- char_end
- 641477
- char_start
- 633517
- chunk_index
- 89
- chunk_total
- 108
- estimated_tokens
- 1990
- source_file_key
- pride-and-prejudice
- text
- to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The quiet, the
retirement of such a life, would have answered all my ideas of
happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the
circumstance when you were in Kent?”
“I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it was
left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron.”
“You have! Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from the
first, you may remember.”
“I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time when sermon-making was not so
palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually
declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business
had been compromised accordingly.”
“You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember
what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.”
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast
to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister’s sake, to provoke him,
she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,--
“Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us
quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one
mind.”
She held out her hand: he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though
he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.
[Illustration:
“Mr. Darcy with him.”
]
CHAPTER LIII.
[Illustration]
Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation, that he
never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth,
by introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she
had said enough to keep him quiet.
The day of his and Lydia’s departure soon came; and Mrs. Bennet was
forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means
entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to
continue at least a twelvemonth.
“Oh, my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when shall we meet again?”
“Oh, Lord! I don’t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”
“Write to me very often, my dear.”
“As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for
writing. My sisters may write to _me_. They will have nothing else to
do.”
Mr. Wickham’s adieus were much more affectionate than his wife’s. He
smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.
“He is as fine a fellow,” said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of
the house, “as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us
all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas
himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law.”
The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.
“I often think,” said she, “that there is nothing so bad as parting with
one’s friends. One seems so forlorn without them.”
“This is the consequence, you see, madam, of marrying a daughter,” said
Elizabeth. “It must make you better satisfied that your other four are
single.”
“It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married;
but only because her husband’s regiment happens to be so far off. If
that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.”
But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly
relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an
article of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper
at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her
master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several
weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and
smiled, and shook her head, by turns.
“Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,” (for Mrs.
Philips first brought her the news). “Well, so much the better. Not that
I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I
never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to
Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what _may_ happen? But that
is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention
a word about it. And so, it is quite certain he is coming?”
“You may depend on it,” replied the other, “for Mrs. Nichols was in
Meryton last night: I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose
to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certainly true. He
comes down on Thursday, at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was
going to the butcher’s, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on
Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed.”
Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing
colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to
Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,--
“I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present
report; and I know I appeared distressed; but don’t imagine it was from
any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that
I _should_ be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect
me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes
alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of
_myself_, but I dread other people’s remarks.”
Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in
Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with no
other view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial
to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming
there _with_ his friend’s permission, or being bold enough to come
without it.
“Yet it is hard,” she sometimes thought, “that this poor man cannot come
to a house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this
speculation! I _will_ leave him to himself.”
In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her
feelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily
perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed,
more unequal, than she had often seen them.
The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents,
about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.
“As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you
will wait on him, of course.”
“No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I
went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in
nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool’s errand again.”
His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention
would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to
Netherfield.
“’Tis an _etiquette_ I despise,” said he. “If he wants our society, let
him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend _my_ hours in
running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back
again.”
“Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait
on him. But, however, that shan’t prevent my asking him to dine here, I
am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will
make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for
him.”
Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her
husband’s incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her
neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley, in consequence of it, before
_they_ did. As the day of his arrival drew near,--
“I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,” said Jane to her sister. “It
would be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference; but I can
hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well;
but she does not know, no one can know, how much I suffer from what she
says. Happy shall I be when his stay at Netherfield is over!”
“I wish I could say anything to comfort you,” replied Elizabeth; “but it
is wholly out of my power.