Chapter 7 r. 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. Phillips, 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 head quarters. 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 any body’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 dare say 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.”
“Mama,” 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 to-day with
Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other
for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-à-tête 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?” said 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 to-day,” 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 head-ache, there is
not much the matter with me.
Yours, &c.”
“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 is she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see
her, if I could have the carriage.”
Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go
to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she
was no horse-woman, 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 ancles, dirty stockings, and a face
glowing with the warmth of exercise.
She was shewn 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 enquiries 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 the 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 shewed 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 t five o’clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six Elizabeth
was summoned to dinner. To the civil
enquiries 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 stile, 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 ancles in dirt, and alone, quite
alone! what could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an
abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country
town indifference to decorum.”
“It shews 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 down stairs 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 piano-forte 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
skreens, 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 skreen. 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 women.”
“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 dare say, 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 lizabeth 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 enquiries
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 country 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.”
Every body 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, Mama, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth,
blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy.
He only meant that there were 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 every body is to judge for themselves,
and the Lucases are 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 any body better looking.
It is what every body 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. Every thing 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 attentions of the of-
ficers, 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.
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