Pride and Prejudice - Vol 2, Chapters 1-4

2. CHAPTER I Miss Bingley's letter arrived and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of there being all settled in London for the winter, and concluded with her brother's regret, and not having had time to pay his respects to his friends and hertfurture 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 brothers 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 brothers being partial to Miss Darcy, she paid no credit. But 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 support with it in whatever manner he thought best. But her sisters 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 unveiling. She could think of nothing else, and yet whether Bingley's regard had really died away or were suppressed by his friends in her appearance, 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. Bennett's leaving them together, after a longer irritation than usual about another field in its master, she could not help saying. O 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 coloring. 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 approach 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 anyone 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 Bennett eagerly disclamed all extraordinary merit, and through back the praise on her sister's warm affection. Nays, 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 thank you perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any access, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal goodwill. You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am 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 Lizzie, 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. Your Mr. Collins' respectability and Charlotte's prudent, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family. That as to fortune, it is the most eligible match, and be ready to believe for everybody's sake that you may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin. To oblige you, I try to believe almost anything, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this. However, where 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 conceded 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 endeavor 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'll 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 Lizzie, 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 designately 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, Setylisbeth, 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 is 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 brothers. But sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there was 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 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. Bennett still continued to wonder and repine, it is 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 endeavored 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. Bennett's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer. Mr. Bennett treated the matter differently. So Lizzy said he one day, your sisters crossed in love I find. I congratulate her. Next 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 Maryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow and would jolt you credibly. Thank you, sir, but unless a grieble man would satisfy me, we must not all expect Jane's good fortune. True, said Mr. Bennett, but it is a comfort to think that whatever of that kind may be for 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 long-born family. They saw him often, and two as 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 everybody was pleased to think how much they'd always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter. Mr. Bennett 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 candor always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes. But by everybody else, Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men. Chapter 2 After a week spending professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr. Collins was called from his amiable charlatte 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 reasoned 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 long-born, with as much salimnity as before, wished his fair cousin's health and happiness again, and promised their father another letter of thanks. On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennett had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at long-born. Mr. Gardner was a sensible, gentleman-like man, greatly superior to his sister, as well 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. Gardner, who is several years younger than Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favorite with all her long-born nieces. Between the two eldest and herself, especially, they're subsisted a very particular regard. They had frequently been staying with her in town. The first part of Mrs. Gardner's business on her arrival was to distribute her presence and describe the newest fashions. When this was done, she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennett had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They had all been very ill-use, and 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, as she continued, for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzie, oh sister, it is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins' wife by this time, had not had been for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him. The consequence of it, that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have, and that long-born estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucas' 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 neighbors 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 her nieces turned to 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 described, 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 sorts of inconsistencies 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 kiss me very little idea. It is as often applied to feelings which arise from a half hours acquaintance as to a real strong attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love? I never saw 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 supposed him to have felt. Poor Jane, and I'm sorry for her. Because with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It'd 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. Maybe as useful as anything. Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal and felt persuaded of her sister's ready acquiescence. I hope, at Edmiss's gardener, 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 it all, unless he really comes to see her. And that is quite possible 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 Grace Church Street, but he would hardly think of months of blution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, where he wants to enter it and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley never stares without him. So much the better, I hope they will not meet at all, but as not Jane correspond with the sister, she will not be able to help calling. She will drop the acquaintance entirely. But in spite of the certainty and much 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 Bennett accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure, and the Bingley's were no other eyes in her thoughts at the time, than as she hoped that by carolines not living in the same house with her brother, she might occasionally spend a morning with her without any danger of seeing him. The gardeners stayed a week at Longborn, and what would the Phillips, the Lucas and the officers, there is not a day without its engagement? Miss Bennett 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. Gardner rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm commendation of him, nearly 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 her for sure, and represent her, the imprudence of encouraging such an attachment. To Mrs. Gardner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure, unconnected with his general powers. About tenor a dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very part of Derbyshire, to which she belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintance and common. And though Wickham had been little there since the death of Derbyshire's father, five years before, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of her former friends, then she had been in the way of procuring. Mrs. Gardner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Derbyshire 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. Derbyshire'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, is a very proud, ill-natured boy. Chapter 3 Mrs. Gardner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first favorable opportunity of speaking to her alone. After honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on. You are too sensible a girl, Lizzie, 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 beyond your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavor to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very incrudent. I have nothing to say against him, he is the 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 may not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wycombe 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. Wycombe. 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 honor, and I should be miserable to forfeited. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wycombe. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very happy 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 as 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 honor, 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 gardeners in Jane. But as he took up his abode with the lukeces, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennett. 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 once she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed on 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 favorite 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 a little pleasure in the visit. My father and Maria are to come to me in March, at a Charlotte, and I hope you'll 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 be but 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 that 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, neighborhood, and roads were all to her taste. And Lady Catherine's behavior 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 her safe arrival in London. Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Binglies. Her impatience for the second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a weakened town without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Hmongborn had by some accident been lost. My aunt, she continued, is going tomorrow into that part of town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grovesner Street. She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. I did not think Caroline and 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 dare say, I shall soon see them here. Elizabeth shook her head over this 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 endeavored 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 it 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 dear Slyzzy, will I am sure be incapable of triumphant 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 thank me obstinate if I still assert that considering what her behavior 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 no, not a line that I received 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 is 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 farther, and though we know this anxiety be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her behavior 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 go. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself, and yet it should 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 Anand. 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'd 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'll 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 Mrs. Darcy's sister, as by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away. Miss Gardner, about this time, reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and it 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 of £10,000 was the most remarkable charm of the young lady, to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable. But Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in his case than in Charlottes, 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. Gardner, 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 have present to test his very name and wish him all man or 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, or 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 4 With no greater events than these in the long-born family, another wise diversified by little beyond the walks to Maryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, degenuary 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 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 was 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 chain, 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 that it 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 a due, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Burgh and trusting their opinion of her, their opinion of everybody, would always conside. 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 travelers the next day were not of a kind to make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas and his daughter Mariah, a good-humored girl, but his 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 shades. 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 24 miles, and they began it so early as to be in Grace Church Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardner'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 12-month, 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 theaters. Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her on. Their first subject was her sister, and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, and replied 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. Gardner gave her the particulars also of Ms. Bingley's visit in Grace Church 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. Gardner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and complemented her on bearing it so well. But my dear Elizabeth, she added, what sort of girl is Ms. 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 prudent, and now because he was trying to get a girl with only 10,000 pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary. If you will only tell me what sort of girl Ms. King is, I shall know what to think. She's a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her. But he paid her not the small 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 toward her, so soon after this event. A man in distress 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 her feeling. Well, Cradleizbeth, 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'm sick of them all. Thank heaven, I'm going tomorrow while I shall find a man who is not one agreeable quality, who is neither man or Norse sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing after all. Take care, Lizzy, that speech savers 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-in-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. Gardner, 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 vigor, a due 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 travelers 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, we begin quarreling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travelers.