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“But, my dear Elizabeth,” she added, “what sort of girl is Miss King? I
should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.”
“Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs,
between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end,
and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me,
because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a
girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is
mercenary.”
“If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know
what to think.”
“She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.”
“But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather’s death
made her mistress of this fortune?”
“No--why should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain _my_
affections, because I had no money, what occasion could there be for
making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally
poor?”
“But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her so
soon after this event.”
“A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant
decorums which other people may observe. If _she_ does not object to it,
why should _we_?”
“_Her_ not objecting does not justify _him_. It only shows her being
deficient in something herself--sense or feeling.”
“Well,” cried Elizabeth, “have it as you choose. _He_ shall be
mercenary, and _she_ shall be foolish.”
“No, Lizzy, that is what I do _not_ choose. I should be sorry, you know,
to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”
“Oh, if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in
Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not
much better. I am sick of them all. Thank heaven! I am going to-morrow
where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has
neither manners nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones
worth knowing, after all.”
“Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.”
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the
unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in
a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.
“We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,” said Mrs.
Gardiner; “but perhaps, to the Lakes.”
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her
acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. “My dear, dear
aunt,” she rapturously cried, “what delight! what felicity! You give me
fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men
to rocks and mountains? Oh, what hours of transport we shall spend! And
when we _do_ return, it shall not be like other travellers, without
being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We _will_ know where
we have gone--we _will_ recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains,
and rivers, shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when
we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling
about its relative situation. Let _our_ first effusions be less
insupportable than those of the generality of travellers.”
[Illustration:
“At the door”
]
CHAPTER XXVIII.
[Illustration]
Every object in the next day’s journey was new and interesting to
Elizabeth; and her spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had
seen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health,
and the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight.
When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in
search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view.
The paling of Rosings park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth
smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.
At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the
road, the house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge,
everything declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte
appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate, which
led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of
the whole party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing
at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the
liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with
coming, when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw
instantly that her cousin’s manners were not altered by his marriage:
his formal civility was just what it had been; and he detained her some
minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her
family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the
neatness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they were
in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious
formality, to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife’s
offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help
fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect,
and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if
wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though
everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him
by any sigh of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend,
that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr.
Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed,
which certainly was not seldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on
Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general
Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire
every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the
fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had
happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the
garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of
which he attended himself. To work in his garden was one of his most
respectable pleasures; and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance
with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and
owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading the way
through every walk and cross walk, and scarcely allowing them an
interval to utter the praises he asked for, every view was pointed out
with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the
fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees there were in
the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which
the country or the kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with
the prospect of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that
bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a
handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows;
but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white
frost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte
took her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased,
probably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband’s
help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything
was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency, of which
Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be
forgotten, there was really a great air of comfort throughout, and by
Charlotte’s evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often
forgotten.
She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It
was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr.