Pride and Prejudice - Vol 2, Chapters 13-16

Chapter 13 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 contriety 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 said vastly 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 as a count 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 account 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 clear attention a relation of events which, if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming and affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings were yet more cutely painful and more difficult of definition. Estonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely, repeated the 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 at 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. For a few moments she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. But when she read and re-read with the closest attention, the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living of his receiving in lieu, so considerable as some is 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 proflagacy 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 militia, in which he had engaged 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. Most as 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, a tone for those casual errors under which he would endeavour to class. But 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 deprivation of the neighborhood, 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 Mr. 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 cousins affairs, and to his character she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved and 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 cooperation. She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickman herself, and their first evening at Mr. Phillips. 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 they were removal, it had been everywhere discussed. That he had then no reserves, no scruples, and 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. In the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything. His behavior to herself could now have had no tolerable motive. He'd either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference which he believed she had most incausiously shown. Every lingering struggle in his favor grew fainter and fainter, and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr. Bingley, one 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 laterally 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'd 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 avialation 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 disained the generous candor of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blamable distrust. How humiliating in 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. Please, 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. Until this moment, I never knew myself. From herself to Jane, from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in the 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 given 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 she particularly alluded as having passed that the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disappropraration, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers. The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It was soothed that 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, 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 14 The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins, having been in waiting near the lodges to make them his parting of sequence, was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence of their appearing in very good health, and in his tolerable spirits, as could be expected, through 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 leadership, 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 she had 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 leadership's indignation would have been. What would she have said? How would she have behaved? Were questions with what she amused herself? Their first subject was a diminution of the Rosings party. I assure you I feel that 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 illusion to throw in here which was kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter. Lady Catherine observed, Dr. Dinner, that Miss Bennett seemed out of spirits and immediately counting for it herself by 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 leadership for your kind invitation, reply to 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 expect you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for you going so soon. Mrs. Bennett 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 will 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, Madame. But I believe we must abide by original plan. Lady Catherine seemed resigned. Mrs. Collins, you must end up servant with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young women traveling 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's servants go with her. Mr. Arcy, 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 discredible to you to let them go alone. My uncle is to send a servant for us. Oh, your uncle. He keeps a man servant, Darcy. I am glad you have somebody who thinks of those things. Where shall you change horses? O, 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 the 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 condemned and uprated 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 of him, nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. In her own past behavior 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 of his youngest daughters, and her mother, with manner so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavor 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. In Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Mariton, they would flirt with him, and while Mariton was within a walk of longborn, they would be going there forever. 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 the implicitness of his confidence and 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 in decorum 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 leadership, 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 Mariah thought herself obliged on her return to undo all the work of the morning and pack her trunk of fresh. When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year. And Mr. Berg exerted herself so far as to Curtsy and hold out her hand to both. Chapter 15 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 disabilities, which he deemed indispensibly 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 favor of your company has been much felt. I assure you, we know how little there is to tempt anyone 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'll 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 attention she had received must make her feel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling salimnity 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 a 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 parsinage, I should not think anyone 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 favorable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself, at least, that you'll 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 as to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can, from my heart, most cordially wish you equal felicity and 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 shees 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 attend to the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was commissioning her wish with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longborn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, though unknown. He then handed her in, Mariah 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. Not gracious, cried Mariah, 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 set her companion with a sigh. We have dined at 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. Her journey was performed without much conversation or any alarm, and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr. Gardner's house, where they were to remain for a few days. Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits, admits the various engagements which the kindness of her on had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at long-born there would be leisure enough for observation. It was not without an effort, meanwhile, that she could wait even for long-born, before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy's proposals. To know that she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonished Jane, and must at the same time so highly gratify whatever of her own vanity she had not yet been able to reason away, with such a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered. But the state of indecision, in what she remained, asked 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 for sister farther. Chapter 16 It was a second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Grace Church Street, for the town in Hurtfordshire. And as I drew near the appointed in, where Mr. Bennett'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 in cucumber. After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table, set out with such cold meat as an in-later 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 been 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 are two or three much uglier in the shop. And when I have bought some prettier colored 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 they have left Mary Ten, and they are going in a fortnight. Are they indeed, quite illicit, with the greatest satisfaction? They are going to be in camp near Brighton, and I do so want pop, but it take us all there for the summer, it would be such a delicious scheme, and I dare say it would hardly cost anything at all. Mama would like to go two of all things. Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have. Yes, thought of this, but that would be a delightful scheme, indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good heaven, Brighton, and a whole camp full of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regimen of militia and the monthly balls of Mary Ten. Now, I have got some news for you, said Lydia, as I sat down to table. What do you think? It is excellent news, capron 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, I, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared. My dare say, often here is worse thing, said, than I am going to say. But he is such 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 it not? There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There is for you, she has gone down to her uncle at Liverpool, gone to stay. Wickham is safe. And Mary King is safe, added Elizabeth, safe from a connection in prudent 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 the sentiment was little other than her own breath, had formally harbored and fancy 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 edition of Kiddy'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 band box. 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 Phillips 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 shaperown you about all the balls. Dear me, we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forresters. Kidding me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forrester promised to have a little dance in the evening. By the by, Mrs. Forrester and me are such friends. And so she asked the two Harrington's to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Penn was forced to come by herself. We dressed up Chamberlain in women's clothes on purpose to pass for a lady. Only think what fun. Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs. Forrester and kiddie in 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. Forrester. 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 Kiddie's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her companions all the way to Longborn. 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. Bennett rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty, and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennett say voluntarily to Elizabeth, I am glad you are come back, Lizzie. Their party in the dining room was large, for almost all the Lucaces came to meet Mariah and hear the news, and various where the subjects were jokypied them. Lady Lucas was inquiring of Mariah across the table after the welfare and poultry of her eldest daughter. Mrs. Bennett was doubly engaged on one hand, collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who set some way below her, and on the other, retailing them all to the younger Miss Lucaces. And Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person, was enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would hear her. Oh Mary said, gee, I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun, as we went along, kiddie in me, to rep all the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach, and I should have gone so all the way, if kiddie 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 gotten to 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 anybody 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. And I should infinitely prefer a book. But if this answer, Lydia, her not a word, she seldom listened to anybody 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 Maryton and see how everybody went on. But Elizabeth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said that the miss-penets could not be home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was another reason, too, for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Wyckum again and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to her of the regiments 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 this account. She had not been many hours at home before she found that the brightened scheme of which Lydia had given the mahyant at the end 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.