olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not 
going to be missish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. 
For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them 
in our turn?"
"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is so strange!"
"Yes -that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would 
have been nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, 
make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give 
up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I read a 
letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even over Wickham, much 
as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what 
said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?"
To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had been 
asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his repeating it. 
Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they 
were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried. Her 
father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he said of Mr. Darcy's 
indifference, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of 
penetration, or fear that, perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she 
might have fancied too much.


Chapter 58

Instead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth 
half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to 
Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The 
gentlemen arrived early; and before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their 
having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in momentary dread, Bingley, 
who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed their all walking out. It was 
agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking, Mary could never spare 
time, but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon 
allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, 
Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; 
Kitty was too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a 
desperate resolution; and, perhaps, he might be doing the same.
They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria; and 
as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern, when Kitty left 
them, she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the moment for her resolution 
to be executed, and, while her courage was high, she immediately said:
"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief 
to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer 
help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I 
have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I 
feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my 
own gratitude to express."
"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and 
emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, 
have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be 
trusted."
"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that 
you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I 
knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my 
family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much 
trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them."
"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the 
wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements 
which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. 
Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her 
companion added: "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are 
still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes 
are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever".
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his 
situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very 
fluently, gave him to understand, that her sentiments had undergone so 
material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her 
receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness 
which this reply produced was such as he had probably never felt before; and 
he expressed himself on the occasion, as sensibly and as warmly as a man 
violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter 
his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heart-felt delight, 
diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could 
listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she 
was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be 
thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon 
learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the 
efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and 
there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her 
conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the 
latter, which, in her ladyship's apprehension, peculiarly denoted her 
perverseness and assurance, in the belief that such a relation must assist her 
endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew, which she had refused to 
give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.
"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to 
hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that, had you 
been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged 
it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough of my 
frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to 
your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations."
"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations 
were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time 
had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it 
without abhorrence."
"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening," 
said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be 
irreproachable; but since then we have both, I hope, improved in civility."
"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then 
said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is 
now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so 
well applied, I shall never forget: `had you behaved in a more gentleman-like 
manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how 
they have tortured me; though it was some time, I confess, before I was 
reasonable enough to allow their injustice."
"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. 
I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way."
"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, 
I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you 
said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way, that would 
induce you to accept me."
"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I 
assure you, that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it."
Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon make you think 
better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?"
She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her 
former prejudices had been removed.
"I knew," said he, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was 
necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part, 
especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of 
reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you 
hate me."
"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the 
preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my 
opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily 
changed as that implies."
"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly calm 
and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful 
bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is 
charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person 
who wrote and the person who received it, are now so widely different from 
what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought to 
be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as 
its remembrance gives you pleasure."
"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections 
must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is 
not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of ignorance. But with me, it is 
not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to 
be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not 
in principle. As a child, I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to 
correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in 
pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only child,) 
I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves, (my father 
particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged, 
almost taught me to be selfish and over-bearing, to care for none beyond my 
own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at 
least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I 
was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for 
you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you? You taught me a 
lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly 
humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how 
insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, 
expecting my addresses."
"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I 
never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you 
must have hated me after that evening!"
"Hate you! I was angry, perhaps, at first, but my anger soon began to take a 
proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. 
You blamed me for coming?"
"No, indeed, I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My 
conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess 
that I did not expect to receive more than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to shew you, by every civility in my 
power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain 
your forgiveness, to lessen your ill-opinion, by letting you see that your 
reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced 
themselves, I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had 
seen you."
He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her 
disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the 
cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following 
her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister, had been formed before he quitted 
the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there, had arisen from no 
other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, 
to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know 
anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was 
time to be at home.
"What could have become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which 
introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their 
engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.
"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."
"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And though 
he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.
"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I made a confession to 
him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had 
occurred to make my former interference in his affairs, absurd and 
impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. 
I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had 
done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive 
that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness 
together."
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him that 
my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her, during the two visits which I 
had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his 
depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine 
made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, 
and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your 
sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and 
purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, 
lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He 
has heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful 
friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked 
herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was 
rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of 
course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till 
they reached the house. In the hall they parted.


Chapter 59

My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question which 
Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and from all the 
others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in reply, that they 
had wandered about till she was beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as she 
spoke; but neither that, nor anything else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The 
acknowledged lovers talked and laughed; the unacknowledged were silent. Darcy 
was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth; and Elizabeth, 
agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy, than felt herself to be 
so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment, there were other evils before 
her. She anticipated what would be felt in the family when her situation 
became known; she was aware that no one liked him but Jane; and even feared 
that with the others it was a dislike which not all his fortune and 
consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far from Miss 
Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.
"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you 
shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible."
"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and I am 
sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. 
I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged."
Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much you 
dislike him."
"You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not 
always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory 
is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself."
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more seriously, 
assured her of its truth.
"Good heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you," cried Jane. 
"My dear, dear Lizzy, I would -I do congratulate you; but are you certain; 
forgive the question -are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?"
"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that we are 
to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you 
like to have such a brother?"
"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. 
But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you really love 
him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than marry without 
affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?"
"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do, when I tell you 
all."
"What do you mean?"
"Why I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you 
will be angry."
"My dearest sister, now be, be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me 
know everything that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long 
you have loved him?"
"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I 
believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the desired 
effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment. 
When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish.
"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as happy as myself. I 
always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I must 
always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your husband, there 
can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But, Lizzy, you have been 
very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at 
Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know of it to another, not to you."
Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to 
mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made her 
equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she would no longer conceal from 
her his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night 
spent in conversation. "Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a 
window the next morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here 
again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be 
always coming here? I had no notion but he would go a shooting, or something 
or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? 
Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way."
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet was 
really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an epithet.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and shook 
hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information; and he soon 
afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in 
which Lizzy may lose her way again today?"
"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk to 
Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never 
seen the view."
"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am sure it 
will be too much for Kitty. Won't it, Kitty?"
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great 
curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented. As 
she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying:
"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable 
man all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it; it is all for Jane's 
sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now 
and then. So do not put yourself to inconvenience."
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent should be asked 
in the course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the application 
for her mother's. She could not determine how her mother would take it; 
sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be enough to 
overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she were violently set against 
the match, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that her manner 
would be equally ill adapted to do credit to her sense; and she could no more 
bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy, than the first 
vehemence of her disapprobation. In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet 
withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her 
agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, 
but he was going to be made unhappy, and that it should be through her means 
that she, his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should 
be filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her, was a wretched 
reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking 
at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he approached 
the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire 
her work, said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he wants you in the library." 
She was gone directly.
Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. "Lizzy," 
said he, "what are you doing? are you out of your senses to be accepting this 
man? Have not you always hated him?"
How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more 
reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from 
explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but 
they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion, of her 
attachment to Mr. Darcy.
"Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, 
and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane. But will they 
make you happy?"
"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your belief of my 
indifference?"
"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this 
would be nothing if you really liked him."
"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes; "I love him. 
Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what 
he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms."
"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, 
indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything, which he condescended to 
ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me 
advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that 
you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your 
husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would 
place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely 
escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you 
unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."
Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply; and at 
length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of her 
choice, by explaining the gradual change which her estimation of him had 
undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his affection was not the work 
of a day, but had stood the test of many months suspense, and enumerating with 
energy all his good qualities, she did conquer her father's incredulity, and 
reconcile him to the match.
"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If 
this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, 
to any one less worthy." To complete the favourable impression, she then told 
him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with 
astonishment.
"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did everything; made up 
the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him his 
commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and 
economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but 
these violent young lovers carry everything their own way. I shall offer to 
pay him tomorrow; he will rant and storm, about his love for you, and there 
will be an end of the matter."
He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his reading Mr. 
Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her at last to 
go -saying, as she quitted the room, "If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, 
send them in, for I am quite at leisure."
Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after half an 
hour's quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join the others with 
tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for gaiety, but the evening 
passed tranquilly away; there was no longer anything material to be dreaded, 
and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.
When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night she followed her, and 
made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary; for on 
first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. 
Nor was it under many, many minutes, that she could comprehend what she heard; 
though not in general, backward to credit what was for the advantage of her 
family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at 
length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, 
wonder, and bless herself.
"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have 
thought it? And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how 
great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! 
Jane's is nothing to it -nothing at all. I am so pleased -so happy! Such a 
charming man! so handsome! so tall! Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my 
having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear 
Lizzy! A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Three daughters married! 
Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! what will become of me. I shall go distracted."
This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and 
Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself, soon 
went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room, her mother 
followed her.
"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a 
year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a lord! And a special licence -you 
must and shall be married by a special licence! But my dearest love, tell me 
what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it tomorrow."
This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman himself 
might be; and Elizabeth found, that, though in the certain possession of his 
warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still 
something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she 
expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law 
that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him 
any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get 
acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising every 
hour in his esteem.
"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wickham, perhaps, is my 
favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's."


Chapter 60

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to 
account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" 
said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a 
beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
"I cannot fix the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the 
foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had 
begun."
"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners -my behaviour to you 
was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without 
rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere; did you admire me 
for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The 
fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. 
You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and 
thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you, because I 
was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable you would have hated me 
for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings 
were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the 
persons who so assiduously courted you. There -I have saved you the trouble of 
accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it 
perfectly reasonable. To be sure you knew no actual good of me -but nobody 
thinks of that when they fall in love."
"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill 
at Netherfield?"
"Dearest Jane! Who could have done less for her? But make virtue of it by all 
means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate 
them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions 
for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin 
directly, by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at 
last. What made you so shy of me when you first called, and afterwards dined 
here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care 
about me?"
"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."
"But I was embarrassed."
"And so was I."
"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."
"A man who had felt less might."
"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I 
should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have 
gone on if you had been left to yourself! I wonder when you would have spoken, 
if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to 
Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of 
the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to 
have mentioned the subject? This will never do."
"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady 
Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of removing 
all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire 
of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of 
yours. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once 
to know everything."
"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for 
she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield 
for! Was it merely to ride to Longbourn, and be embarrassed? or had you 
intended any more serious consequences?"
"My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might 
ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was 
to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to 
make the confession to him which I have since made."
"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to befall 
her?"
"I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be 
done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper it shall be done directly."
"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the 
evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, 
too, who must not be longer neglected."
From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been 
overrated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's long letter, but 
now, having that to communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she was 
almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt had already lost three days of 
happiness, and immediately wrote as follows:
"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done, for 
your long, kind, satisfactory detail of particulars but to say the truth, I 
was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. But now suppose 
as much as you choose; give a loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in 
every possible flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me 
actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and 
praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you again and 
again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your 
idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the Park every day. I am 
the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, 
but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I 
laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world, that can be spared from 
me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas. -Yours, etc."
Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style; and still 
different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to 
his last.

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

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother on his approaching marriage were 
all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the 
occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her former professions of 
regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and though feeling no 
reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she knew 
was deserved.
The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was as 
sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were insufficient 
to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of being loved by her 
sister.
Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations to 
Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the Collinses were 
come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon 
evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents 
of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was 
anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the 
arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the 
course of their meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, 
when she saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of 
her husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even 
listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the 
brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting 
frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his 
shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.
Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and, perhaps, a greater tax on his 
forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in too much 
awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good humour 
encouraged, yet, when ever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her 
respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more 
elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of 
either, and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her 
family with whom he might converse without mortification; and though the 
uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship 
much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked 
forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so 
little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family 
party at Pemberley.


Chapter 61

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid 
of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards 
visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could 
say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire 
in the establishment of so many of her children, produced so happy an effect 
as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her 
life; though, perhaps, it was lucky for her husband, who might not have 
relished domestic felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was 
occasionally nervous and invariably silly.
Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her drew 
him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to 
Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.
Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near a 
vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to his 
easy temper, or her affectionate heart. The darling wish of his sisters was 
then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire; 
and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were 
within thirty miles of each other.
Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her 
two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her 
improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia, and, 
removed from the influence of Lydia's example, she became, by proper attention 
and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. From the 
further disadvantage of Lydia's society she was of course carefully kept, and 
though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the 
promise of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going.
Mary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily drawn 
from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet's being quite unable to sit 
alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but she could still 
moralise over every morning visit; and as she was no longer mortified by 
comparisons between her sisters' beauty and her own, it was suspected by her 
father that she submitted to the change without much reluctance.
As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from the 
marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth 
must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had 
before been unknown to her; and, in spite of everything, was not wholly 
without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on to make his fortune. The 
congratulatory letter which Elizabeth received from Lydia on her marriage, 
explained to her that, by his wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope 
was cherished. The letter was to this effect:

"MY DEAR LIZZY, -I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half so well as I do my 
dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so 
rich; and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am 
sure Wickham would like a place at court very much; and I do not think we 
shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would 
do, of about three or four hundred a year; but, however, do not speak to Mr. 
Darcy about it, if you had rather not. -Yours, etc."

As it happened that Elizabeth had much rather not, she endeavoured in her 
answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such 
relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice of what 
might be called economy in her own private expenses, she frequently sent them. 
It had always been evident to her that such an income as theirs, under the 
direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the 
future, must be very insufficient to their support; and whenever they changed 
their quarters, either Jane or herself were sure of being applied to, for some 
little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, 
even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in 
the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap 
situation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for her 
soon sunk into indifference; her's lasted a little longer; and in spite of her 
youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her 
marriage had given her.
Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth's sake, 
he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor 
there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with 
the Bingleys they both of them frequently stayed so long, that even Bingley's 
good humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a 
hint to be gone.
Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy's marriage; but as she thought 
it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, she dropped all her 
resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as attentive to Darcy as 
heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility to Elizabeth.
Pemberley was now Georgiana's home; and the attachment of the sisters was 
exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each other, even 
as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of 
Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an astonishment bordering 
on alarm at her lively, sportive manner of talking to her brother. He, who had 
always inspired in herself a respect, which almost overcame her affection, she 
now saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had 
never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's instructions she began to 
comprehend that a woman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother 
will not always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.
Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew; and as 
she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in her reply to 
the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him language so very 
abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an 
end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook 
the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little further resistance 
on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for 
him, or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself; and she 
condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which 
its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but 
the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.
With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as 
well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the 
warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, 
had been the means of uniting them.